Shocked

Spending many years going to and living in countries outside the US prepares you for diversity in culture, language and standards of living; what is does not prepare you for is returning home. Returning to the scene of the crime, which was my former life in America, has left me flummoxed at best.

When I travel to a new country I tend to read about the place, sample the foods and experience the literature of those nations before I ever set foot on terra firma. Such activities feed my inner nerd and help me dive deeper into different societies and resurface with a richer understanding and love for the paradoxes and people of those nations. This exercise has lead to many years of enjoyment even though I was for all intensive purposes out of my element. What I forgot to do was apply these same practices in an intentional manner before returning to the US.

After spending my first weeks in America, I have to honestly say that I have suffered the most extreme culture shock I can remember. It is not that I have gone native in other countries, because I am very much an adopted outsider at best, but I realize that I am have also become and outside to the country of my birth. I did not prepare myself for stepping into an election year, Reality TV overload, the writer’s strike, new slang, celebrity focus, or US lifestyle. Sure I considered my friends lives being different and having to adapt to changes there, but the rest hit me like the wall of humidity one encounters when you leave the airport in Manila. I was so not prepared for this!

I am coping with all of this by laughing at myself and a limited sampling of US news. I tend to chuckle when I find myself looking for light switches in odd places and occasionally I pause to determine which side of the car is the driver’s side. I try to remind myself that what I see on TV is only part of the reality of America and choose to dive deeper into literature and intentional relationships. I do, however, find that I must resurface for air more often as I try to swim through American culture in 2008.

One thing I must say is that I have amazing friends. Time does not change or warp those heart friends that just get me and love me for the mess that I am. They are the core group of people who see me for who I am not for where I have been or not been in the grand scheme of things. Somehow we continue to see each other and that always makes me feel at home no matter where in the world I find myself.

Miraculous Moments

A series of moments strung together form the incandescent splendor that we call life. Every one is unique much like pearls held together by the beautiful clasps that are both the beginning and the ending of our visit here on earth. Moments become memories we can gaze at and hold in place as we eagerly anticipate the next gem to be added. Often though in our rush to attain the next “thing” we miss the beauty of what we are experiencing in the now. There is a joy to inhabiting the preciousness of each bead before adding it to our collective memory. To be able to touch, tastes, see, hear and smell everything locked within is an opportunity to dance with the miraculous in the daily and mundane. For example:

When ferrying across the English Channel, I sat reading a book I eagerly desired to finish that day. I can easily tune out the world when I have book in front of me. It is one of my favorite escapes and soothers of my soul, when I am a bit frazzled. I was reading a book that so echoed my personal feelings, self-examination and transitioning, so I was dining on every word on the page trying to savor each insight and digesting many revealed truths. I came to the place where the author used a word that fit me perfectly and in a way I felt discovered. I was about to dive back into the book when I was interrupted by a moment.

Sitting at the table next to ours was a family with two ever moving boys under the ages of 4. The parents were exhausted from chasing after their children over the vastness of dining area; we were 25 minutes away from ending a two hours journey and the parents were desperately clinging to the promise that they could soon re-contain their energetic children in the car. The youngest who was about 18 months old, decided to play this game where he would jump from a chair onto the booth, peek over at me then laugh ….loudly.

His laughter robbed me of my focus. I smiled at him and laughed, which only seemed to make him laugh and scream with glee. I laughed too and his excitement over my half-baked attention. He turned away and left the booth and I sighed before bowing my head and descending back to the words. I scanned the page to find where I stopped, found it and started to – peels of laughter echoed in my ears, the boy was back staring at me waiting. So I looked up smiled at him and he just squealed and flashed me the sweetest smile. In that moment he was offering me something that was fleeting and beautiful in his playfulness. My book was looming on my lap, but here was this little person offering me an opportunity to celebrate the epiphany I gleaned only seconds before. So I decided to hold the moment and drink it in. The little one was delighted that he found a fresh audience for his antics and kept repeating his trek between the chair and the booth.

After her sons fifth journey and escalating laughter, the mom leaned over to her equally exhausted husband and suggested that he stop their so I could read my book. I had my out, but I decided to decline. I mentioned that playing this game was more fun than reading, and it was true. This little kid opened the door to remaining in the joy of now, to capitalize on the joy I experienced from reading. He was the cherry on top and I decided to enjoy it rather than plough on to the next ah-ha. We laughed and giggled for about 20 minutes, next thing I knew the captain was making the announcement of our docking in Dover. The moment was closing, but it was fully experienced. Just before the family rushed back to their car, they walked around to the table and wished me a Merry Christmas. I felt a rush of something that was powerful but sweet.

As they walked away, I thought about what I could have missed if I stuck to my plan of finishing the book. The book would be with me for as long as I desired, but the shared laughter was only offered once. It made me think how much I miss when I am focused on the incoming goals, experience or project, oblivious to what is happening in my universe in this moment at this time. It is nothing I do not know or teach even, but that little boy gave me my best Christmas gift; a reminder to relish every opportunity to celebrate what I am experiencing. That opens the door to discovering the miraculous waiting to be found in the moment.

Ending Well

So much has happened that it seems crazy to even try to explain. Let’s just say that I have had a wonderful time in Netherlands and I am sad that it is coming to an end. I have learned so much about myself and I have been doing my best to take advantage of this time of rest and exploration, but frankly I have also been having so much fun.

I have been to Köln, Germany, Christmas parties, celebrating birthdays, visiting cathedrals, and dancing with gypsies interlaced with a plethora of laughs. I have to say that all of these things have happened randomly, without provocation. Through all of this I have made some amazing friends, some

I feel I am destined to know for long time, others it may have been for this time to help me hold together my breaking heart while it healed. Although I said many tear-filled goodbyes yesterday, I am so grateful to all the gentle souls that I was able to love and who loved me. Maybe it was fate, or luck, but I have to say it was amazing.

I hope that you have as much fun in the new year as I had in the last few weeks.

Season's Greetings

12 More Shopping Days!

I found these items. If you are desperate for a gift these might do.



Biker Jesus...riding high!




Mother Mary Memory Stick

Airplane Spirituality

My friend Wes White wrote this and posted it on Open Source Theology. I just love the way he thinks.


I only just recently returned home to Glasgow, Scotland after a long three week trip to the USA that included four multiple-leg airline flights. On Monday coming, I fly once again to Amsterdam, The Netherlands only to turn around on Wednesday and fly back. So I'm learning a lot about what I now refer to as "airplane spirituality." Here's just a couple thoughts on it for your consideration. (There might even be a bit of application hidden within.)

1) Traveling on airplanes reminds us that healthy Christian spirituality is as earthy as it gets. On long overseas flights, human beings have the audacity to develop bad breath, for example. Some actually bring along brush and paste and hazard the experience of minuscule airplane toilets in order to retain some semblance of hygiene. But most simply resort to popping mints, spraying sprays, or freely engaging various other forms of cover-up. Suddenly liberality with chewing gum finds itself in vogue. But it is all an attempt to mask something that we really need not hide. Being human is earthy, and in that is glory. St. Augustine ( City of God, bk.9, ch.1) referred to it as the blessed recognition that we are "intermediate beings," finding ourselves most truly when we happily locate ourselves somewhere between the beasts and the angels. Humans who affirm their "intermediateness" are able to appreciate the baser as well as the more sublime aspects of life, and to find God in the mix of both. My friend, Rodney Clapp, puts it this way: "Christian spirituality comprehends not only the sparkle in our eyes but the grime under our fingernails." (Rodney Clapp, Tortured Wonders, 177.)

2) I am regularly amazed at the contorted bodily positions people can assume in order to seek a bit of sleep on a long flight, especially when the plane is full to capacity. Sleeping is otherwise a rather private affair where drools and snores and involuntary escapes of bodily gases are preferably protected from public attention. Not so in the cramped spaces that usually define the intimate communion of long-distance flight. Some who would generally never be seen with a hair out of place soon give in to unbelievable displays of tangles and tousles out of sheer desperation to resemble an horizontal posture. It is intimate communion indeed! After all, at the end of a long and crowded flight we have all slept together. But it reminds us that spirituality, Christian spirituality particularly, cannot be healthy if it is only a private matter. In fact, Christian spirituality proves its muster by its sociality, for we claim that all humanity derives its essence from the Trinitarian God who is socially defined. Miroslav Volf and others ( see, for example, God's Life in Trinity ) have been reminding us of late about the perichoretic nature of God's own sociality. I am more and more convinced that one of the best ways to both demonstrate and test the genuineness of the give and take of perichoresis is by attempting to sleep on airplanes, where community is voluntary to be sure, yet anything but arbitrary.

True spirituality is earthy. True spirituality is social. God, I think, is discovered and experienced in both. So don't be afraid to fly.

Remembering Connie

Two days ago would have been a friend’s 43^rd birthday and last September would have marked 19 years of friendship. Sadly my friend Connie passed away two years ago.

I always remembered her birthday because it is on the 8^th of December, the Holy Day of the Immaculate Conception of Mary (10 years of Catholic education sticks with you). We always had a chuckle at such a coincidence because believe me we were not saints! Connie was the kind of friend who loved life and laughter, she always lived full of zest and joie de vie, I guess that is why it is so hard to accept that so many of her last years shared by an entity that slowly stole her life. My dear friend Connie struggled with Hodgkin’s Disease for many years before it took her last breathe.

I could always count on her to listen and make me feel that I could call on some secret confidence. For years I watched her pull courage out of her sleeve on numerous occasions - she was one of the most self-assured people I have ever met. She never claimed to have all the answers, but she was determined to grapple with the questions until a solution materialized. When we were in our teens her passion was to be a great mother, and was not afraid to let people know even though we grew up in an environment that told us girls that we could do and be anything. She somehow knew that she was signing up for the toughest job on earth, and made no apologies when people tried to get her aspire to loftier pursuits. Connie did go on to get a degree and work with mentally handicapped adults, but that were just what she did not who she was. She loved her children with all her heart and excelled as a matriarch. Connie also valiantly faced teenage pregnancy and adoption in high school, a painful annulment and single-parenting before she began her fight against cancer.

Most of all I miss her laugh. Connie was filled with so much of it and our friend Jennifer and I loved to coax it out of her. We were known to spontaneously combust with giddiness as we constantly found ways to entertain ourselves and others. Mostly we were just three silly girls, who used our laughter to carry us through the pain and hardships of teenage misery and young adulthood. Even latter in life when you found two or three of us together there was always laughter as we remembered the great mouse burger caper, being locked in the choir closet and late night excursions after pizza night. We always talked about the serious things of life too, but all too often the eyes of children and spouses rolled as they tried to decipher a story between the peals of chuckles and tears. It kept the little women in us alive and allowed us to touch something innocent within our hearts as we faced a world that was not always kind to dreamers.

For the past two days, I have been thinking about my friend and missing her voice and smile. I was fortunate enough to speak with her about a week before she died and I can remember the conversation like it was yesterday. Her breathing was laboured but she wanted to talk and share what had conspired in our lives in the months since we seen each other last. We shared life our while expressing gratitude and love. She sounded so strong at the time recently returning home with a good prognosis; I never thought that I would not see her again.

I guess I am missing her for selfish reasons as I am in transition and she was one of those people you could just laugh with about your predicament. Today I caught myself laughing out loud as I recalled some of our stunts, right in the middle of considering some proposals for my future. I must have needed to take the edge of the stress, and like a true friend she was there in my heart, helping me to laugh at my fate and reminding me to enjoy where I am at this moment.

I miss you girlfriend.