b o t t o m l a n d

over and over and over again

Sometimes I feel like I'm spinning my wheels.  I've been here before, I tell myself.  I've been trying to learn this lesson for a dozen years.  More.  It can be exhausting to feel like I'm *still* dealing with crap I've been working on for so long.  At least it can feel that way for me.  I get discouraged and feel like I'm not growing.  Maybe if I dump on a little more shame, I'll "fix" myself this time. 

Madness!  Of course I'm growing and changing!  I am alive, and nothing living is ever stagnant!  And if I've been trying to learn the same lesson for years, maybe it's because it holds some new wisdom for me to draw from each time around.  Because the truth is, wishing I were at another place is foolishness.  I'm only here, NOW.  And if some of the voices in my head sound familiar, I'll welcome them as friends.  I am not that 19 year old that I once was, so that "same" lesson will speak to me in a new way.  

I was struck yesterday by how in photography you can never take the same picture twice.  The same subject, same time of day, same lighting, same shutter speed and f/stop...  You can never re-capture it.  But you can make a beautiful new picture.  

So I'm trying to welcome the voice in my head that says, "Feet on the ground, BREATHING," even though that was written on my fridge in college.  And the voice that says, "Who will you be?" and the one that says "You get to choose if you offer beauty to the world today," and "Non-judgement!" and "Healthy boundaries!"  Yes, they can speak too.  And if someone were to ask me every morning for the next hundred years, "How will you live in love and peace?" I would never fully "know."  I am on a journey.  I will keep coming back to familiar territory, but it won't be the same picture.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
     Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

--T.S. Eliot, from Little Gidding in the Four Quartets

________________________________________________________
 
And yes, I do like taking pictures of my barn, thank you.

and life erupts...

I have this whole post about Lent and Easter and fasting and feasting rattling around in my brain, but I'm too tired to think tonight, so it will have to wait.  

I am flushed with the excitement that new life brings, and it adds a special layer of meaning to this year's Easter celebrations!  Only a few days ago I spend the morning with a dear friend, taking pictures of her beautiful pregnant belly and playing with her little girl so she could rest a bit.  I am delighted to share that today she welcomed her baby (nearly two weeks early!)!!!  He was born safely at home, lovingly welcomed by his mother, father, big sister, auntie (who is a midwife, and came up just in time!) and the head midwife.  Blessings to you, E., on this sacred first night with your son, and to the whole family as you grow into a family of four.  Little S., I love you already!  

no words

Ascension

Why do you stand looking up at the sky?—Acts 1:11

It wasn't just wind chasing

thin, gunmetal clouds

across a loud sky;

it wasn't the feeling that one might ascend

on that excited air

rising like a trumpet note,

 

and it wasn't just my sister's water breaking,

her crying out,

the downward draw of blood and bone . . .

 

It was all of that,

mud and new grass

pushing up through melting snow,

the lilac in bud by my front door

bent low

by last week's ice storm.

 

Now the new mother, that leaky vessel,

begins to nurse her child,

beginning the long good-bye.

 

--by Kathleen Norris

I had that phrase "thin, gunmetal clouds" in my head all day.  It turns out that another long good-bye ended yesterday, as a woman I've known for most of my life lost a long battle with cancer.  There really are no words, but I moved through my day in a fog.  I wasn't personally close to this woman, but she is an important member of our small town and a good friend of my mother's.  She and my mom were both part of a sort of "cancer club" [my phrase] of 6 or so women living within a few mile radius, all of whom have breast cancer.  Creepy.  

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I found myself in the village graveyard.  She isn't there, I'm not sure where she'll end up, but this is a quiet, starkly beautiful place that I spent hours in as a child, playing kick-the-can or reading and painting.  It was comforting to climb through the hedge and sit on the spongy earth amidst budding trees and stone memorials.  I don't want to look away from death.  I know many of the names on those stones.

Little C knew I was sad, but she wasn't.  She liked running through the graveyard and finding hiding places.  Her life-force is so strong.  

Afterward, we took the long way home and investigate the ice on a pond in the woods near our house.  All around us "ice-out" is happening on lakes and ponds, though "our lake" (the one at the bottom of our road that we pass daily) still has ice on it for another day or two.  Have you ever really looked at ice?

I love how this tree grows right out over the water.

 

road trip

...  It's been a while since I've done any serious blogging, but I think that's all about to change ...  I'm happy to report that maple sugaring season is OFFICIALLY OVER!!!  So I might see my husband again, at least between Red Sox games, that is.  And I have my own little project up my sleeve, but more about that later.  For now, I'm just glad to be home after two precious days away with my husband and daughter (for real, that man was working 100 hours a week for the last month or more!).  What would a road trip be without pictures taken while driving?  (Don't be alarmed, my co-pilot was steering for me, and none of these shots involved actually looking through the view-finder!)

waiting for spring

March succeeded in going out like a lamb, but April has come in like a total PITA.  It snowed 6 inches on the first (some April Fool's joke!) and snowed again yesterday and now it's raining, so I'm sharing pictures today from a sunny day from last week.  

I love the sounds and smells of spring, as well as the return of the sun.  Every time I step outside, or open up a window when it's warm enough to do so, I am greeted by a cacophony of bird songs and the drip-drip-drip of snow melt.  The upper right picture of my barn has tiny droplets of melting snow, and I decided not to give you pictures of the slush that is everywhere.  The chickens are starting to venture outside again (I don't know about other people's experience, but our girls do NOT like the snow!) and I hung laundry for the first time!!!  I hung all our bedding--wool blankets, comforters, sheets-- so now we have that fresh smell when we crawl into bed at night.  It's glorious!  Oh, and I threw in the picture of the car because you know it's mud season in NH when your car looks like that after getting a car wash THAT MORNING!  I shouldn't even try, I know...

What signs of spring are happening in and around your home?

look out

 

Look Out

by Wendell Berry

 

Come to the window, look out, and see

the valley turning green in remembrance

of all springs past and to come, the woods

perfecting with immortal patience

the leaves that are the work of all of time,

the sycamore whose white limbs shed

the history of a man's life with their old bark,

the river under the morning's breath quivering

like the touched skin of a horse, and you will see

also the shadow cast upon it by fire, the war

that lights its way by burning the earth.

 

Come to your windows, people of the world,

look out at whatever you see wherever you are, 

and you will see dancing upon it that shadow.

You will see that your place, wherever it is,

your house, your garden, your shop, your forest, your farm,

bears the shadow of its destruction by war

which is the economy of greed which is plunder

which is the economy of wrath which is fire.

The Lords of War sell the earth to buy fire, 

they sell the water and air of life to buy fire.

They are little men grown great by willingness

to drive whatever exists into its perfect absence.

Their intention to destroy any place is solidly founded

upon their willingness to destroy every place.

 

Every household of the world is at their mercy,

the households of the farmer and the otter and the owl

are at their mercy.   They have no mercy.

Having hate, they can have no mercy.

Their greed is the hatred of mercy.

Their pockets jingle with the small change of the poor.

Their power is their willingness to destroy

everything for knowledge which is money

which is power which is victory

which is ashes sown by the wind.

 

Leave your windows and go out, people of the world,

go into the streets, go into the fields, go into the woods

and along the streams.  Go together, go alone.

Say no to the Lords of War which is Money 

which is Fire.  Say no by saying yes

to the air, to the earth, to the trees,

yes to the grasses, to the rivers, to the birds

and the animals and every living thing, yes

to the small houses, yes to the children.  Yes.

 

Tonight I am saying yes to the promise of spring, even though our fields and woods are still covered in an icy grayish-white crust.  I am saying yes to the rise of sap in the trees, another promise of spring, even though it keeps my husband out till all hours of the night.  I am saying yes to two precious babies whose imminent arrivals will be heralded tomorrow, and the mothers who will be blessed and showered, each in their own way.  I am saying yes to the hope of peace, even though the world seems to explode with war.  I am saying yes to myself, and going to bed in peace with myself.  

What are you saying yes to tonight?

PS:  The picture above is of last Saturday's magical "Super Moon" as it rose over my friend's field and birthday celebration.

PPS:  I'm saying yes to my new computer which arrived this afternoon!  Yeah to functional technology!

battle hymn of the tired mother

So I finally read this much-discussed book.  (If you don't know what I'm talking about, here's the little excerpt from the Wall Street Journal that started the firestorm back in January).

I opened this book with a fair amount of trepidation, having read the WSJ excerpt with my blood boiling.  (It was actually kind of humorous, me standing there with the article, my jaw hanging open, and my poor little brain going through the mental gymnastics of "I am a progressive, open-minded, culturally sensitive, non-racist person, and this is [gulp] just another cultural perspective.  No, actually, this is CHILD ABUSE!!!")  But I kept hearing Ms. Chua on NPR, and she sounded so... sane on the radio, so I picked up the book.  Also, my curiosity won out.

I read it in one day.  Amy Chua is an excellent writer.  She is funny, smart, self-deprecating and satisfyingly sarcastic.  Also caustic and very demanding of her children.  The good news about the book is that it doesn't get any WORSE than the WSJ article.  Its as though some crafty publisher culled all the really hair-raising parts of the book and printed them in the paper without context.  What you don't get from the article is that she regrets [some] of her behavior, and she's being tongue-in-cheek.  Over the course of the book she admits that she nearly pushed her younger daughter to the point of permanently damaging their relationship.  She never comes right out and says that she's sorry for all of that mess in the beginning, but you kind of get the feeling that she is.  At least, I do, since I like giving people the benefit of the doubt.

What I liked about what she had to say is the idea that by settling for mediocrity we are short-changing our children.  I see a lot of settling-for-mediocrity parading as love in American parenting, and it drives me nuts.  We lavish praise on our kids for things even they don't care about.  I'm with Alfie Kohn that this totally undermines a child's sense of pride in something well done and the development of depth of character.  I want my child to develop an appreciation for excellence and the pride in accomplishing a job well done.  I just don't want to emotionally abuse her to get her there.

Amy Chua asserts that "Chinese" parents assume strength in their children, while "Western" parents assume weakness.  This is very interesting to me.  Again, I can see her point, and see how assuming our children are strong and resilient is a service to them, and actually builds self-confidence.  Parents who "baby" their kids and do everything for them drive me crazy.  Kids are strong enough to try and fail, and learn that failure is not the end of the world.  Except when they're not...

And this was my biggest beef with Ms. Chua.  Her approach did not take into account her daughters' individuality.  The problem with "assuming strength" is that sometimes kids really are fragile.  What works with one child isn't going to work with another.  As she admits in the very end of the book, the problem with the Chinese approach is that it's very one-size-fits-all and there's no Plan B. 

Ultimately, this is a book about our highest hopes for our kids.  I just happen to want very different things for my child than Amy Chua does.  I want my child to be creative and free-thinking and curious about the world.  I want her to know the sweetness of excellence, but not fear failure.  I want her to have the courage to try anything, but be comfortable knowing that she won't be good at everything, even something she may work very hard at.  Most of all, I want her to be so rooted in herself that she will let no one push her around, not even me.  Because if she takes it from me, she'll probably take it later from someone I wouldn't want her to be listening to.

We all want to do what's best for our kids, and it's SO hard to know what that is.  I have a lot of faith in other families' ability to define that in their own ways.  What works for us wouldn't work for others, and vice-versa.  I for one am committed to the belief that my child will teach me what she needs, just as I try to teach her what it means to be a part of this family.  She is not the decision maker, but her voice is important.  Dave and I have always tried to be neither "child-centered" nor "parent-centered" in our approach, but rather family-centered.

So that's my battle hymn, such as it is.  And the chorus goes like this:

         what will you dream?

                who will you be?

                    what do you know?

 

because it's march

...because my road looks like this...

... and my driveway looks like this ...

... it must be time for this ...

happy monday everybody!  i hope your day was as sweet as mine was (pun intended!)

and thanks for all the duke love.  your comments and support mean a lot to all of us.

xoxo,

caren

our story and some life changes

I've known my husband since he was a boy of eighteen.  I like that, that I've seen the arc of maturity take him through so many twisting paths unto this day.  And of course, that journey never ends, but it is nice to have arrived at a more settled place, where we are not re-inventing ourselves at every turn.  I know this man (not completely, never fully, but truly), and our years, first as friends, then as more-than friends, and now nearly 9 years as spouses, have provided a rich foundation of intimacy and trust.

J., Dave, and M. in Oxford, England, March 2001

Dave and I, winter of 2003

One thread that has been a constant through all of those years is Dave's passion for helping other people live into the spiritual truths that their lives hold, for teaching God's truth, and for encouraging God's people to live into our calling to love and service.  In short, Dave is a pastor, a minister, even though he's never received training in that field.  In every church that we've been a part of over the last 9 years, he has been involved in ministry in some capacity, and much of the time we have engaged in that work together.

An important part of our story is that 9 years ago Dave told me that someday he wanted to be trained to be a pastor, and 9 years ago I said, "H*ll, no!"  I informed him in no uncertain terms that I would not be a "pastor's wife," leading bake sales and women's Bible studies.  I was a liberated feminist after all, with no interest in hanging off my husband's arm like a nice wrist-watch!  Okay, so I might have been over-reacting a bit.  And perhaps also being really disrespectful and dismissive of all the real-life spouses of ministers out there.  At the time, and for those early years following in which I maintained my position, Dave looked at me with a mixture of bewilderment, hurt, and anger.  He always (fairly) asserted that he wasn't the kind of person that expected that of me, that I was reacting to some abstract fear that was not the reality of our life, and that he would never want to be a part of a church that would expect that of me.  It hurt him that I was willing to let an abstract fear overwhelm my trust in who he was as an individual. 

Honestly, this part of our story is still painful today, even though I've asked for and received forgiveness and a lot of healing has taken place.  Mostly it's just embarrassing for me to admit my selfishness , stubbornness and judgementalism.  But there it is, and, in my defense, it is true that historically the Christian church has been a bastion of patriarchy and repression of women, so my fears, while abstract, were not without grounds.  Unfortunately, in my early twenties, I had neither the imagination or the confidence to see a future where Dave and I could be working together in a church context to push back against that very real patriarchy without being destroyed by it.

And so we moved on.  We did other things.  We worked in a boarding school for two years.  Dave grew into a skilled carpenter.  I became a librarian.  We became parents.  We bought a farm and dreamed of working towards having a retreat center/agrarian training ground/ educational center.  This would be a space where we could engage in ministry together without the "confines" of a congregation and all the pressure and expectations that go along with that.

Something we didn't count on is finding a little church tucked into a Vermont hillside that shared so many of our values and beliefs and welcomed us (and all our baggage and hurts) with open arms.  I've written before about our experience at Taftsville here and here, and the healing we have experienced there in the last 3 years has under-girded everything I write here.  One of the beautiful gifts that this little congregation has given our family is the opportunity and encouragement for both Dave and I to use our passion for church work in the context of the life of our congregation.  I have loved the work of creating a sacred space in worship leading, and Dave has loved the opportunities to preach sermons and teach adult and youth Sunday School. 

This past summer, when our pastor and his wife had the opportunity to spend 3 months in Alaska working on a wooden boat, the church asked Dave to step into a formal leadership role as Interim Pastor.  Oh the joys!  He was like a little boy in a candy shop!  My normally under-expressive husband was literally giddy!  He rose to the occasion with grace and maturity, and had a great three months of preaching, meeting with people for encouragement and counsel, and serving on the Leadership Team and Pastoral Care Team to minister to the needs of our congregation and the lives it touches.  I loved being right there with him in that time, serving on the ministry teams together and facilitating the weekly worship services.  Most of all, I loved watching my beloved husband come alive with the gifts for teaching and pastoring he has been given.

As summer turned to fall, and we resumed the rhythms of our "normal" life, one thing was clear.  Dave needed to apply for graduate school and see if he could further study the work that excites him more than anything else.  For years there has been one divinity school (yes, that's what a graduate program in ministry is called) that has continued to pique his interest due to a couple of key professors and the work that they are doing, so it was a no-brainer to apply there.  I'm talking about professors who bring together his interest in Anabaptist thought and high-church liturgy, sustainability and spirituality, intellectual engagement and rural life, the Biblical text and agrarianism.  If this boy could dream it, it was happening at Duke Divinity School.

Dave and Little C in front of the chapel at Duke University

Yes, I said Duke.  As in, North Carolina.  And yes, we did just buy our farm last spring.  Does the timing of all this make perfect sense?  Absolutely not.  We never could have foreseen, when we started this house-buying process 3 years ago, where we would be now as a family.  But we felt like we needed to at least apply, and prayerfully take one step at a time.  That one-step-at-a-time approach has led us through the application process, to acceptance, to a wonderful campus visit two weeks ago, to getting a call a few days ago saying that the school wants to give Dave a scholarship to come study in their program.  God has flung open the doors of possibility to Dave's dream program that otherwise would have been cost-prohibitively expensive.  Dave is going to get paid to study what he loves, and after three years we will be able to come home and do the work that he longs to do.

So it looks like we're moving to North Carolina.  Do you know anyone who wants to try out their hand at farming?  I know of a sweet little farmstead in the hills of New Hampshire that's going to be looking for someone to rent it for 3 years!  There are so many more layers to the YES in all of this, but I won't go into them now.  You'll be hearing a lot more about the changes unfolding in our life in the next months, I'm sure.  For now, we're still reeling from the news and trying to imagine everything we need to do in the next 5 months to get ready for a move.  And we're trying not to talk about it too much in front of Little C, who has already been falling apart with anxiety, but she'll be fine.  She's a resilient kid-o.  And we'll be together as a family.  There is strength in numbers.

And so, Dave, I say yes to you again today, as I did on that hot August day nearly 9 years ago, and I will keep saying yes.  I will be your wife, and stand by your side wherever this journey takes you.  Because, as it turns out, this isn't just your journey, it's ours to share.  And at the end of the day, I pray that we will both find our souls blessed, sheltered and protected, as John O'Donohue says.  I love you today more than ever.

May the Light of Your Soul Guide You

by John O'Donohue

May the light of your soul guide you.
May the light of your soul bless the work
You do with the secret love and warmth of your heart.
May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul.
May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light and renewal to those
Who work with you and to those who see and receive your work.
May your work never weary you.
May it release within you wellsprings of refreshment, inspiration and excitement.
May you be present in what you do.
May you never become lost in the bland absences.
May the day never burden you.
May dawn find you awake and alert, approaching your new day with dreams,
Possibilities and promises.
May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.
May you go into the night blessed, sheltered and protected.
May your soul calm, console and renew you.

 

snow and choices

My goodness, it's been quite some time since I've been blogging!  I am still here, though I was taken down by a nasty flu-ish bug for over a week.  I'm on the mend now, and heading into my last week of my regular schedule at the library!  Ack!  SO excited and happy and nervous all at once!  One good thing about being sick is that I was able to log a lot of hours on the couch, working on a new project that I'm looking forward to unveiling later this week!  Yeah for a new year, a new "job," and new creative projects!

Erin over at bluebirdbaby recently posted a beautiful post about choice and how every day we have a choice to live in gratitude and joy or negativity and suffering.  I was really challenged by it, as someone who all too often looks at the glass as half empty.  As I embark on this next phase in my journey, I look forward to making positive choices for myself and my family that lead to sanity, joy, and "the end of suffering."  (I read a really interesting memoir this fall that used this expression, and it's stuck with me ever since.)  The choice to leave my job is the first step in this process.  What choices are you making in your life that bring you peace and joy?

One thing that I have no control over but am chosing to respond to with acceptance and delight is the weather.  We have gotten SO MUCH SNOW lately!  My little house is practically burried!  We actually have a lot more than in this picture now, even though this was just last week.  It's hard to capture with a camera what it feels like to be in my cozy little house with the snow swirling all around.  Sometimes I can't even see the edge of the woods...

People in New Hampshire like to good-naturedly grumble about the snow, but I love it!  I love the way it makes the whole world so silent and clean, giving everything a fresh start.  I love the crunch of it beneath my feet on a really cold day.  I love the way it changes light.  I love the way it can bring normal life to a halt...  One of the first things I'm going to do next week when I'm NOT working at the library is go skiing!  I love living in a place where I can put skis on in my driveway and enjoy the woods at my own pace, but I've been so busy that I haven't made time to get my cross country skis out yet this year!  Soon...