Time and Stress

I've been saving this topic for a while and it seems like an appropriate time to pull it out. Last week was pretty much awful. Starting on Sunday my stomach--hard to please and easy to upset, even on a good day--decided that it was time for an all-out rebellion. Halfway through church I was pretty sure I was just going to throw up right there in the pew. Though it subsided a little, this feeling continued for the rest of the week. Then on Monday I had a minor panic attack over things that needed to be done for work and school and life as an adult. I got it together and even got done everything I needed to do (and did it well, I think), but the whole week was just stressful. I don't get stressed very often or very easily, but when I do I do it big. That and the stomach issue compounded one another and basically added up to a very unhappy week. I'm doing much better now on both accounts, but tonight I looked at my calendar and had to take deep breaths when I realized how quickly the end of the semester (ie. the multitude of giant end-of-semester projects and exams I'll have due) is coming up.


First, a quick note about stress. Last spring I was asked to give a devotional for the student leadership meeting at my student ministry and, it being about this time of the semester, I spoke about stress. Here's a quick rundown of what I said then (and what I keep reminding myself now).

Stress says two things: my problems are the most important things in the world, and my problems are too big for God to handle. The response to both is no, they're not. We all have problems, it's true. Some much bigger than others. But if you have the time and ability--spare time, access to the internet, ability to read--to read this or any other blog, you're probably doing alright in the grand scheme of things. And no, I'm not advocating the God-reaching-down-and-fixing-everything plan, though I won't discount it entirely, either. What I am saying is that God walks with us, even and especially when life gets hard. So stress, this tunnel vision on our own problems, is not at all how we are called to live. I know, it's a lot easier said than done (you should've seen me last week). But it's just a good reality check sometimes.


And now, the thing I'm actually really excited about writing about because I like making connections and thinking about random things.

I read an article online several months ago that I cannot find again for the life of me. I've spent hours looking for this thing in the months since I first read it, but with no luck. It was an article about youth who get into risky behaviors because they don't plan for future consequences; in the particular study I read, one thing that the majority of the youth in the study had in common was that their homes had no calendars. It was just a simple thing, and the study was by no means arguing that homes without calendars produce teens with substance abuse issues (at least not if my memory serves me). What they suggested as a possibility for part of the root of risk-taking behavior is a lack of future planning by the parents.

Now, this is all well and good, and it was an interesting article. What was more interesting for me, though, was thinking about calendars in general and how they affect our psyche.

Just about anyone will tell you that as you get older it seems like time goes by faster. Think about when you were really little. Summer lasted forever. The birthday party next weekend was a lifetime away. The time between now and snacktime was interminable and you were probably going to starve to death. Right? And think about now. Think about how it's almost April. Wasn't it just Christmas?! What happened? Where did three months go? And why do the four weeks between now and finals seem like the blink of an eye? What happened to all that time I had when I was a kid?

Granted, I did a lot less when I was little. I went to school. I came home. I did "homework"--and by homework I mean I colored a picture and did five addition problems. I ate. I played. I slept. Life was grand.

But then in middle school I was given this thing called The Agenda. Every student had The Agenda in their little school supply packet. It was orange and had a paw print on it (Go Hamilton Tigers!) and was full of inspirational quotes. The Agenda was all-powerful. We were required to write down our homework and then we were required to have our parents sign off on it. The Agenda was actually part of our grade.

And so keeping a calendar, a schedule, was slowly integrated into our lives. Sure, lots of us threw away The Agenda as soon as it was no longer a part of our grade, but eventually most of us realized that we actually did remember everything and get all of our assignments done better when we wrote it all down.

Then life got more complicated. We started having to plan things further and further out. Then we went to college and had to plan for ourselves, and without that calendar we wouldn't have survived. Then we became adults (supposedly). Now my planner is full of assignments for seminary, meetings and planning issues for work, birthdays, silly governmental things like taxes... it's full. It frightens me.

So yeah, as I've gotten older time seems like it goes faster. I've gotten busier. But I also care more about my time. I spend time thinking about time. I plan my time--way, way out in the future. If I lost my calendar I'd lose my mind.

Yeah, planning for the future is great. It's necessary. If I don't think about my future and how the things I do now will affect it, things can go very wrong very quickly. But think about when you were a kid. You were aware of the future. You knew things were coming up. But you didn't spend every other minute checking your planner to see when things were coming up. You knew that there was a birthday party and that it was next Saturday and that you wanted it to be next Saturday RIGHT NOW, but then you went back to doing whatever else you were doing and it didn't bother you. You weren't thinking, "Alright, I have a party planned for 8 days from now. Between now and then I have to get this, this, and this done, and as soon as the party is over I have to do this, this, and this..."

That kind of mindset helps us get things done, sure. But what kind of stress does it give us? The lists never end. You know they don't. There's always something to do, and something else to do once you do that first thing. Always. So there's always something hanging over your head.

What would happen if we threw away our calendars? If we acknowledged the future as a thing to be planned for as far as things like retirement and savings and credit card debt accrual go, but not a thing that needed to be planned out in minute detail as soon as possible. A thing that exists, but doesn't really need to concern us because we're not there yet and it'll still be there when we get there. If we only planned as far in advance as we can keep dates and deadlines in our heads, and just let the rest be.

It probably wouldn't work because that's not how our society works, but wouldn't it feel nice, just for a bit? I'm sure there are societies out there that do function like that, though. Maybe I'll just move there.

The Art and Architecture of the Library of Congress

Yesterday Jeff and I went on a date... to the Library of Congress. Well, to see the beginning of the cherry blossoms and to read for a while in a coffee shop, but mainly to go to the Library of Congress. Yeah, we're big ol' nerds. And we love it.

Jeff's been wanting to go to the Library since the day we decided we were moving to DC. Not only is it known for having some of the most beautiful art and architecture of any building in the District (and that's saying quite a lot) but it is also home to the largest collection of books in the world. Just think about that. I mean, the internet almost makes that seem laughable because of the sheer volume of knowledge it holds, but it comforts me to know that even if (when?) our digital kingdom collapses, that much knowledge will still be available, barring any major anarchical book-burnings between now and then.

In any case, I was pretty excited to go. I wasn't prepared, though, for just how jaw-droppingly beautiful this building is. After security you enter through a hall of poets, beautiful on its own, but then you get to the great hall. I literally just stood with my mouth open, turning in circles, for about five minutes. The whole room is carved marble, statues, paintings and mosaics, with names of writers and famous quotes everywhere.

Bah. My four year old, dropped-a-thousand-times point and shoot doesn't do it justice. It's truly amazing.

At the same time, it's not books. Eventually, you get start to get over how beautiful the building is and start wondering where they're keeping all of the books. That's what you came for, right? To see the largest library in the world. But if you read the pamphlets closely and ask a docent or two, you find out that not only can everyday visitors not get in to see the books without researcher cards, but regular citizens also can't even check them out.

Now, maybe I eventually would've arrived at this on my own or maybe it had something to do with reading Kenda Creasy Dean's Almost Christian immediately afterward, but it occurred to me later that afternoon that sometimes the faith that we offer youth--the faith that we ourselves have, that we have taught them--is like the Thomas Jefferson building of the Library of Congress. It looks pretty. It looks very pretty. It's even awe-inspiring for a few minutes. But it's not what they came for. It's not what we really wanted. It's not the life-changing encounter with knowledge bigger than ourselves that we thought we were walking into. There's beauty and awe, important to be sure, but there's no depth.

So what would it look like if we offered, if we lived a faith that tapped into that depth? I don't think I have enough room here to write that.

But at least as far as the Library is concerned, I'm getting a researcher card and going back. Because really, what kind of library doesn't let you see the books?

Sunrise on the Atlantic

This past weekend seven of us drove to Rehoboth Beach, DE, to stay the night and watch the sunrise in the morning because it was what one of our friends decided she wanted to do for her birthday (which is actually today-- happy birthday!).

Except for the two cars getting separated for a bit on the way down there, which was mildly terrifying for me but worked out fine in the end, everything went pretty much perfectly. The weather was beautiful and we just spent Friday and Saturday hanging out together, exploring this beach town.

By exploring, of course, I mean the first thing we did when we got there after going out to look at the water

Hey, look! Atlantic!

was to wander the strip of kitschy souvenir stores in the couple of blocks between us and the beach. There was some cute stuff, though, and we had fun wandering around, alternately making fun and wishing we weren't such poor grad students.

When we were too hungry to go any farther (a.k.a. 5 o'clock, because apparently we're old people) we stopped for dinner at a tasty restaurant called Summerhouse.

And the East Coast kids rejoiced over the real seafood. Seriously, practically the entire table had crab of some kind.

Then, practically too stuffed to walk back to our hotel, we decided that thinking was a good idea and busted out the Super Scrabble that some of us got together to buy that afternoon, which was pretty much devastation by me and Jeff (sorry, guys). Of course, as soon as people got bored and our stomachs were empty enough to stuff anything else in them, we went back out again. This time we ended up first at a Coldstone and then at another restaurant's bar area to just sit around, relax, and hang out with each other and our fantastic waiter. I called him "sir" to get his attention and got him made fun of by his co-workers, and when I explained that I can't help it because I'm from Texas he proceeded to call me Texas for the rest of the night. Merriment was had all around.

You know how merry Jeff is, and how prone to playing with whatever random items happen to be available.

After stuffing ourselves a second time we all went back to the hotel to crash so we could get up for the sunrise in the morning. Just a few short hours later we were up again, cold and half asleep, walking out to the beach. But man, was it worth it. It was about here when we got there:

     

And we all stood around, taking gajillions of pictures, as it turned into this:

So here's me and Jeff:

And here's our group:

After that picture we pretty much said alright, we've seen it, let's go back to bed. So we stumbled back, crashed for another few hours, got up, checked out, and hit the surprisingly large outlet mall in Rehoboth on our way out. And proceeded to get home in a little more than half the time than it took to get out there, somehow. All in all, it was pretty much the only relaxing part of our so-called break. Though it's actually called Reading Week, so I guess it's not too much false advertising. In any case, I spent the rest of the week writing four papers and hating life, so this was a much-needed break.

Here's one last pretty picture:

Oh, sorry, I said pretty. That's Jeff complaining about how cold his ears are. Here's the pretty picture:

Of Sacred Worth

As some of you may know, today was Reconciling Sunday at Dumbarton. If you don't know what Reconciling Sunday is, it's an annual event "to celebrate your communities welcome of persons, to recall God's promise to love ALL people, to learn more about ending discrimination based on sexuality and gender, and to remember LGBT persons around the world in our church who are not in welcoming places" (that's from the Reconciling Ministries Network website, which you should check out if you're not familiar with it).

In addition to just being a great Sunday in general, I went from crying tears of joy to tears of pain in the course of the service. Today we celebrated the baptism and membership of one of my youth and his newborn daughter, which was absolutely beautiful. Then on the other end of the spectrum was the prayer request that another one of my youth shared during our time of praying joys and concerns; her grandfather died a few weeks ago but as this was her first week back since it happened she asked the congregation to pray for her and her family, and she started sobbing as she spoke. If you know anything about me you've probably guessed that not ten seconds after she started crying I was crying. It was just so painful to see her in pain. It made my heart happy, though, to see so many people comfort her then and after the service. That's part of what I love about my church-if nothing else, it is a community of people who truly love God and love each other. That's what today was about. Reconciling Sunday is a joyful affirmation of our commitment to love one another and to celebrate love wherever it is found.

Not everyone, though, celebrates or even believes in the value of Reconciling Sunday. The United Methodist Book of Discipline states that "all persons are of sacred worth" (2008 BOD, Constitution, Section 1, Article IV). But that is not how all people are treated, even (and sometimes especially) in the church.

A friend of mine told me a story a while back that I've been saving for this week. She took a January Term course at a different seminary through the consortium that Wesley is a part of and the topic of the sacred worth of human beings came up. The professor asked the class if they thought that everyone was of sacred worth. In a class of twelve, four people said no. Four people! Maybe this isn't mind-blowing or earth-shattering to you, but I just about had a heart attack. It made me sick to think that four seminary students would say that there are some people who just don't matter to us or to God. Some people aren't worth our time or efforts or love.

The theme of today's service was Tell Out, and one part of the service involved writing on a paper heart a message about God or Dumbarton or love that you want to share with the world and pinning your heart on your chest for the day. But since I'll only see a few people today and I think this is just about the most important thing, here's what I wrote.

EVERYBODY deserves to be loved.

Everybody. Not just people who look like me or act like me or believe like me. I don't get to decide who to love and who to ignore. Ignoring people isn't an option I even have. Let me say that again.

EVERYBODY deserves to be loved.

Everybody. Even the ones who annoy you. Even the ones who hate you. Even the ones who hurt you. Because that person matters to God. You may not like everything that person does. God may not like everything that person does. Then again, God probably doesn't like everything you do, either (God certainly doesn't like everything I do). And that person is of sacred worth. Everyone is of sacred worth.

Non-Skiing Ski Trip

As some of you may know, my church has an annual church-wide ski trip that happened this past weekend. I was all excited to go and take lots of pretty pictures of the snow and our church family and the lodge and the fire I played with all Saturday afternoon and then share them with y'all, and then the memory card in my camera somehow magically corrupted itself as it sat on my bedside table overnight in my camera in my camera case. Literally, it worked one night, was put away safely and normally, and did not work the next morning. So this will be a use-your-imagination blog post!

Jeff and I rode with two friends of ours up through the mountains into nowhere, Pennsylvania, also known as Rockwood. We managed to do this without dying or even getting our car stuck, though I was fairly certain at several points that we would do one or both of those things.

[insert dark picture of mushy, thick snow trying to eat our car]

Between people having to work on Friday and the pretty gross weather for driving through the mountains, people were straggling in until almost midnight. Those of us who got there earlier sat around and watched The Social Network and tried not to hate Mark Zuckerberg. And by us, I mean everyone else watched and I sat a few feet off, halfheartedly attempting to read a commentary on Romans while listening in on the movie and trying to figure out what important developments I'd missed that made everyone else hate Mark Zuckerberg.

[insert picture of me sadly holding my Romans commentary with Mark Zuckerberg 

being a jerk in the background]

The next day just about everyone else went off to ski except for Jeff, my pastor, me, and a couple of other stragglers who went to Walmart instead of the slopes. Jeff, my pastor and I hitched a ride to the resort to try to find a pretty place to sit and do work while watching everyone else fall down the mountain, but alas, the only empty room was on the back of the resort lodge and was full of long lunch tables reminiscent of cheap campsites. So I slogged through commentary denser than Paul's own writing and Jeff bemoaned the sad state of affairs of the writing of college undergraduates in a room only slightly more cheerful than your average time-out corner. But soon we were joined by the skiers and even the Walmarters and we all laughed and talked our way through the artery-clogging ski lodge food.

[insert group picture with everyone smiling and still slightly snowy 

from falling down the mountain]

Those of us who didn't head back out to ski weren't particularly keen on staying in that room any longer, so we headed back to our own lodge and played in the fireplace. Also did work and played games, but most importantly I got to tend the fire for three hours.

[insert picture of me, slightly wild-eyed, throwing another log onto my pretty fire]

That night after the potluck dinner, the youth and most of the young adults retreated upstairs away from the singalong that spontaneously broke out (no joke) as we tried to do homework. This might sound boring, but really I bonded with my youth over work. They talked about the Industrial Revolution and cell biology, I tried to figure out what the heck Paul was trying to say. And I passed the fire-tending off to a friend.

[insert picture of me, Jeff, our two friends and my two youth 

sitting happily next to a fire and actually being productive]

Sunday was pretty much a get up, pack up, and drive off kind of day, but I got to keep working in the car (yay!) so I still felt like I deserved the nap I took when I got home. 

This might sound like the most boring ski trip ever, but it was pretty great actually. I'm not much of a skier anyway (my skis have a tendency to get tangled, fall off, and go down the mountain without me) and I really did have a good time sitting around with my youth complaining about our schoolwork. Also I got to play with fire. If the camera had been working I probably would've spent some time wandering outside taking pretty pictures, but it worked out anyway. So, just because I felt like there hasn't been much "this is what's going on in my life lately" for folks back home, there is my sad, picture-less blog post about what was really a nice, relaxing, productive weekend.

In other news, congrats to The Social Network on its three Academy Awards. I hear Mark Zuckerberg isn't really a jerk, either.