The Adventures of a Traveling Theologian

As if you haven't already had enough...

2010-10-23T23:24:00.000-05:00

So, in case you don't know what's happening here, this is the second installment of the Great Cornish Game Hen, Began Anna. It's a multi-volume set I'm writing for the McCormick Herald student newspaper. It's for fun. It's an adventure. It's not all Bible-thumperish. It's simply a story. A long one. About a couple of friends who take a road trip home. Our friendship still endures as we attempt, now, a year later, to make our way through second year of seminary. More about that later. Let's just say that it isn't for the faint of heart. So here's the second installment. If you like it, keep reading for more. If not, well, that sounds like a personal problem. Enjoy!

There’s those old saying about home, you know the ones like, “There’s no place like home,” or “home is where the heart is.” My mother told me that I could always come home, except when I couldn’t… Not too sure what that was about. Either way, home at Began Anna’s was just like home. Not like my home, but like a home. You didn’t feel like a stranger, you were always welcome to whatever you needed. After our horrific bowel-churning, Arby’s cursing drive, we were glad to be home. Began Anna’s parents welcomed me like I was their long-lost child, like the prodigal daughter (although I hadn’t done anything wrong). We walked in the door into a cozy, warm living area and kitchen. The TV was on with the fishing channel and Began Anna’s mother, Tori was waiting with cooked salmon, potatoes, veggies, and wine. From this point in, wine becomes important. Pay attention.

Began Anna’s mother looked just like her, only a few years older and a little taller. Her father instantly lived up to the stories I had heard about his shooting woodchucks out of the kitchen window in the early morning of the fall with a pellet gun. There was one in particular in which Began Anna was in middle school, female rocker mullet and all, and upon walking into the kitchen for her morning breakfast, watched her mother run into the bathroom to escape the sounds of the pellet gun going off as her father shot “the eye out of a woodchuck.” As it seems, apparently Began Anna’s father, BC, decided that the only way to kill this specific woodchuck was to “shoot him in the eye,” according to BC. Well turns out that he didn’t shoot him in the eye, he got him in the ear. Which apparently is just as good. Since I have no experience at shoot woodchucks early in the morning, I cannot speak to this except to say, “Way to go BC.”

As Began Anna and I sat down to our dinner, we recounted our horrible stomach pangs, which in turn made Began Anna not as hungry. Which is understandable. Nonetheless, we began to eat. Tori was especially excited because she had stocked up on the wine. She was becoming somewhat of a wine connoisseur, according to her, and she wanted to make sure we drank wine in style. So she pulled out her first of many bottles of Two-Buck Chuck. Now for those of you who don’t know, Two-Buck Chuck is a cheap, but tasty wine from Trader Joe’s. It’s even cheaper if you buy it by the case, of course Tori did.

She poured out two glasses for us and I hastily drank mine down. What can I say? Wine settles my stomach. It helped. I even helped Began Anna finish hers. This trip home was getting off on the right pace, and there were baskets everywhere. Baby baskets, medium sized baskets, big baskets to carry all the baby baskets, pictures of baskets (not sure what that one was about), baskets everywhere! Even the wine sat in baskets. I was waiting to be served breakfast in a basket in the morning. Not only was Tori in love with good wine, but she loved the craftsmanship of a good basket. This was a woman of someone’s heart. Not really mine, but someone’s. And I loved her for it.

After eating and drinking our wine, Began Anna and I were given our bedrooms. Began Anna slept in her old bedroom, which consisted of a dresser and an air mattress, as her old bed was now in her parent’s vacay “house” in Florida. I was sent downstairs into something like the Red Room from the movie Jayne Eyre, only it was a bright and sunny yellow. The bed was a beautiful looking bed, but not so much a beautiful feeling bed. Mainly it was hard. Now I like a good firm mattress, but this felt more like sleeping on the deck of a very warm ship. Now, in my defense I did try to sleep in this bed, but it wasn’t working very well. Earlier, before bed, Began Anna had offered to let me sleep with her in her air mattress. Well, I was about to take her up on it. Tired for sleep and longing for a soft bed, I made my way from the downstairs area up to Began Anna’s bedroom. I’m not really sure what happened next, but for some reason I decided to stand over Began Anna’s bed before waking her up. But I woke her up, just not the way she would have liked. She rolled over to find a shadowy person standing over the foot of her bed. With fright she almost leapt out of the mattress. At that point I figured she was awake enough so I would go ahead and get in. The mattress wasn’t really soft, but it was squishy. It was sort of like sleeping in one of those bouncy things that kids get into and jump around in. We slept soundly, well atleast I did, while Began Anna attempted to breathe softly and refrain her movements so as not to bounce me out of the bed. Now, in case you haven’t understood this, Began Anna is half the size of me. She couldn’t bounce me out of anything unless she used a jackhammer. Well, maybe if she tried hard enough…

We woke from our slumber the next morning, and on to our next adventure. The eye doctor.

It's the Great Cornish Game Hen, Began Anna

2010-09-24T15:13:00.000-05:00

*The names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved in the events mentioned.

Thanksgiving is a special time in my life. It was the only time once a year, that we as a family got to sit at the dining room table my mother had saved up for 6 years to buy. We pulled out the clunky blue and grayish colored dinnerware that we only used once a year, and the giant dark-blue gothic glasses to drink out of that we only used once a year, and my Great-Aunt Winda’s silverware set that we were afraid to eat off of because it had weird tarnish stains all over it. Dad would place the frozen turkey into the tub of mine and my sister’s bathroom to thaw. It would float around, bobbing back and forth while our weiner dog, Brownie, assessed how to best acquire the massive, floating bird for the morning. He only succeeded once.

We always ate the same thing, every year. The same drinks, the same meal, the same desserts. That’s how my family was. We remembered things by smells and tastes. We remembered things because of the food.

Well, this story isn’t memorable because of the food (well partially so), but it’s more memorable because of how it went down. The following events really happened. Some of it might have been exaggerated, but you won’t know which was and which wasn’t. So, in other words, it’s a sorta-true story, but most of it actually happened. It’s just told through my point of view.

As we all know, in seminary, money is tight. Really tight. I mean Fred Mertz tight. (If you don’t know who he is, shame on you. Look it up.) Not only was my first semester of seminary tight on money, but I also didn’t have a car and I had to learn how to walk in snow. (You use muscles you didn’t know existed! Seriously!) Since I didn’t have a car to get home to the glorious state of Georgia to see the fall colors and to eat my mother’s pie and watch the floating turkey and sit at the dining room table, I had to make alternate plans for my first Thanksgiving as a seminarian. There is a community meal that many students attend, but I was lucky enough to have been invited by a friend, we’ll call her Began Anna (you don’t say it like “began” as in the beginning of something, but more like you would say “bacon”). Began Anna and I had become great friends that first semester. We became close, and often times we mistaken for sisters on the L.

Began Anna knew of my sadness in not being able to go home to Georgia so she invited me to her family home in Albert Lea, Minnesota for a home-cooked Thanksgiving with her parents. I was delighted. Why not? I got dog sitters for the week and we planned out our mega-adventure. The week of Thanksgiving came faster than we anticipated, and we piled in her chariot of a car. I don’t think the trunk opened, but we got our things into the back seat of the car and made out for the north on a Monday morning.

We had about a 6 hour car ride ahead of us, so we decided to make the best of it. We talked about classes, what our Christmas plans were, churches we visited, and just general merriment. Now, what happened next, some might call a movement of the Holy Spirit, but the rest of us would call it just plain stupidity. About 2 and a ½ hours into the drive, Began Anna and I found ourselves driving into an Arby’s parking lot. We were among Cracker Barrels, Wendy’s, Burger King, McDonalds, and a few other food places. But somehow we were at Arby’s. What led to this is still a file in the Unsolved Mysteries pile that even Robert Stack wouldn’t know what to do with. (Again, if you don’t know who this is, you make bunnies cry. Look it up.) Either way, we found ourselves walking into the Arby’s. It was a gross and grey day outside, and it was also cold. So we walked inside all bundled up, not to the Cracker Barrel where we could sit by the fire and warm ourselves with a hot meal cooked on a griddle, but into an Arby’s. Began Anna ordered mozzarella sticks and a diet coke. I ordered fries, a dr. pepper, and some sort of roast beef sandwich.

First off, why did I buy a roast beef sandwich?! It’s sliced meat. And as is common knowledge (or should be), I do not eat sliced meat. It’s gross. It’s not natural. Second, it was smothered in the Arby’s sauce, which I personally find repulsive. Third, it was also smothered in a cheese-like-sauce that one can only describe as something that one should only ever eat at a county fair in Iowa with stale chips and only after several Milwaukie’s Best. I do not remember being sick or being possessed (but that could be the case, I suppose), but I ate. I ate about half of the sandwich, most of my fries and a few sips of my drink before I began to wonder what in the h-e-double hockey sticks I was doing.

Began Anna and I threw away most of our food upon remembering our disgust of the fast food, except for the drinks after discussing the bearded man sitting a few tables over from us. I don’t remember why we talked about him, but I am sure that it was something entertaining.

We returned to our golden chariot (actually it was white), and we began to continue to drive north. About 20 minutes later, Arby’s came back to visit. Began Anna and I began to feel sick. Now for those of you who don’t know, anytime Began Anna isn’t feeling good, she lets you know it. So I was immediately made aware of the discomfort in her bowels that matched mine. With moaning and tears we made our way to the first gas station we could find. It was a nice, clean and spacious traveler’s stop. Anyone would find it a fine place to rest and put gas in their car. We pulled in and made our way to the bathroom.

After a few minutes of agony, I felt much better, so I proceeded to wash my hands and exit the bathroom. Began Anna on the other hand wasn’t doing as well. It appears the mozzarella sticks were not sitting well with her. Which makes sense, I mean, its fried cheese. And since it came from Arby’s, it was probably fried cheese-like substance that was on my sandwich. She should have had a Milwaukie’s Best before-hand. I walked out into the store and I was astonished that they would sell liquor in a truck stop. Talk about bad ideas! I mean, really. Let’s just give people handheld little bottles of liquor to drink as they drive down the road. Someone’s a genius.

While I was reveling the in emotional turmoil of discovering liquor in a gas station, Began Anna was not doing as well back in the bathroom. After about 5 minutes, I could not find my pint-sized friend among the isles, so I went back into the bathroom to see if she needed help. She did.

Imagine a small animal waking up from anesthesia after surgery. It still has tubes in its mouth and its groggy and scared. Well that’s the equivalent of poor Began Anna’s suffering in that handicapped bathroom stall on that cold November day. She cried out to me, “It hurts. Make it stop.”

Just then a middle-aged woman walked out of her bathroom stall to glance at me as if to say “go take care of your dying child in there.” That’s not what she said, but she might have been thinking it. “Please make it stop,” the cries came from the stall. “I wish I could help,” was the best I could do. “Just keep trying to relax.” I waited by the sinks in the bathroom for a few minutes as poor Began Anna moaned and sweated through her agony.

“Did you know that they sell liquor in here?” I asked Began Anna.

“Well, duh. It’s a store; of course they sell that here. Have you never seen that?” Began Anna replied.

“No. You can only get liquor from a package store back home.”

“What’s a package store?” Began Anna asked.

“Like a liquor store, only called a package store because you drink out of the bottle in a brown paper bag.” I answered.

“I doubt it’s because of that.” Began Anna replied.

“Well, do you have any better suggestions?” I asked.

“No. But I wish my bum would stop hurting."

“Do you want me to get you some thing?” I asked.

“Like what?” Began Anna asked.

“You know, like maybe something like some Imodium AD.”

“Ok. Will that stop the hurting?”

“I don’t know but it might help.” I suggested.

“Ok.”

So I went to comb the shelves for some Imodium AD tablets. None. What kind of store was this?! So I had to return to Began Anna with sad news. “They don’t have any. What do you want me to do?”

“I think I’ll be okay for a while.” Just then I heard the toilet flush and Began Anna emerged from the bathroom tired, worn out and still in pain. She washed her hands and we were back into the car. Until the next gas station… Stay tuned for next week’s installment of It’s the Great Cornish Game Hen, Began Anna.

Home is not here anymore...

2010-08-01T12:15:00.000-05:00

After waking up from what feels like a nap that is making up for the past 8 weeks, I am ready to go home. Home as in Kimbark Street where things are quiet, the apartment is small and the local produce store is just 2 blocks away. The humidity exists only in my mind there and the breeze is always a guarantee. Cable doesn't exist in my apartment, but the NES is always on and ready to play. There's no stereo system but the record player always had a new needle in it to listen to the likes of John Denver, Jim Croce, Peter, Paul and Mary, and the man who wrote "Peace Train," Yusuf Islam, or as many of you know him, Cat Stevens.

Yes, I'm ready to go home. Ready to go back to my life of books, really strong coffee, community meals, Chicago Public Transit, Lake Michigan,even snow; and ready to go back to being myself.

Now, that's not to say that I'm not myself when I'm in Atlanta. I mean, Atlanta and I have a very special bond with each other. I've lived in Atlanta my entire life, up until I moved to Chicago. Atlanta has my favorite food (they even have a Jimmy John's here now!), the churches that support me, my best friends and the places that hold memories for me like in Carrollton at the coffee shop I used to work at. But I am ready to go back to being who I am now, not who I was. As much as I love Atlanta, I'm not the same person here I used to be, and that's a problem. I'm adapted to Chicago now, I've begun to make my life there, and I like that. I like being there because I have nothing to hide. I am exactly who I want to be; the person I've been trying to be my entire life. Maybe seminary got me there, I don't know. I think Deb Mullen had something to do with that...

The summer was wonderful, please don't think it wasn't. I experienced new people, new places within Atlanta, and learned that I could do more than I ever thought I could. I consider the summer a success. I didn't always mesh with the people I worked with but I learned a lot and made it through. Here's to another summer...

When I'm in Chicago I'm with people that know me for me. They know the hard things I don't want people to know, they know the things that I want people to know that most don't ever get to see, they walk my dogs and drop in for visits and some Mario; I not only am ready to go back to Chicago, I'm ready to go home to the people.

Drop Your Theology Down the Toilet and Listen to the Water Swirl

2010-07-02T09:04:00.000-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uOhD67028I

Fox News vs. Mr. Rogers

2010-05-08T14:56:00.001-05:00

Dear Fox News,

I recently saw your broadcast about Mr. Rogers.

My response to this is: you're wrong, as usual.

What's wrong with being special? Isn't that the message we're given from God? We're special simply because we are God's children and God created us. We're not special because we're better than someone else, we're special because we were made that way. End of story.

Why are you so worried about people thinking that just because they're special they are entitled to everything, or that these C's or B's they make aren't any good. First, people think they are entitled to everything because they're selfish. I know, what a shock! We're human, we think of ourselves. Why do you think that there are divorces, or robberies, or other crazy things? You could try and blame it on Mr. Rogers, but that just seems absurd. I don't every remember the king or any of the other puppets telling me that it was okay to "pop a cap in someone" because I felt like I was special and they weren't. Look at Scientology, it's all about the self, forget community. Is that what you're asking of us Fox? Scientology? Wow, you've really gone off the deep end.

Second, sometimes a C or a B is an okay grade. Everyone learns differently. Everyone has different strengths. If everyone made A's on everything, where would special fields in jobs be? Where would special scholarships be? Where would the diversity be? So, not only are you calling for us to be more individualistic and less community oriented, but you're also calling for us to think exactly the same... Make up your mind ladies and gentlemen.

Sincerely,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Seminary Student

Faith Statement

2010-04-26T19:38:00.001-05:00

I believe in one God, who is the parent to all of humanity and nature. God created humans in God’s own image, to be in relationship with God. God is neither male nor female but humans were created as such as a reflection of God. God created the world and universe out of nothing, called it good and because of this all of God’s creations are good and God is infinitely powerful. I believe that God is present in the suffering of humanity, not as the oppressor, but as the comforter to those that suffer at the hands of others and at the hands of evil. God is one of the three in the Holy Trinity.

I believe in Jesus Christ, who is the Son of God; fully human and fully divine at the same time. I believe that Christ is the direct link between humans and God for salvation through Christ’s death on the cross, his descent into hell, and his resurrection. Christ gives salvation for men and women, equally. I believe that in his life and in his death, Christ stands for the oppressed, sick and mistreated by humanity and at the same time, stands for the oppressors of humanity because Christ does not offer redemption to just a select few, but to all of God’s creation. Christ is one of three in the Holy Trinity.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, which is the breath of God that moves among humans, empowers humans to act and to do God’s work, is what holds the community of believers together along with God and Christ, and challenges humans daily through the mysteriousness of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is one of three in the Holy Trinity.

I believe that the church is the body of believers, which represents the body of Christ in community. I believe that the church is life-giving and supports those that are outcasts and sick and living on the margins of humanity.

I believe Scripture to be the divinely inspired word of God and a revelation from God as to how humans should live in relationship with God and in relationship with one another.

Through worship, humans rejoice in God, Christ and the Holy Spirit and are in communion with the Holy Trinity and with each other.

We partake in the Eucharist as an outward physical sign of Christ’s death, resurrection, and overcoming of evil in our world. By partaking in the Eucharist, we proclaim Jesus Christ as God’s Son, humanity’s Savior and humanity’s Redeemer.

Baptism is a symbol that humanity uses to claim us as God’s children and is an outward sign of our claim on every Child of God, into the community of believers. I believe in infant baptism as well as believer’s baptism; both forms represent God’s claim over humans and God’s Children. Through baptism, our sins are washed away and we are made new through God’s abundant and infinite grace.

I believe in the second coming of Jesus Christ and that it has yet to be fulfilled. At that time, we will be reunited with Christ, to live an eternal life with God.

~Spring 2010

Padded Seats

2010-04-13T17:59:00.000-05:00

Have you ever sat in a classroom or in a lecture and felt the urge? You know the one; the one my grandmother still refers to as "breaking wind." We all have had that moment at one time or another, some of us more than others. Maybe it depends on the day, maybe it's a usual thing for you. What do you do? I once had a family friend tell me that if you are sitting in a padded chair, "just let it out." Theoretically, the padding of the chair should absorb the sound and hopefully the smell. I'm not going to lie, it's worked for me. It can be a lifesaver if you have the urge, can't hold it in and/or might be in a situation where it is more than inappropriate. I don't ever take the padding of my chair seriously or appreciate it until it's not there.

This is exactly what we do in everyday life, we take things for granted until they are not there. Taking things for granted is one of the most basic human errors, I think. We don't appreciate people until they're gone or until something spurs us on to miss them, and many times, it's too late. We take our own lives for granted. It's just so easy!

I take my fortunes for granted every day. I try not to, but again, it's natural human error. Whether we're programmed that way or not, we do it. Recently our housing costs were raised more than 11% by our school. Needless to say, the students (I being one of them), were outraged. But this was all put into perspective by three other students that live in my building; Wonduk, Nayoung, and Ji-Tae. They found themselves in my apartment explaining their fears to me about this rent increase. As American students, we can take out additional loans to help us pay for our school, but these students cannot do such a thing. Being from Korea, they cannot take out loans from our government. They and their families that are over here working on their degrees, learning in a new language, are supported by other families in their churches back in Korea. They depend on these other people to help them in their education and in their ministries.

A rent increase of 11% is huge for these students. First, they have to ask for these funds from families back home who do not have much to begin with. Second, their money is worth far less than ours, less than half of what our American dollar is worth. So, for them, this isn't just about $100 extra a month, it's several hundred for them.

All this being said, I can't take what I have for granted. I'm not happy to pay more money in such a tough economy, but who is? In the end, it's only money. Only cotton and paper and fibers, dyed green to represent what someone has. I don't have more than $15 in my bank account at the moment, but I have so much more than many who have thousands of dollars in their accounts.

More Lessons Learned

2010-01-22T10:29:00.001-06:00

3. Sometimes you just have to take a nap.

Seminary is hard. It;s worth it, but it's hard. Not only are there classes to be in, readings to be done, exegesis' to finish, sermons to write, churches to be visited, but there are deacon meetings to be attended, choir to be rehearsed, spiritual guidance to be attended, work for conferences to be done; and then there is life outside of seminary (should you choose to have one), volunteer jobs to be done, people to see, places to go and so on. The list is never ending. The key:

Take a nap.

Take a nap, once a day. Even if it's only for 20 minutes. Take a few minutes and study the back of your eyelids. If I really need veg out time, go do it in front of a TV. I personally enjoy napping on the couch in our common room in my apartment building in front of some Law & Order. Heck, even the dogs take naps with me.

The point is, to slow down. This is a great time and I should enjoy it and not always be so stressed out. It's a way on consciously taking care of yourself. I could tell you to eat right at the same time, but that's too much for right now. I eat when I'm hungry and I eat what's in my fridge. Other than that, it's dinner from the local Noodles, etc. or from Johnny's Subs. You can never go wrong with those places. And if you're feeling especially hermitish, they both deliver and are pretty cheap for this neighborhood.

If a nap or some good food isn't the option, then there's always Lake Michigan. Personally, I do not walk over there unless the dogs are in need of a really long walk, which thanks to the cold, they aren't often. It's peaceful and relaxing as long as you are alright making your way through the traffic, which again, isn't bad.

Here's what I learned

2010-01-09T23:44:00.001-06:00

Since leaving the safety of home in Atlanta, I've learned more than enough to tide me over for quite some time. I mean that in the best way possible. This is not to say that I will not continue to learn and grow, because that would be just dumb, I hope to learn more. But what I did learn was sometimes a little scary, exciting and more than I would like to admit, bewildering. Here's what I've got on the list:

1. When buying bread and juice for communion, don't take the job lightly.

Upon our small group's worship service for our class, PIF (Pilgrimage in Faithfulness), I was left, at the last minute, to go buy bread and juice for the service. Cynthia Campbell, the President of our school, was to preside over communion with another one of our classmates who is already ordained. Worship was going smoothly for the most part. Running a little late, but still going smoothly. Communion was to be the relaxing part, or so I thought. My job was to be in charge of the service; in other words, I was like the wedding planner for our grand event. The only other job I had besides making sure that everything ran smoothly, was to serve communion. All I had to do was stand holding a chalice with the kosher juice I had fought some small old lady for at the produce store in Hyde Park, and offer it to the people saying, "the blood of Christ, Shed for you." Simple enough.

When I was informed I had to go buy bread for communion, I ran to the local produce store and searched for a soft, large, locally made loaf of some sort of white bread (Laura might insert something here about the bread being white...). I poked and prodded at different loafs to make sure there was no mold and to make sure of the softness. I found a large, round loaf of bread, which was made just hours before, and left the store with the elements for communion as well as a chocolate bar for my nerves at trying to pull this thing off. I returned back to the chapel and began setting up with everyone's help. Everything was going smoothly, until it was time to break the bread.

For those of you who don't know, being Presbyterian means doing things a very specific way. We have rule books and worship books filled with prayers that are acceptable and rules and regulations as to how everything is to be run. When you think about it, it's pretty neurotic but it's what many of us thrive on. So, when one small thing happens to throw something off, there's more than a moment of panic.

As I stated earlier, worship was going fine, until it was time for communion. To be honest, I wasn't paying attention very well until Cynthia began to break the bread, or atleast attempted to break it. What I did not realize was that I had gotten a type of bread that was quite tough to break. So, with her mousy little fingers, Cynthia held the bread above her head for all in the chapel to see as she struggled for what seemed minutes to tear the bread. I watched in horror as she attempted to pull apart, what seemed like a loaf of brown rubber. After fighting, and I am assuming, breaking a sweat, she managed to tear the bread into two pieces and placed them back onto the plate. Crisis avoided. Maybe not.

Once each of us took our place in the front of the chapel for everyone to come and have communion by intinction, we felt a little better. My friend Lora at my side held the bread as I held the juice. Then it began. It didn't register to me that because Cynthia couldn't break the bread maybe others wouldn't be successful either. People struggled and fought for their piece of Christ's body (not literally, we're not Catholic here...), as Lora attempted to hold onto it as best as possible without sending it flying across the room by force of being pulled. People would get a small piece and as soon as it would touch the juice, it was like magic, it was gone... not in people's mouths. It was the fear I had grown up with as a child when it came to communion. The disintegration of the bread in the juice.

What were people to do? Some were good sports about it and just smiled, and tired to pretend they were getting communion; something I saw a a nice gesture considering I was on the verge of a heart attack at the thought of people not getting their eucharist which I was responsible for. Others, however, had a bit harder time. They would pull off a piece and it would disappear into the juice only for them to try again and hold up the line of others waiting. Sometimes, Lora would simply tear off a piece for them and as they dipped the bread into the juice I would slowly lower the juice so they barely got a few drops onto their bread. Not enough to soak the bread, but enough to see Christ's blood (again, not literally) and that they got some of it.

It was all over after a few minutes, and after the benediction I could breathe. I didn't have a heart attack but I thought I was going to at the moment. The world didn't end. Yes, Cynthia Campbell probably did break into a sweat, but what is a good communion without a sweat?

So what did I learn?

Choose your bread wisely.

2. Dress warmly and don't let yourself get dry.

Living in Chicago is great. There is amazing food, wonderful cultures to explore, Lake Michigan, good music, more than one person's share of parks, art, and some of the most stunning architecture that even God might create. All of this said, it's a cold city. It's also a windy city as well as a not-so-humid city.

Being someone who was born and raised in Georgia, and spent my free time growing up on the shores of South Carolina and Savannah, GA, I have grown quite accustomed to hot weather and humidity. I was looking forward to moving somewhere that it would not follow. I did not realize that my skin and the rest of my body had acclimated as well. I thought it was in my head. Wrong.

August and September were nice. Sunny, not very windy and even a little warmish some days. Then October hit. It got cold. Well, it got Georgia cold, so it was cold for me. Then December hit. Then there was snow.

I will leave you with this... my dogs both wear snow shoes. Pigeon's are red and DiDi's are blue. I will leave you to speculate on the rest.

To be continued...

The First Thnaksgiving

2009-12-06T15:45:00.001-06:00

What is it about humans that makes us so obsessive over food? People devote their lives to food. Chefs go to school and dream one day of gaining Micheline Stars for their work; magazines for only food and wines; TV shows like Top Chef and Hell's Kitchen; we even have an entire channel dedicated to food! What it is about food that makes us to excited?

In his book, Sacraments of Life, Life of Sacraments, Alexander Boff talks about how as people of faith (and even those not) turn simple, everyday things into sacraments which hold meaning for us. They don't necessarily mean the same thing to everyone, but they hold signifigance. They remind us of something. Like the Eucharist in church. Some people treat the Eucharist as an "upper-room" kind of sacrament, quite, solemn, and in rememberance of a funeral. Others, choose to view it as a celebration, like the loaves and fishes story, as a celebration of the risen Christ and the miracles he can do. Either way, its something that brings about memory. And these memories are what are important to us. They are the things we hold on to.

When I think about being at home I think of my favorite places to eat, Fat Matt's Rib Shack on the northside of Atlanta, the Flying Bisicut off McClendon Avenue, Doc Chey's in Virginia Highlands, and the Watershed in Decatur. All of these places not only have amazing food, but they hold memories. Fat Matt's is where we go after hitting the Sweetwater Brewery, the Flying Bisicut is for Sunday morning brunches, Doc Chey's for cold days with friends, and the Watershed for first dates and celebration dinners with friends.

This Thanksgiving I changed my tradition and found new sacraments. I drove with Megan to Albert Lea, MN to spend the week with her parents. Not only was it the most entertaining weekend I ever spend in such cold, but the food was there. The same sacraments were there but because it was with different people and we did different things. But we came together because of the food. We know that the food will bring us together, it will give us new memories and new reasons to be together. So now, when I think of being in cold weather and being with friends and going to community Christmas pageants, I'll think of Megan's family and friends and cornish game hens.

Learn How to Love for Dummies

2009-11-12T22:28:00.001-06:00

I live everyday as a seminary student. My life revolves around it. I study for school, eat at school, live in seminary housing, work a job on campus, serve as a deacon for the junior class, and worship on campus. Everything I do revolves around the church and seminary. Needless to say, sometimes I just need a minute away from the God-talk. It's great and all, but sometimes I just need to be outside of the academic world of the Bible. I don't have to leave my Christianity behind; in fact, I pride myself for taking it with me everywhere I go.

I have found something outside of seminary that I love and look forward to each week. The Center on Halsted. It's a community center in the grandest sense. The building is environmentally friendly, it's a safe space for everyone, and there are endless possibilities there. I am a volunteer with the youth program there. I'm still in my training, which is long... An 8 week program to be exact. 'Why?' you ask, well because these aren't just any youth, they are youth without a home. Youth that have been turned away from their families, friends and often times have been made to feel as though God is even against them simply because they are different. My place in all this: I get to be with these youth and I don't ever even have to say God or Christ, yet I can share it with them. I can let them know that people care and are there to empower them.

I'm lucky. I have a warm home, bed and a fridge full of salad, milk and the occasional Ritter Sport bar. I have dogs to welcome me home and I have a safe neighborhood to walk home through. I have a Starbucks on the corner from my apartment and a fresh produce market two blocks from my place that has the most amazing pink lady apples and sourdough bread. I have shoes galore in my closet and plenty of laundry to be done on a weekly basis. I even have a heated mattress pad. I live a great life. But these kids live a different kind of life. Squatting in abandonded houses and buildings to sleep at night, eating whatever they can get from anyone, waiting for something to happen.

So who on earth rejects people like this? Who forces people to live like this?

We do. Those of us that turn our backs against each other and on those that are different than us. Seriously, where is the love? I'd like to believe that love is there. We're just seeing different shades of it.

One of the most amazing philosophers, Soren Kierkegaard, writes in his Works of Love, that love is simply love. There is nothing greater and it is all encompassing. I think he's right and when we only love a little bit or we cut off love when we find out something we don't like, then it's not love. Love never was there. We need to learn how to love. We're not paying very good attention. We twist things around so that the messages of love we have in front of us are suddenly used for opression of something we might not be comfortable with.

They say that in several generations things will change. Each generation becomes more accepting and open-minded. I say, why on earth do we have to wait that long? The excuses of "that's how we did it back in my day," or that people "aren't ready to change their ways," are simply a big old crock-pot. We can change, but no one wants to. No one wants to try. Until we start trying, we'll never begin to truly love. We'll just be caught somewhere in between love and what we want love to be.

Morning Markings...

2009-10-30T00:38:00.001-05:00

Pigeon and DiDi share the couch when possible.

Please don't think me strange, but it has come to my attention that my dogs are more popular than I am. All things considered, popularity is not something that I have ever been too concerned with, but if Pigeon and DiDi were ever concerned, they need not be anymore.

When my professors see me, one of the first things I get asked is, "so, how are the dogs? Do they still like Chicago?" or my friend Angel asks, "how are my babies today?" I have some friends that come over just to see them. Pigeon gets the sympathy card for being blind, DiDi gets it because Pigeon gets all the attention. So it balances out. They have even made friends with the local pet store people. About once a week they go in for a visit while on a walk and get lots of treats from the girl behind the counter and get to visit with their little pomeranian friends. And when people from home call, they always ask about the dogs. Of course, they ask how I am too, but people realize what an important pat of my life they are. They are after all, part of my ministry most days. The neighborhood kids even know them as the dogs that you can hug. I know this sounds silly, but God gave me a great gift in my dogs. (Maybe this is why I am still single...)

Each morning I wake up in my one bedroom apartment in Hyde Park on the south side of Chicago. I don't have my glasses on yet, but I can always look to my left and there on the floor, side by side are two large masses, one dark brown and the other yellow, slowly and gently moving up and down. I can hear them breathing, and sometimes snoring. They seem to know me better than I know myself. They lie practically motionless until they finally hear me let out my daily residual sigh that I must get out of bed. Once they hear that breath they jump together. Pigeon knocking herself over with her happiness and her tail and DiDi with her slow, cat-like stretch. They make their way to the side of the bed and fight for my free hand to pet them. Although blind, Pigeon knows exactly where I am so she can fight DiDi for my morning affection.

I go to the restroom and they sit outside and wait. Afterwards, I walk into the kitchen to turn on the kettle for my morning tea. I usually turn the computer on, raise the blinds in the apartment, turn on Peter, Paul and May's "Where have all the flowers gone?" and begin to get dressed. By this time they have resigned that they will go out at the same time as every morning, after the tea kettle has whistled. Pigeon on the couch with DiDi sleeping in an open crate with pillows, or with DiDi on the couch and Pigeon curled up on my bed, sleeping among my mass of pillows.

The morning walks consist of running down the alley behind our apartment to the gate, which we then proceed out onto the sidewalk for morning markings. DiDi uses the restroom out of necessity, Pigeon, on the other hand, uses it out of spite, I am sure. She patiently waits until DiDi is done and marks her territory directly on top of DiDi's scent. Next, we make our way to the park a block over. I'll spare you the details, but I do wish to say that each morning, before I even get to enjoy my tea, I have to take care of someone else's crap. Take that as you will.

After the morning walk they settle in, that is of course, after they have had several treats. They find their places in the apartment where they are happy for the time being. Bones are strewn all over the house as well as kong chew toys and the water bowls are plentiful.

I leave for campus or church, and each time I leave and return, no matter for how long, it is though I have been gone for eternity. Nothing seems to make them happier than my safe return. And nothing makes me happier than their continual love.

This is what we get from dogs, love like God. Let's face it, God spelled backwards is dog. They have no judgment, they have a memory of around 5 minutes at max (so you are completely forgiven for yelling at them when they eat your shoe or get into the garbage), and they are totally dependent upon you for their survival.

When kids at camp would ask me if I thought animals went to heaven, I can't help by hope that Pigeon and DiDi will be there too. Obviously, their life span is much shorter than a humans, but I can't help but wish that they would be here for as long as I am. I can't imagine having a family without them, or growing old without them. They have been my constant companions for over 5 years now. That's not something easily given up. But the whites on their chins are beginning to show, and it saddens me to see that. When they were puppies and still young they would roll around the house, playing constantly. Now, older and probably a bit wiser, they sleep most of the time, chew on their bones and watch me as I do my Hebrew homework, attempting to dissuade me from working so I will give them the ever anticipated belly scratch.

I don't suggest college kids getting animals, but I don't regret mine. I don't regret the money spent on medicine and special dog food for DiDi and her sensitive stomach, or the nights that were sleepless because Pigeon had to go the the emergency room because she ate an entire bag of dog food. I don;t regret them, ever. They were a gift, and I think it would be much harder to live away from family and friends right now without them. They make it feel like home.

Pigeon snuggling with her bone.

Another week of Debauchery

2009-10-19T01:16:00.001-05:00

Ok, not so true. There has been no debauchery going on. Mostly studying and going to class. I'm having to fight to even write a post, blogging has never been my thing. Sharing all of this information with everyone is quite difficult. Mostly because people don't need to know everything. Some things are private and should be kept that way. So why am I doing this?

Reason 1: I'm in a new city, with new people, going to seminary. I want people to be updated. There are so many people out there who love and support me. People who are praying for me and who call me or e-mail me to check on me. I want them to be updated and to let them know that first, I'm alive and well. I'm thriving. I've never known God to be so amazing. (I knew He was but seminary is a whole new ball game...) Second, I do appreciate everyone and all that they have done for me and given me.

Reason 2: I spoke with one of my pastors about doing this before I left. He seemed to think it was a good idea. It might give me a way to work things out in writing. But how do you work things out when you have to censor yourself? Like I said earlier, there are some things that don't need to be shouted from the rooftops until you are ready to share them and have throughly thought them through. (Try saying that last part three times fast...) But maybe it will give me an outlet. I don't know who is reading this and I'm not sure that anyone will... I don't really read other peoples blogs on a regular basis, only when I think about it. So why should I assume that people will read mine? Well, I guess I should assume that no one will and I do this only for myself.

I just turned in a paper on baptism. Infant baptism. I believe in it; that's not to say that adult baptism isn't great, it is but it's not the only option. But is it an option, you ask, if you don't choose it? Well then, let me put it this way, you're already a child of God, you don't get a choice there. The choice you have is whether or not you're going to live that part out. That's where that darned thing called "free will" comes into play. (It's great but sometimes I want to kick myself for how it plays out sometimes.)

In infant baptism, someone else makes a choice to take part in a sacrament that is an outward symbol that we are claimed by God at birth. They make a promise to care for the child, and make a covenant with God that they will raise the child to know and love God; they take on the responsibility to raise the child ethically and in God's love to know and understand God and to become an active participate in their own baptism. Yes, I said active participant.

When you're baptized, it's only the beginning of your ministry (yes, YOUR ministry). Jesus began his minstry when he was baptized, so let's get on with it. I perfer to get started early. Your baptism is not complete until your death. So, those people, that community that you are involved in, are making a covenant with God (not a contract or simply a promise, but a covenant), that they will take on all the responsibility for you, teach you how to be responsible with God and your relationship with Him, and then empower you to do the same as them for others after you. Personally, I find that pretty big and hard to wrap my head around.

When I think of my own baptism, I think of the stories I was told. My grandparents were there, my parents, my older sister. And all the people that I have grown up with in my life. Those people made a promise to love me and care for me. And they did just that. Sure, people don't always do such a good job, probably because they don't understand the responsibility that comes with baptising someone. When an audlt gets baptized, they can make their own deicisons, it's less of a community effort and more about the individual being washed clean into a new life with Chirst. Well, I hate to break it to them, but Christ was always there, they just had to look for him.

I love it when people say, "I didn't have Christ in my life until so and so..." Um, he was there. Yep, sure as my dog is blind, he was always there.

Gotta love busy schedules!

2009-09-12T15:40:00.006-05:00

(CAPTION: What we have here is apparently the Universal Health Institute, found in a random hallway some where in downtown Chicago behind an Italian restaurant. The girl in the photo is ny friend Megan, who often gets mistaken for my sister...)

Dear friends and family,

Can I just say once more, I love Chicago. And I love seminary. This is truly the place where God wanted me. It's such an amazing feeling of peace here, but it's not without challenge. I find that I am discovering new things left and right, it's amazing.

I've filled my schedule with lots of things, but I do have study time, promise. First, I joined the choir. It's easy enough, I just show up and sing and we sing at worship every Wednesday night in chapel. I also was elected as a student deacon by my peers. Which I'm super excited about. We're going on a retreat in October to a retreat center associated with the Poor Handmaidens of Jesus Christ. It should be a restful weekend of prayer and discernment which I am looking forward to. This weekend I completed a training session to work as a volunteer at the Center on Halstead. It's an amazing place that really brings together community. I'm going to work with their youth and I start my second training session for that in October. I'm also going to work a few hours a week with the South Chicago YMCA doing some life guarding, that is if we can get the schedule worked out.

So I know it seems like I've got a lot on my plate, and I do. I still have to visit churches to find a church home up here. I'm looking for something with lots of different people and a worship service that isn't the same as what I am used to. I have lots of options and plenty of time to find a place to call home while I'm here before I do my field studies in my second year.

My classes this semester are Pilgrimage in Faithfulness (PIF), Intro to Biblical Studies (IBS), Hebrew Exegesis 1, and Queer Fear and Faithful Dissent: The Church and Homosexuality. The last class is with my advisor, Deborah Mullen. She's an amazing woman to talk with. We share dog photos.

I've been exploring Chicago a bit. I've been to Millennium Park to see the sculpture, I've seen the Chicago library (WOW!), I've been to the lake, gone to see downtown, and so on. Last night I went with some friends to a fundraiser for a local church in the Presbytery up here, Wicker Park Presbyterian, and we saw a great comedy show by some very talented actors. Afterwards we went for food and drinks and then made our way home.

Public transportation has been interesting to learn. I left my car in Atlanta with mom so I've either been biking, walking or taking the bus, subway or train everywhere. It's been quite an experience and I've enjoyed it. It brings me closer to the community. I can't shut myself up in my car; instead, I walk and meet people and take the dogs places. It's quite lovely.

I can't tell you all how wonderful this all is to me. I love seminary and can't believe that I'm in a place where there are such different yet like-minded people here to do the same work as me. This is truly where God wants me to be and I'm doing my best to keep on doing His work. Whatever that is.

I hope that this finds all of you well. I miss the south but not the humidity.

Cheers,
Shelley

To the Members of CPC

2009-09-10T01:42:00.003-05:00

I'm almost finished with my first week of classes here at McCormick. So far the classes are fine and is well. With all of the new people in my life and the new places to go and see I find myself a little homesick. Not for the places, but for people. I miss the people I saw on a regular basis back home.

I never wanted Carrollton, GA to become my home, but it did. And for that I am glad. Don't get me wrong, Chicago is amazing, but no place is like the home you just came from. I find myself walking more, being more conscious about recycling and spending my money, and the dogs even get more exercise. I can't just let them go to the restroom in the front yard because there is no front yard here. I have to get up, walk them down to the park and clean up after them. (I know you wanted to know that)

But I also find myself more aware of myself as an individual; as a child of God. Coming from one background into a place with so many different people of different backgrounds, I have taken time to re-examine myself and where I fit into all of this. I have also become more aware of my social context. Mostly that I am a southerner living in the north. But that is part of what shapes who I am and shapes my story.

All of the people in Carrollton and at CPC are part of my story. People who have challenged me and people who have comforted me. I look forward to seeing everyone again and catching up, but for now, I will work on my story here, in Chicago. Thanks again for the love and support. I look forward to hearing from each of you. Please, send me your stories and let me know how things are going.

Peace,
Shelley

Chicago Life

2009-09-05T14:34:00.004-05:00

Dear friends,

I hope this finds you well. Chicago life is great. Although, I do miss home quite often, I am reminded how wonderful I have it. God is truly good. I have been given a lovely apartment, a possible job, new and wonderful friends who I can be completely comfortable with, and a new school with wonderful professors.

I left my car back home in Atlanta and only find myself missing it when I want to be alone. Strange. When I need to go somewhere such as the grocery store or the bike shop, I simply walk or ride my bike. As I am traveling along I see people I have met and know. I walk by shops and cafes and I know the people sitting inside of them. Even though I walk alone, I am always with others. When I do need alone time I have my apartment. How lonely was I with my car?

This is not saying that a car is not a good thing. I will need it next year for my field studies. But to not have it saves me money, time and keeps me physically active, every day!

I cannot thank the people enough for everything I have been given, nor can I thank God enough for the people in my life. But as I go to being my new classes in a new city with new people in a new school, I will do my very best.

Peace,
Shelley

Update 1

2009-08-27T23:10:00.003-05:00

Hi everyone.

Well, I'm in Chicago. I'm moved in and all is running smoothly. The ride up here was not the most fun, but I had a friend with me and we made it. We left the house about 5am on Monday morning and left from there. We made it up here about 6:30pm Chicago time. I was greeted by an old friend, Melissa, who promptly took me around to see everything then called some of her friends to help move me in. With all the help we did it in about 30 minutes. It was amazing.

Tuesday was a bit confusing. I woke up, not knowing where I was and then remembered that I had to take the truck to the drop off place. So after driving and getting completely lost in downtown Chicago with a huge truck, I managed somehow to make my way home on the L and a bus.

That's about as exciting as it gets. I've got my bike fixed up and ready to go for school and my travels around the city. I have a great apartment in the very middle of Hyde Park, and the dogs and I are finally settled and unpacked. That's all.

God is good, all of the time.
All of the time, God is good.

Peace,
Shelley

To the Members of Stockbridge Presbyterian Church

2009-08-22T23:47:00.001-05:00

Many years ago, before my eight years of college, I knew my calling was in the church and that I was going to go to seminary.

In April of this year, I was accepted into McCormick Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Chicago.

6 weeks ago I was going to defer because I could not afford the moving costs.

Now, I am leaving tomorrow morning with my two dogs and a moving truck for 5537 South Kimbark Avenue in Chicago, Il, because of the people here.

There is no way I could have made this move without you. You are the reason I am going to seminary right now. You are the reason I knew I was meant to serve the church. You are part of the reason I am still here today.

In times such as these, I often wonder how the church survives. Things are so unstable in our world. But then I look around. I look at people I do not know and those that have changed my diapers. And I know I am loved. I know I am supported. And I thank you. I don’t know how to thank you properly, but I will do my best.

When I was studying under my mentor, Dr. Mark Tietjen, a graduate of Princeton Theological Seminary and one of my Philosophy professors, I read a great book by Soren Kierkegaard called “Works of Love.” A book that changed my life. It talks about love never being deceived, because no matter what, love expects everything that humans can throw at it. Love is a concept, Kierkegaard says, that as humans, we have trouble grasping. And we do, I believe. I don’t know that my trouble is grasping love so much as how to deal with overwhelming love. The overwhelming love I have been shown by the people here.

I not only go to seminary to work for God, but I go as a representative for Stockbridge and Carrollton Presbyterian Churches. I am honored to do this, and will do my very best. I will fall, and I will pick myself back up; but I will do so knowing that I am loved by the people here.

I cannot thank you enough for what you have given me. Money is only a human object, but love, love is Godly thing.

Swimming Pools

2009-08-10T21:30:00.005-05:00

Have you ever found yourself going through life in slow-motion? That's about how I feel right now. I know that my impending move to Chicago is coming, so I'm starting to think about how I won't see my friends for a while. Granted, I'll make new ones. But there's nothing wrong with the old ones. But every where I go I seem to walk a few paces behind everyone, taking everything in.

I recently found myself all alone at the pool.

I was lifeguarding at Calvin Center, my job of 8 years. The group left the pool an hour early, so, being hot from sitting in the sun for an hour, I jumped in. I floated around for a while, sunglasses on, lifeguard tube under my shoulders holding up my head; and I just floated. Out of 8 years I have never, ever, had the pool all to myself. So I just took it in. There was no breeze and the air was hot and thick. The water wasn't even that cold, but the silence was a first.

What happens when something is impending on us? I know Chicago is coming, and I am more than excited. I think it will be an amazing challenge, but what if I forget? What if I forget the people and the places? What if I forget the sounds of being on a porch, late at night, in the rain? What if I forget the food? No, scratch that, I think I'll remember the food. But the people. Will I always be grateful to them, or is it just now?

Maybe my "impending" move doesn't scare me, but I scare myself with the realization that I am human and might forget people. I don't want them to think I moved on and forgot about them, because it's so easy to do. But I do have to move on. And I don't have to forget.

I mean, really, who could forget those boys?

Fake College Degrees

2009-08-04T21:20:00.003-05:00

If you go to college and earn your degree, it's a real degree, right? It comes with all the merits and responsibilities and experiences that one would expect when earning a degree, or does it?

Before you read on: CAUTION. My opinion might make some angry and it is quite one-sided.

Online degrees are now becoming the new trend. Just as leg warmers were made famous by Jennifer Beale in FlashDance, so now are online schools becoming popular. But not because of a celebrity, but because of their easily accessible degrees to the average person. Their appeal is quite obvious. Earn your degree without ever leaving your home or stepping foot onto a college campus and instantly get a job in a field where workers are needed. As a philosophy major, I find no appeal to something that would further my social akwardness.

One of the points of being a scholar in any field is interaction. Interaction with other students, professors, and people in general. As part of the philosophical process, students and scholars interact, have dialogues, arguments, and discuss opinions, ideas and hypothesize about what could or could not happen in certain situations. I could go on and on about this, but any rational human being can clearly see that this lack of interaction is a dangerous thing. How on earth does one learn and expand without others?

I decided to do a random search, to see if I could find an online program for nursing degrees online. Thinking to myself that this would not be possible because nurses have to work with people face to face and they they would need field experience before getting their degree. But, alas, I was wrong. Online schools such as Kaplan University School of Nursing, Drexel University and Walden University, and a few others, all offer online nursing degrees. No classrooms to step into, no people to talk with face to face, no people to practice drawing blood from, just a computer. No offense, I don't want a nurse that went to an online school for his or her degree. So, if you are a nurse reading this and you have an online degree, please just walk away from me before I ask you to leave.

Also, I really don't feel as though someone who has gotten an online degree has put in as much work as someone who actually went to college. So why do they get the same piece of paper as me? I won't go on about this anymore, but let's be honest here: raise your hand if you got an online degree. If you are raising your hand right now, good for you. You got a degree. I earned mine.

The Mighty Ducks

2009-08-01T23:07:00.002-05:00

In my first year of working the best job ever as a camp counselor, I had a kid we'll call Danny. He had a syndrome called Prader-Willi Syndrome. He came to camp each year to ride the horses and live life as a normal kid. Only had had to be stopped from eating too much so he wouldn't over eat; had to take shots daily on regular intervals throughout the day so he could live. He would fall asleep during the most inconvenient times, like in the middle of the woods, in the red clay, while it was raining. No joke. But what I remember most was his love for the Mighty Ducks movies. You know, the ones with the young Joshua Jackson. He never could comprehand that we could not do a skit on the Mighty Ducks because the other children voted against it. There were alligator tears that night, then he fell asleep. One night he ate an extra plate of onion rings. (For those of you who don't know, Prader-Willi Syndrome causes the person to possibly eat themselves to death. There is no switch inside of them that says when they are full.) So typically we monitored Danny's food intake. And I guess we didn't see him get his second plate of onion rings that night after dinner. Needless to say, he began to smell quite stinky. So, Paul, our boss, Dennis, our UC, and Blake, my co-counselor, all told Danny to take a shower. Their conclusion was that this poor child had gone to the bathroom in his pants, hence the smell. So once he was in the shower, the boys called into him. "Stay in the shower and do not come out until we tell you to!" So Danny did as told. One of the guys took a large stick and hooked his underpants, needing to check and make sure how bad the track lines were. Needless to say, there were none to be seen. The poor child had gas, and only gas.

Danny passed away a few years later. It was an accident and there was no sadder day than when he passed away. It was the alrgest funeral Henry County, Georgia ever saw, or ever will again for that matter.

There is no point for this story, except for the fact that he is a child I will never forget.

This photo does not include him, as this is a more recent photo of a camping experience I had with some kids in North Carolina. I don't have a photo of Danny, but I still remember him.

Foreword

2009-07-26T15:57:00.001-05:00

This is the beginning, well of this blog anyways. I don't have time to write the world, individually, sorry, but it's just the truth. So here I will attempt to keep people updated about what's going on. So next time I hear, "you never call," or "I never know what's going on with you!" I won't feel bad. I'm a protestant, so I lack the gene that causes guilt... The main problem with something like this is that when it comes to a text, it can so easily be misunderstood. So try your best to break this down and pray the text remains open to you, the reader. Take it from the never-ending hermeneutical experience.

Pigeon, DiDi, Amelia D. and I are moving in a few weeks... well I think so. We are going to Chicago's Hyde Park between Lake Michigan and Washington Park. I'm the everlasting student, I always have flavor; 32 of them, to be exact.

This is not a picture of my dog. This is Tori, my friend Kim's dog. I like the picture, so sue me. I wish I had something interesting to blog about, but I am not Amy Adams playing cooking my way through a famous cook book, I'm just finishing the last Harry Potter book. Don't tell me what happens. And I'm not dying or sick, so I haven't had any major revelations. I'm still looking for another revelation. Trust me, I'll let you know when I discover another one. But maybe this will help me one day, I'd like to write a book. I'm not the best writer, but how many of you out there are? It's all up in the air, simply waiting for me to make the decision. You can watch... it might not be pretty. But that's up to you to decide.