Chaos until Thanksgiving

Every job has its seasons of chaos and calm. With campus ministry, summer is usually a time of calm, while September is chaos. The pandemic has only increased the chaos for us, as we've been figuring out how to gather safely in-person. 

One of my campus ministry colleagues would argue that things should shift around Thanksgiving. Before then, our lives and ministry could be chaos. We should expect to be busy with organizing and meeting. With the beginning of the year, we should expect extra hours and extra chaos. But it should always be something temporary. Experience had taught us that (Canadian) Thanksgiving was a reasonable date to shift away from the mindset that overwork is normal. Instead, we should be paying attention to re-creating sustainable rhythms and to rest enough. by doing that, we are more able to be present for those coming to us, to be able to imagine and wonder what God might be asking for us, and to have the energy to deal with the inevitable (and temporary) crises that will still come up. 

I'm so thankful we've reached Thanksgiving. I'm ready for more sustainable rhythms and more wondering.

Sharing my work with my family

Several weeks ago, I helped host a breakfast in honour of our re-starting Wine Before Breakfast in person again. I got up early, packed up my things, and left Lydia behind with Matthijs.  

The next week we hosted our Wine Before Breakfast service online. I got up early and started to go downstairs. Lydia heard me, demanded to know where I was going, and insisted on coming with me. She was not going to be left out again! The next week was a repeat of the same.  

The following week we met in person. We weren't sure what to expect, and once again Lydia was left behind. She was not impressed. We promised her that if she woke up early enough, she could come with me this week. 

Matthijs and I woke up this morning, got ready, and were seated at breakfast, when I heard footsteps in the hallway upstairs. The footsteps went into our room to see if we were there, and then started running to go downstairs. When Lydia was at the top of the stairs, I told her: you made it! After getting her ready, Lydia and I left only a bit late (thankfully I have a fantastic team who can handle that). 

Lydia got to put out the bulletins and then gladly claimed the children's corner at Church of the Redeemer. She let me know that she'd join the rest of us when the singing started. She spent the service moving between the children's corner, dancing some, and hanging out with Matthijs or me (including when I was leading). And she got to have communion with us - Jesus' bread, as we call it. And then it was off to school.

My daughter loves being included in what we do. But today I think I delighted even more than she did with her and Matthijs being present. While she has had brief glimpses of my work through joining us briefly via Zoom, it has only been in the last month or so that she and Matthijs have gotten to participate in a Wine Before Breakfast service or meet 'my people' at our graduate group. 

As Matthijs has been such a supporter of what I do, it has been strange for him to be so distant. I am thankful that this is changing and for the images I am given of these changes: Lydia's solemn face in taking communion, as well as her joining us in singing Taize music. 

a day of small joys

Saturday we slept in and spent the day doing small things, good things that needed doing, but nothing overly urgent.

Matthijs and Lydia working at the kitchen table.

Matthijs fixed my bike tire, and Lydia got a new bike bell. I did the laundry and reviewed a mass email for work before sending it out. We now have clean bathrooms.   

I went to my local library for children's books, my corner fruit store for grape tomatoes, and the local grocery store for bread. We made potato salad and fruit salad (from the mangoes and bananas we'd also picked up - and taught the little that tomatoes don't belong in a fruit salad). We had good conversation at dinner (again).

In a season that continues to be challenging, days filled with small joys are a gift. I'm thankful that we've had more such days this past month, and for how God is using them to restore my soul.

Admiring Pandaland, which I'd bumped into while walking the neighbourhood.

Learning to live with myself - and accepting grace

Last week Friday I managed to get my email inbox down to 13 emails, which seems like a success. It's been months since my inbox has been so low, what with the chaos of starting a new job, moving, and the general challenges of life during a pandemic. Getting my inbox down to a manageable level gives me the sense of control over my life. Yet, the control was a bit of an illusion, as I'd been using my inbox as a good excuse to not work on writing my sermon. 

When I was in college, my house was always cleanest around exam time. By doing something else good, I could make myself feel better about not doing what I actually should be doing. One would hope, twenty years later, that I should be beyond that. In reality, I've simply shifted around what needs doing and the 'good' thing that I can do to avoid that.

I feel like learning to come to terms with ourselves - all of our quirks and needs, talents and skills - is something that we continue to struggle with, even as we grow older and hopefully wiser. This past week this struggle came out when faced with the daunting task of wrestling with a text and wondering what the Spirit would have me say. Is working through my email a good thing, something I can do to get an illusion of control, a sense of accomplishment, or even some tiredness so that I no longer fight to avoid doing what I really ought to be doing? Yes. no. maybe. It all depends on the day. 

As I get older, I can recognize that I can either choose to be frequently frustrated with who I am and how I act, or I can choose God's grace. 

Grace to accept who I am and my difficulties to stay on task. 

Grace to accept how much I like being in control and feeling productive (and that this is ultimately an illusion). 

Grace to see what I do as sin and name it as such - so that I can stop trying to fix myself on my own but accept my need for the Spirit to show up and work in and despite me. 

As I learn to accept myself and accept grace in the middle of that, it also allows me to rejoice more easily in the good that comes out of who I am, including my tendency to procrastination. Like being thankful for getting through emails I was behind on (and thanks, too, that the sermon did get done). And I can be delighted by how the Spirit shows up in surprising ways, like how I read last week's reflection from First CRC when I was trying to figure out how I was going to be present at our ministry's silent retreat while also being present for my small daughter. The email showed me a way that I could be creative and delight in both the nature surrounding my new house and in my daughter's joy in doing an art project with me. The results, including the joyful daughter, are in the picture below.

Prayer connected to Amos 9

The following prayer for a service on Amos 9 was written for Wine Before Breakfast in the fall. Along with allusions to Amos 9, it also contains allusions to Amos 7 and 8, as well as Psalm 139.

Gracious God,
You who control hurricanes and earthquakes, ,
Have power over the wind and the storm.

Where can we go from your presence?
‘Though we hide from your sight
at the bottom of the sea,
You will search us out.’

‘The wings of the morning
and the farthest limits of the sea’
Even there we cannot flee
from Your presence.

Such power is too wonderful for me.

How do we reconcile that no one
can hide from you?
None can hide
from the fierce love of a mother,
From the power that can leave a trail
like that of the wake of a hurricane.

Too often our images of You are incomplete:

We picture a loving friend-God
Who seems unaware of injustice,
Or an angry king-God,
Who seems bent on judgement.

How do we see the fullness of who You are?
How do we be honest about Your anger
and passion for justice,
while still resting in your grace?

We thus pray for the church
and how we proclaim who You are,
We lament especially how people have been harmed
when your image has been distorted
by proclaiming only one side of who you are.

[Silent, spoken, and written prayers for the church and for those you have been hurt by distorted images of God.]

All-powerful God,
‘You who build your upper chambers in the heavens,
and found your vault upon the earth;
You who call for the waters of the sea,
and pour them out upon the surface of the earth—
the Lord Almighty is your name.’

You punish those who turn their backs on justice,
who reject their identities as divine image-bearers;
You call for justice to flow down like waters.
So why then does injustice seem to thrive?

The poor are still bought for silver
and the needy for a pair of sandals.
So many goods are produced by those not earning a living wage.
The land is exploited,
a continuation of treaties that took advantage of others.

We lament the injustice in the world
and the suffering of those around us.

[Silent, spoken, and written prayers of lament for the suffering and injustices in the world].

God of all justice,
Protect us from your anger.
Fix your eyes on us for good
and not for harm.

We confess for how
we’ve participated in the wrong around us.
We’ve had a part in the fires raging in the world.
We have made it hard for others to breathe.

Distracted by social media and the news,
caught up in our work and worries.
Attracted to images of strength
instead of humility and truth.
We suffer a famine of ‘hearing the words of the LORD.’

[Silent, spoken, and written prayers of confession]

God of all hope,
May we see that you relent
not because of who we are
– and whether we are good enough -
But because of who you are.

Give us eyes to imagine a different story.
To see how your might
shapes a new world.

May we see how you care for all people.
That we, who are not the chosen people,
who were not the first people -
But instead are the Ethiopians,
the settlers and colonizers -
That you would care as much for us 
as for any other.

Recognizing the great gift of being included,
We lament all those who continue to be marginalized
and also give thanks for how you have included all of us.

[Silent, spoken, and written words of thanksgiving]

Gracious God,
Even as we long to hear
and speak words for restoration,
may we never stop mourning the suffering of the world.

May your presence inspire comfort and not fear.
May we look for how You are working in the world.
May we see justice rolling down like rivers.

Amen.

Lab Girl (2016) - insight into the life of an academic in the sciences

I found Lab Girl (by Hope Jahren) helpful for understanding the experience of academics in the sciences, both graduate students and faculty, especially those involved in labs. I wasn't sure, though, what to make of the interspersed chapters on plant biology, as fascinating as they were. They did provide a metaphor for understanding the rest of the book: “People are like plants: they grow toward the light. I chose science because science gave me what I needed – a home as defined in the most literal sense: a safe place to be.” (18)

At times, though, these interspersed chapters on biology felt like they got in the way of the story I wanted to hear more about, even as much as Jahren's telling us of the biology of trees is as much a part of her story as all the (mis)adventures that she had. Her story was unique: “there’s still no journal where I can tell the story of how my science is done with both the heart and the hands.” (20) Nor can she speak fully of all the non-successes that obviously don’t make it into journals. Instead she notes that “I have become proficient at producing a rare species of prose capable of distilling ten years of work by five people into six published pages, written in a language that very few people can read and that no one ever speaks. This writing relates the details of my work with the precision of a laser scalpel, but its streamlined beauty is a type of artifice, a size-zero mannequin designed to showcase the glory of a dress that would be much less perfect on a real person.” (20)

The book was also helpful in providing insights into some of the unseen challenges of academic, especially that of science professors (and those who direct labs). She notes how, while we might expect knowledge and research to be the hardest questions that scientists face, funding is actually the biggest stress:

"Next time you meet a science professor, ask her if she ever worries that her findings might be wrong. If she worries that she chose an impossible problem to study, or that she overlooked some important evidence along the way. If she worries that one of the many roads not taken was perhaps the road to the right answer that she’s still looking for. Ask a science professor what she worries about. It won’t take long. She’ll look you in the eye and say one word: “Money.” " (124-5)

She also talks about the challenges and loneliness that she experienced, particularly as a female in her profession. Despite being someone who won some prominent awards (and was on the tenure track at 26 already!), funding was a significant problem for at least ten years. She also speaks about being taken advantage of by another lab in the building, of being yelled at a conference presentation, of being ignored socially at conferences by the senior scientists in her field. She also notes about how hard when her life went against a lot of societal norms, especially what is expected of females:

“I didn’t know if I was crying because I was nobody’s wife or mother – or because I felt like nobody’s daughter – or because of the beauty of that single perfect line on the readout. I had worked and waited for this day. In solving this mystery I had also proved something, at least to myself, and I finally knew what real research would feel like. But as satisfying as it was, it still stands out as one of the loneliest moments of my life. On some deep level, the realization that I could do good science was accompanied by the knowledge that I had formally and terminally missed my chance to become like any of the women that I had ever known. In the years to come, I would create a new sort of normal for myself within my own laboratory. I would have a brother close than any of my siblings, someone I could call any hour of the day or night. . . I would nurture a new generation of students, some of whom were just hungry for attention, and a very few who would live up to the potential that I saw in them.” (71-2).

Despite all the challenges, there is a lot of hope in the book: the community that she builds, the grace and acceptance that she presents, and the quiet presence of God:

“My lab is a place where my guilt over what I haven’t done is supplanted by all the things that I am getting done. . . My lab is a place where I can be the child that I still am. . . . My laboratory is like a church because it is where I figure out what I believe. The machines drone a gathering hymn as I enter. I know whom I’ll probably see, and I know how they’ll probably act. I know there’ll be silence; I know there’ll be music, a time to greet my friends, and a time to leave others to their contemplation. There are rituals that I follow, some I understand and some I don’t. . . And, just like church, because I grew up in it, it is not something from which I can ever really walk away.” (19)