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Monday @ MISA.

22 Jul

Hello again from the island.

photo-108

It was a picture-perfect day on many accounts.  Classes began today.  There are three going on at the school this week – a painting course [with the hot instructor who again today only buttoned his shirt halfway], a writing course, and the one I’m taking.  What am I taking?  Good question.

I told people who asked before I came that it is a writing class.  That’s half true.  It’s writing and it’s art.  It’s all about journaling and honesty and creativity and approaching our inner-critic.  [You know, that voice that tells you you’re not good enough or your work sucks or you’ll never be as good as so-and-so.  We all have them.  Mine seems to come out a lot around my ministry so this is the perfect continuing education class for me.]  I’m not sure how it all comes together yet but we will learn one new art technique and one new writing technique each day.  It should be interesting and hopefully helpful.

If anything else, it is simply grand being here in this location.  Our class [held in the barn pictured above] ended around 3 this afternoon; we had free time to do practically anything.  We could have done our homework but me?  I took to the road.

There are a stash of bikes that hang out at the school.  First come, first serve.  I took one with a low seat; it was a cruiser, ie just one speed.  It’s a cool looking bike and I felt retro-awesome riding it but the one-speed aspect may have made the ride a bit harder than it needed to be.  Nonetheless, I took off.  I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going to go.  I turned left into the bike lane.

About 4.5 miles later, I ended up at Big Bay State Park.  I biked some more and when the roads ran out, I walked the trails alongside my bike.  A deer to the side of the path startled me and biting flies attacked me.  The view was stunning, as one can only imagine.  Four and a half miles back to the art school and my butt was beat.  It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden a bike – especially that far – and that seat was not super comfy the last couple miles.  That’s not saying it wasn’t worth it – it was.

I went into town for dinner and ended up at the same restaurant as my class instructor so we had dinner together.  [Plan A was to have my kindle as my date.  Conversation with an actual person was probably better.]  After that, I sat on a pier and watched the sun go down before returning to pajamas and last night’s Endeavour online.

Why can’t this be real everyday life?  *sigh*  Enjoying it while I can.

The Stolen’s Museum.

15 May

I went home this past Sunday for one quick night after a full weekend of work and a busy Sunday morning.  I went home to join my family at Geep’s.  We gathered at Grandpa Sid’s house to clean it out.  It was not the ideal way to spend time together, going thru Grandpa’s cabinets and out buildings and packing up boxes.  Not ideal at all but we found some fun moments in the midst of it.

Grandpa Sid labeled everything.  Everything.  Need a broom?  Naturally, it’s hanging on a nail that above it in pencil is written BROOM on the wall.  A key?  It’s on a nail with the word KEY written and circled above it.  Wonder what that light switch turns on?  It’s probably labeled.

Need a hammer?  No need to label those by writing on the wall because they were located every five yards.  I bet we found thirty hammers.  Hammers everywhere.  Never more than a few steps from anywhere.  I talked to the Alaska brother, Ben, on the phone the day after and he asked how it went, not being able to be there himself since he was – you know – in the arctic.  We found a lot of hammers, I said.  I bet you did, he chuckled.  It really was no surprise.

What else did we find?  Admission prices to the Stolen’s Museum.  See, the garage/shed on my Grandpa’s property used to house, oh, 30-some restored gas pumps and old, classic tractors.  I actually invited one of my school classes there for a field trip one year in elementary school.  There were also vintage cream separators and classic metal gasoline and tobacco signs.  It was very nearly an actual museum.  According to the perfect printing in the cement on the floor of the museum – done by one father, John, who wrote in all pieces of wet cement – it was closed on Sundays.  And now it’s nearly empty.

I picked rhubarb from Grandpa’s patch and came home with a china set of Grandma’s.  [A pattern of china which, oddly enough, I drank coffee from on a home visit today.  I’d never seen the pattern before Sunday and now it seems to be stalking me.]  I think my Grandma would be happy to know that her Pyrex bowls will continue to live on in my kitchen, and that the mason jars from the cellar are finding new homes too.

It still is indeed sad to think that I may never again set foot on that property.  I’ve known it all my life.  I would walk down the waterway and across the creek to visit and steal fudgesicles from the freezer in the summer.  As us kids got older, we would ride our bikes around the block and Grandma and Grandpa’s was always our stop for water before we attempted to ride up the hill home again. It’s the porch on which I placed a May Day basket on many a May 1st, and the kitchen table at which I chatted with Grandpa over an open atlas.  And there was always a hammer available when you needed one.

Top floor of the museum. Empty now.
Old election signs.
Oh, look. It’s a hammer.
Pencil on wall. Classic.
Under 12 free.
Hey. A hammer.

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Dear Lindsay of middle school,

24 Apr

As a pastor who loves working with confirmation-aged kids, I catch glimpses of my own past middle school experience as the confirmation kids share their own experiences.  I slightly remember* what it was like to be awkward and a seventh grader.  It wasn’t easy.

I was so incredibly lucky to have awesome friends.  More or less the same awesome friends I still have now.  [Dancing Banana shout-out!]  But there was still drama.  There was judging.  There is terrible shit that goes on in middle schools.  And I can’t imagine it if one doesn’t have awesome friends.

There are a couple gals in my confirmation class that often only have lows to share in the rounds of highs & lows.  A lot of time, those lows are there’s just lots of drama at school.

Ugh.  Drama.

What I want to say to them is much like what I would say to my own middle-school self –

Dear Lindsay of middle school,

Being popular doesn’t matter for shit.  Forget those queen bees.  They suck.  You should just be nice to everyone.  [And probably not say people suck.  That wasn’t nice, future Lindsay.]

Be friends with the people who make you happy and people with whom you can be yourself and silly.  Form a gang.  Call it Oatmeal.  Make cardboard necklaces for everyone in the gang with raw oats glued to them.  Your name as gang leader shall be Raisin. **

The boys are pretty cute, aren’t they?  But don’t worry about them.  Just because they’re eye candy doesn’t mean they’re worth crying over.

School work is important but trying to get straight A’s isn’t worth sick stomachs and sleepless nights.  And hey – good job on that newspaper writing competition.

Please, quit wearing the over-sized flannel shirts and carpenter jeans sooner than later.

That one day, after school, when marching band rehearsal gets out late and everyone sprints back to the band room – hold onto your flute a little tighter.  Trust me.

The drama will end.  It will be okay.

Signed,

Future Lindsay

I started to write this post before confirmation met tonight.  I finish it after confirmation.  After the one confirmand who-never-has-a-high-and-her-low-is-always-drama had a high that the drama has ended.  Hallelujah.  Confirmation was awesome tonight.  Not only did every seventh and eighth grader have a high – if not many – we threw out our lesson for the night because all they wanted to do was ask questions.  About God.  About the Bible.  About doubts.  We tackled a few tonight the best we could and they made a list for next week.  Here’s to the freedom to ask questions and doubt in church.  Important stuff.

* I quite literally remember NOTHING about my seventh grade year.  It’s a blur to me.  I remember some of sixth grade and some of eight but seventh?  Nada.

** True story.

What’s in my meal-prepped fridge this week?

21 Apr

I’m so glad you asked.

I just finished cutting veggies, washing fruit, and cooking rice for my week. I haven’t done the dishes yet; those can wait for tomorrow. Or Tuesday. We’ll see.

I started doing my weekly grocery shopping and meal prep a couple Sundays ago and I must say – it is pretty awesome. The Sunday night is crazy and the clean-up sucks. But the rest of the week is pretty low key, clean, and worth it.

I’m only one person. I can’t imagine doing this for a family! Being one, I basically make one main dish and will eat that for one lunch/supper a day. The second meal is typically a salad, and breakfast – dear breakfast – is so simple and yet so my favorite. I also try and cut up a bunch of veggies and fruit to have handy for snacks. Easy peasy, light and breezy.

This week’s main dish: Bok choy brown rice salad with orange sesame dressing. Minus the bok choy. I am making a conscious decision right now to admit failure to you; please be easy on me. When I got home tonight and did a little research AFTER my grocery store run, I figured out that what I thought was bok choy in the florescent light of Hyvee was indeed a leek. I’ve never bought either before. Humor me and agree that they look slightly similar? I know the difference now and will remember FOREVER. [Forever + five years if any of you mock me for it. Then it will be seared in my brain.]

Along with that, I cut lettuce and stored them in mason jars for easy salads. I made overnight oats [old fashioned oats soaked in almond milk, ate cold, is my most favorite food] with strawberries for the week, and baked egg whites in a muffin tin inside a crust of deli turkey meat. I may have bought $8 worth of strawberries which I washed, cut and stored. [I’m a sucker for strawberries. I can’t wait until they’re in season this summer … you know, in early August.] There are a couple new things on my counter too. Apple chips [the most wonderfully simple idea ever – my mandoline has been busy] and date/almond bites.

With that, I’m ready for the week. And maybe, if I travel to Austin tomorrow, I’ll pick up some bok choy to add to my bok choy brown rice salad with orange sesame dressing.

Connections.

27 Mar

This post begins with the connection between Rachel Held Evans and Henri Nouwen.

That sentence might make you say who?  Rachel Held Evans is the theologian and author of the book I quoted just a while ago on the blog.  Henri Nouwen was a theologian and priest; an author of many, many books, one of which I too just quoted a bit ago here.  I follow Rachel on twitter and read her blog.  I have more than a couple Nouwen books on my shelves and I pull them out from time to time; I find them full of enriching nuggets of faith and comfort.

This week, these two separate worlds collided in a super meaningful way.  I clicked on a tweet from Rachel with a link to her recent blog post; she’s been facilitating a discussion on gay marriage on her blog and using two separate books to guide the conversation. Both books are by gay men of faith but while one has chosen celibacy, the other believes a relationship with another man could be blessed by God.  [Curious more?  Here is the post of which I speak.]

Here is where my mind was blown: one of the books Rachel uses speaks of dear Mr. Nouwen at length.  I did not know that Nouwen was gay; heck, I didn’t even know that he was a priest before I began to eavesdrop on this conversation.  I knew that I loved his writing and that was about it.  But now, as it turns out, I love it more because I can relate to the places from which it comes.

Henri Nouwen was lonely.  He wrestled intensely with loneliness, persistent cravings for affection and attention, immobilizing fears of rejection, and a restless desire to find a home where he could feel safe and cared for. [p. 87]  To quote Rachel who quotes the book which quotes Philip Yancey –

Nouwen, who later in life confessed that he had known since he was six years old that he was attracted to members of his own sex, would, in lectures and books, “speak of the strength he gained from living in community, then drive to a friend’s house, wake him up at two in the morning, and, sobbing, ask to be held.”

Now granted, I am fully aware that I am not a celibate gay priest [really?  really.], nor am I in the least  marginalized because of my sexual orientation, but gosh, to some degree, I can relate to that.

I have begun the very healthy and wise practice of seeing a counselor.  We’ve only met twice but I can see why people do this.  It will be fruitful.  Just this last time we met, I was talking about something or other and her response to me was, It sounds like you’re lonely.  Bingo.

I’m still not super sure what to do about that besides – for some insane reason – choosing to be super vulnerable with the world and spill it on the blog.  [As if you didn’t already know.]  Knowing what I do about Henri Nouwen and as I google search and order his biography to learn more, I find myself drawn to his writing in deeper ways.  There are perhaps some other life changes looming on my horizon, too. I realize that I need to facilitate the move from being lonely; I think I’m working on it.  We’ll see where life takes me; hopefully in the direction of community, new friends, and a world of less lonely.

snowshoein’.

14 Mar

The sun was shining.  It felt warm[ish] outside.  I could have sat in the library and wrote the rest of my sermon but I could also do that tomorrow when the weather is icky and gross.  So today, after my noon -2 pm meeting, I chose sunshine.

The Hormel Nature Center in Austin rents snowshoes and cross country skis to use on their trails.  Luck would have it that on Thursday afternoons beginning at 3pm they are free.  I strapped on a pair of snowshoes and spent a couple hours on the trails, meeting some deer and snowman friends along the way.

mr. snowman
maple syrup.
can you see my deer friend?

On the road. Again.

24 Jan

[On the road.  Again.]  Mabel and I arrived back in Austin early this afternoon after many fun and relaxing days in Wisconsin.  It was great to see family, celebrate a wedding with dear friends, and relax in Mom’s new house.  It was good.

From here, it’s a mess of unpacking, laundry, and repacking as I now prep for the second leg of this vacation – Montana.  I drop Mabel off at the kennel at 5 and then Paige & I are bound for the cities.  Our train leaves the St.Paul station tonight at 11:15.  We should arrive in Havre, MT shortly after lunch tomorrow.

Turns out packing is hard.  Trying to figure out what comes with me, what gets stowed below is tough this time.  My dining room floor is currently the middle of the game what-to-pack-and-where-to-pack-it.  I’ll figure it out.  Eventually.  Likely leaving something rather important behind.  But so it goes.

We’re in Montana thru next Wednesday when we hop on the train to return home. It will be a great couple of days spent with Joel, Melissa, and their baby girls.  The last time I was in Montana visiting them was on my way to Alaska two summers ago.  They were my place to rest the second night into my trip.  It was fun to stop and see them then; I have no doubt it will be even more fun this time around, especially with a Paige, a Hannah, and a Harper happily in the mix this time!

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boo.

31 Oct
Happy boo-day.
I think the goblins are out to steal my focus today.  I’ve been sitting at my desk for the last half hour with nothing to show.  [Except to discover that the Smitten Kitchen – a blog I will partially credit my love of cooking and exploring recipes over the last few years – has a cookbook.  It appears to be nothing short of gorgeous.]  I plan on writing a sermon at some point.  And going to buy candy to hand out tonight.
I think my introvert was taxed tremendously yesterday and I’m still in recovery mode.  It was a full afternoon of pastoral visits and then a 2.5 hour evening meeting with pastors and lay folks.  If I didn’t have to talk at all today, I think that would be my picture of perfect.
I know you’re wondering – did you dress up today, Pastor Lindsay?  You might look at my hair and think so.  I tried a new curly-hair drying technique [scrunch with tshirt and dry upside down] and my head resembles that of Medusa.   My hair is a fright.
I don’t really know why I tell you all of this.  This is likely to be one of the most random blog posts I’ve written but perhaps spitting this all out here will prompt me to focus on, oh, work?  Here’s hoping.

denial.

30 Apr
I’m in denial about my week and the work that needs to be done.
Denial is meeting up yesterday to see a movie with Paige and looking on amused as a man in a camouflage jacket awkwardly flirted with her in the lobby.  It’s watching The Five-Year Engagement and realizing that Jason Segel is becoming one of my favorites. 
Denial is baking cakes.  When in doubt, bake a cake, right?  I baked nine this weekend.  They all now reside in my freezer, crumbled in Ziploc bags.
Denial is dancing like a maniac and not caring who sees.  I learned the power of crazy dancing last year at seminary.  Now blaring the local pop station and going crazy in my living room is a favorite kind of stress release.
Denial is sleeping in until eight on Monday morning.
Denial is reading Andy Root’s work written for a college classmate’s Cancer & Theology blog series.  It’s good stuff.  [Andy = seminary advisor and professor of mine who taught me to see God present even in darkness and suffering.]
Denial is cleaning off my desk, writing thank you notes, and making a pre-marital counseling organizational chart instead of writing any one of the sermons I need to write.
Denial is facebook.  Denial is pinterest.  Denial is blogging right now instead of working.  
It can’t last forever.  Reality is about to get into a kicking and screaming and punching match with Denial and I know who will unfortunately win that fight.  But first I’m going to go eat lunch.

priorities.

23 Apr
I’m going to quit complaining that I’m busy.  Really, I’m going to try.  I’m going to stop saying, “Sorry, I didn’t have time.”  I have 24 hours in a day and I can choose what I do with those 24.  Eight I hold tight and cherish for a night of sleep but really, even that is negotiable.  
I think it was a wise prophet named J. Timmer who told me once – something like this – It’s not that you don’t have time for it.  It’s that it’s not a priority.  [If it wasn’t you, J. Timmer, you can either own up and say it wasn’t or you can take the compliment that I just called you a prophet.]  That blew my world open.  
So true.  Granted, there are exceptions.  I have a job where unexpected things happen and sometimes that throws any perfect plan for my day out of whack.  But that’s just life.  I have a lawn that needs to be mowed tonight.  Do I wish that wasn’t a priority?  Hell yes.  But it needs to be done.  That’s life.
But for example – I used to say that I haven’t had time to sew that final curtain for my bedroom.  The truth really is that I’ve made watching reruns of HIMYM a priority over that final curtain.  When I used to say that I don’t have time to go for a walk, the truth really is that I spent that time instead pinning on pinterest.  It’s not that I don’t have the time – I have 24 hours – it’s that it’s not a priority.  I think this train of thought is helpful to me.
And it’s not that watching reruns of HIMYM can’t be a priority.  Sometimes I need an hour to not think and not do anything to care for my own sanity.  But it’s reminding myself that I choose what I do with my time.  No complaining.  And that whole not going for a walk won’t work anymore.  I have a treadmill now sitting in my house and if anything, the amount of money I paid for it will guilt me into using that puppy.  [Delivered and set up this morning – exciting!]
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