25 things

1: Just got suckered into responding to one of those email forward friend surveys that you are supposed to fill out and send to 25 of your closest friends so you can have good luck and help cancer patients and orphans.
2: Don't know what I want to do when I grow up.
3: Ran for student body president in the 5th grade. I dressed up as Dorothy and carried around my little dog Lucy. My speach went something like this, "I went to the wizard, and he gave me a brain, to make the right decisions, a heart to care about the people, the nerve to change things." Move over Obama speech writer...
4: Loved Ireland. Loved the pubs instead of coffee shops. Loved the Puck fair, this small-town Gypsy Bazzar with a horse trade...the oldest fair in Ireland. Loved Hurling, and the Hunt Chase. Loved Bike Messenger World Championships. Loved Irish Men, the idea of James Joyce (havent read him yet) and John Banville. Loved wandering into a pub and hearing a two man band playing folk music.
5: I also loved Naples, Italy. It had a mafia charm, and was totally gritty yet distinguished. The most amazing piece of art I have ever seen, "The Veiled Christ" is in this backally chapel. The streets smell like fish.
6: I have the greatest friends. I have a BHFF, BCFF, BACFF, BBFF, BRFF, BPFF, and BMFF.
7: I would like to meet some hot guy to hike the whole Great Wall of China with me (its a 10 month commitment...anyone? Christie and Jimmy Beasley--don't worry about it--I am not asking you!)
8: Love Pirates. At least the idea of them. I want to be one as long as it doesn't entail killing people and stealing stuff. Just give me a hook hand and I am all set adventures on the high seas--only I get really sea sick. Maybe it would be ok to steal from bad guys.
9: Have often said something like, "You can never have too much/many (cumin, chocolate, garlic, arugula, vacation time, wool, self-help books, exercise, therapy, almond butter, fiber, vitamins etc) most of the statements have since been revised.
10: Really want to hop a train before I die.
11: That same dog Lucy did my paper route with me. She sat on a basket on the front of my bike. I crashed a lot so she learned to bail.
12: Really like not having a car--it feals like I am bucking the system--like I am able to get by without something most people need--also I feal like "Jamie Bond" because I am good at changing really quick from wierd bike messenger polyester to sophisticated school teacher (maybe sophisticated is stretching it :) ).
13: Want to be a writer--at least as far as I can imagine the writing life.
14: Launched a campaign in third grade to educate the public on elephant poaching. I made campaign buttons that said, "Help Lusk Save the Tusks"
15: Wrote Bob Dylan a few years ago and asked him out for Coffee. I decorated his letter with a mini pink boa and gave it to the local promotor who was hosting him in Denver (he was a client of mine when I was a bike messenger). Bob Dylan DID NOT have coffee with me. Whats up with that?
16: Love the papasan chair that my friends got me a few years ago...its my happy place.
17: My mom still knows before I do when I am tired, need to go to the bathroom, or am about to have my period.
18: Love going into the trees when I am snowboarding--even though nearly every run I run into a tree and all the snow falls off the tree into my jacket, or I fall down into the tree well.
19: Have the best Church. Even though the singing is the worst, its still decorated with cheep garland, our nativity scene is from Big Lots, and has a plastic dragon in it, the service is filled with old hippies and homless crazy people, and 12-steppers. Its home! And my pastor is the best mentor ever.
20: Have a terrible event memory. People are always asking, "Remember when..." I don't. Even big stuff. "Remember when we went to Boston together for a weekend?" No. "Remember when you were in my wedding?" No. Sorry.
21: Had to go to the Disneyland Jail for jumping off "Pirates of the Carribean" and impersonating a mechanical pirate while playing, "Hey didly dee, a pirates' life for me" on my harmonica.
22: Definitely like a greater percentage (65%?) Of seventh graders than adults (50%?)
23: Tried to find a spot on the nearby river for an "eternal swimming pool." You know, a place with the perfect current to swim against for as long as I wanted? I lasted about 10 min before I realized that I found the "eternal panic attack."
24: Got made fun of in High School Spanish class for my terrible Japanese-sounding Spanish pronounciations.
25: Participated in Daily aerobics class during OIF in an air-conditioned (think 100 degrees instead of 120) tent, using MRE boxes as our step.

A dream.

My mom, dad grandma came to visit. We went out to lunch. Since I hate chain restaurants, we went to this seedy, New Orleans style Italian restaraunt. It was a huge place. Each ballroom unfolding into another cavernous space. I was intrigued. My mom was uncomfortable. I knew without asking him that my dad liked it. Before the waiter took our order, mom went across the street and bought some Arby's curley fries and a bottled mineral water in the restaraunts gift shop--becuase she needed a snack and thought that if she didn't buy something at the gift shop they might judge her. There were some shady characters mingling right around us. The only one I remember had long black hair and ice blue eyes. he was dressed in a tight white long john shirt that accentuated his ponch. He had a too-small motorcycle vest and belt on, with a bandana around his head. They all assembled around me. My mom said they looked bad. I shrugged off her comment--she is generally kind of paranoid about people. Then they whipped up guns and held the whole place up. We were seated in a little cove; they were right next to us, but faced into the large garish ballroom-like space in the middle of the room. The demanded the everyone get out their cash. I hesitiated but decided against giving them anything, even though I had $60. A dorky, friendly cop was next to me. "Are you going to do anything?" I demanded. He smiled, smugly told me that they would get them--the place was surrounded. More cops started to show up. The criminals took off.

My mom was shaken. I was feeling pretty cocky since they didn't get my money. I told mom, dad and grandma that lunch was on me. We drove off with my former criminal AA friend. He was very careful not to get pulled over by cops.

Margo

Last night was the first night of my first class in a school counseling master's degree. I did not have a good time. Wednesdays are the longest school day ever. After the longest school day ever, I rode my bike down to the school and showed up just in time. there were about 20 people in the class, mostly young, white, upper-middle class girls. There was one man, and two older women. I sat in back of one of the older women. The class was 2 hrs of introduction...boring. I scribbled down my own thoughts while the teacher blathered on and on. I didn't feel too engaged. Then we had to find partners and talk about ourselves. We were supposed to learn enough about each other to introduce our partners. I did not want to be partners with Margo, but I didn't really care. I curtly answered all the questions we were supposed to answer (where was I in the birth order, what did I like to do, what was my favorite vacation spot and who was my favorite teacher. ) Then she answered the same questions (she was the 2nd out of 3, liked swimming and her twins, liked Playa del Carmen in Mexico and this old pastor was her favorite teacher). Then she started probing me about something and I said too much! I always do that. Why tell a stranger more than I want them to know? Especially advicy strangers! I told her I was struggling at my job. I didn't know why; was it my need to be special? Was it just a bad fit? etc. She told me the books I should read, how much being around other counseling students would help me...etc. We were the last to introduce each other. Everyone else in the room gave cute, succinct introductions (this is Cindy, she likes horses and Hawaii; or Jacky whose brother was in Vegas on a job offer blah blah blah). Then Margo said, "This is Jaimie, she has a need to be special; I would like to hear more about this." My insides immediately cramped. I was twisted up as small as I could go, beet red, and seething!! I didn't mention her "dirty laundry" in her introduction--"This is Margo, she has a negative bastard of a husband." (which she did tell me..in so many words.) I guess part of the reason I was so mad was that so many people in the counseling Masters program are the most unaware, unpersonable, socially inept, unhealthy people I have met!! I would never go to counseling with Margo!! I seethed all class and at the end, debated on whether or not to say something. I decided to--after all she is going to be a counselor for gosh sakes!! So I said, "Margo, I thought it was inappropriate that you shared that I have a need to be special...do you think it would have been appropriate for me to mention you and your negative husband?" She was shocked of course. She started to tell me about how she thought that it was really positive, and she thought that was neat about me, and she really did want to know more about it--maybe others would too, blah, blah, blah. I told her I didn't want to hear it, I didn't trust her at all, and I would be sitting on the other side of the room from her from now on, and she definitely would not "hear more about it." She wanted me to take it back, and she told me I was not being fair. I was too raw to be polite. I don't really want Margo in my life, See? Why do I have to beat around the bush about that? She begged me to let her to plead her case. I just said "BOUNDARIES MARGO!" and left.

Maybe the middle school daily drama is rubbing off on me. I still maintain Margo is socially inept.

Choose your own adventure.

I am irritated, tired, and unamused by everyone in the world today. I am not happy doing my job. In fact, I am depressed. I ate about 5,000 calories today to help assuage my nervous despair and self-destructive demands for comfort. I am trying to make sense of the story I am writing. Here are a few possibilities (with my own desperate solutions.)

Once upon a time there was a spoiled princess. If you met her, you wouldn't know she was spoiled because she didn't have the nicest new clothes or fanciest new things. But she needed everyone to think she was the most special girl they knew. Then, one day, she became a teacher. Suddenly she was stuck working as hard as she could in a job she was not very special at. Plus, she taught 150 students who all wanted to be special too! She cried and whined every day. She over-ate and stayed up late and became irate. She resented the world! Then she read Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning and realized that she wasn't in Auschwitz, and she could choose both her attitude and the meaning she wanted to find in her life. So, she decided she could choose to believe she was special, even when her circumstances told her otherwise. She decided to stay a teacher to she could teach students the truth she found. THE END.

Or....

Once there was a girl who didn't know what she wanted. She thought that if she just picked SOMETHING than eventually she would like it. So, she forced things. She forced college at the Naval Academy. She forced herself to be an officer in the USMC. She forced a master's degree. She forced bike messenger events. She then forced herself to become a teacher. When she realized it was not a good fit, she started brainstorming about then next bad fit she could force. She strained and strained until her brain hurt. She ate thousands of extra calories. She thrashed around and beat herself up. Finally she decided to apply for a job as a caretaker at a beach for 100,000 pay (http://www.islandreefjob.com/) Even though the job was advertised on "Good Morning America," and showed up in every major newspaper in the country, she got the job! It was there, floating through tropical fish on the Great Barrier Reef, and lounging around in a hammock, that she found her true calling. She finally lost the weight she needed to in order to look cute in a bikini. She wrote--and learned to write well. She had the means and the talent now to pursue her dream of writing people's redemption stories. THE END.

or.

There once was a girl who didn't believe. She didn't believe in redemption stories, or "boy meets girl." She didn't believe in "happily ever after." She didn't believe that God was in charge. She didn't even believe her own thoughts!! She didn't believe her teachers or friends. She didn't believe her therapist, pastor, or doctor. She didn't believe she would make it. She didn't believe she had anything to offer. She didn't believe she had a future. She didn't believe her life had purpose. She didn't believe there was a point to anything she did. She didn't believe that people could help her. She didn't believe things could get better. She didn't believe she could stop compulsively eating. She didn't believe she could be a writer. She didn't believe she would find a calling. She didn't believe that God and Jesus really cared. Then one day something changed--she started to believe. She was not good at believing at first. But then she practiced every day and got better and better. Now she is pretty good at believing. THE END.

or...

Once there was a girl who wanted the answers. She wanted to know what she was supposed to do for the next 20 years. She wanted to know if she would be married or single. Would she have kids? She wanted to know if she would be a teacher, a counselor, a writer, or something else. She wanted to know what God wanted from her. She wanted to know if she should move to China or Africa or Ireland or somewhere she had never been. Then one day she accepted the fact that no one had answers. She realized that people who were the most happy/successful/at peace were able to accept their circumstances, pray, and trust that wherever they were at was where they were supposed to be. THE END.

I prefer the one about the Great Barrier Reef.

Boot Camp

Here is a letter to my writing coach:

I felt bad about wanting to cry the whole seminar I went to. There were a lot of reasons I was upset...some merely circumstantial (that time of the month, the time commitment of the whole ordeal coinciding with a much too busy week). Others were more fundamental. I see myself as "gifted" (intelligent, talented). However, I am not gifted at anything in particular. I am pretty good at a lot of things. I am in a mediocre job and living a mediocre life that I am mediocre at. In a room full of people who seem to be really good at one thing, I felt freaked out. (I don't have 10,000 journals in my closet, or 5,000 characters in my head). I will do your Febuary boot camp. However, I want you to be brutally honest about where you see writing fitting into my life. You seem "too nice." It seems like part of your nature to be. In addition, people pay you to help them get better at something they may or may not be good at--and many are not asking you to tell them they have no talent. Also, you are not omnicient; there is no sense telling someone how crappy they are, just in case there is something you don't see. Plus, losing a client because of your brutal honesty is bad business. Etc. Its just that I am so new to the writing thing. I am undisciplined and uneducated. I need a dose of reality from you. I don't want you to let me win at a foot race just to protect my fragile ego. I don't want to be that kid who takes swimming lessons at the YMCA and thinks she can go to the olympics when she grows up. The level of investment/sacrifice/commitment it would take to "catch up" is large enough that I don't want to come into it ignorant. Well....thanks for the therapy session...ha. Do you ever get the feeling you are doing double duty as a therapist? j.

My Writing Coaches response:

Hey,

Thanks so much for your email. First of all, please don’t feel bad for being upset at the last Writer’s Craft class, I think it may have felt bigger to you than it did to your classmates, everyone there seemed really glad to meet you. The real key to not suffering in ANY writing class is to lay down Comparing Mind. We can all get pretty freaked when we get in rooms where it feels like the other writers are cranking out the text, or have 14 different literary projects and apparently endless time to do them all. So we have to come back, again and again, to clear sight and compassion for self. Not in some touchy-feely-kumbaya-kind of way, but in a serious way. No one can do your work and you cannot do theirs. You are right, you are gifted and creative, and if you decide you are “mediocre”, then that’s what you will carry. I am glad you will be doing the Bootcamp, it will honestly be a pleasure for me to read your work every day and to talk to you at the end of the class about what you got and how it went. When it comes to being “too nice” I believe that the issue is not what anyone says or does not say about your work, but what you are willing to believe. If you have decided that your work is mediocre, then it doesn’t matter who you ask or how honest they are. You will simply believe the people who tell you it sucks and disbelieve the people who tell you its good. If you decide that you are “undisciplined” or “uneducated” then those value judgments may keep you from hearing any other opinions. In everything I do, I am called to be both utterly honest and utterly skillful, one is useless without the other. I find it fascinating how the word “brutal” is so often paired with “honesty”. I do not believe that any form of brutality is useful to writers, but honesty is mandatory. As a teacher, and especially as an editor, I don’t give “reality doses”. I don’t try to convince anyone to believe me. I don’t let people pay me and then tell them what they want to hear, good or bad. I don’t let anyone win a footrace or tell anyone they are ready for the Olympics. I simply give detailed, substantial, honest, skillful feedback on the text I read, based on my long career as a working writer. The stakes are too high to tell anyone anything but the truth, but brutality and cruelty are not interesting to me. Writing and self-expression are obviously important to you. All that really matters is this: What do you want to achieve as a writer? How clearly are you willing to see? What are you willing to try? How hard are you willing to work? Great successful writers are not touched on the head at birth and ordained by god, they are self-made, over long periods of time. Folks who indulge in the heights of over-inflated egos or the depths of low self-esteem simply don’t survive as working writers, because both of those conditions render you blind to the truth of your text, the truth of your practice and the truth of your own worth. And we need all those things to succeed. Hope my long soap-box was a bit helpful.just let me know what you need, I'm always willing to help.

Facebook

I have been avoiding it for so long. I already have three email addresses, all of which I nervously check at least three times a day. However, in an unguarded moment I recieved an invitation from my long time friend to join--so I did. I was immediately asked which of my email contacts I wanted to link to (I may or may not have accidently linked with Jimmy--even though I really didn't want to). Then it asks you your high school and college information. You are then asked which of your high school and college friends you want to link to. It was pretty amazing really--of my 950 fellow college graduates, 500 of them have facebook accounts! My friend at church said the whole friend request sounded elementary schoolish--"will you be my friend?" requests sent out to all the people I wanted to reconnect with. I suppose my college situation was different then some. I went to the Naval Academy, so in 4 years of our voluntary prison sentance, we really got to know each other. I am now in touch with 89 friends from my past lives. Some I don't really care about talking to again, but others I am thrilled to be speaking to! One of my dear friends may come and visit in a month!

I picked out only the cutist pictures of myself and have said only positive things--its sort of like a virtual reunion so I put my best foot forward. Two friends in med school, a few that graduated with doctorates from Ivy League schools, Cambridge alumni, CEOs, Lawyers. I can't exactly compete with that.

Facebook!!

I finally got a facebook account. I have been up 3 hours past "bedtime" with that anxious, remeniscing, intimidated reunion feeling. Its amazing how many people I know are on facebook. And I think all of them are skinner, more successful, fulfilled, sure of themselves, holier, more loved, better behaved, and have better hair than me. I was trying to see if Jimmy was on facebook (I know, horrible), and I think I accidently sent him a "friend invitation" AHH!!! Absolutely not what I wanted to do!

But then today and yesterday I remembered to be grateful. I have a great church that loves me. I have a pastor/mentor who checks up on me nearly every day. I have a nice place to live, and the sun has been out. I ran an 8:30 mile at the track, which was much better than when I ran a few months ago, when I took up the running habit again. I enjoyed a lovely turkey dinner with my friend tonight, and I talked to an old college buddy I found on facebook. I have new running shoes, and a job. I have been to cool places in the world, and I love my sister. I have lovely parents, and I like a lot of my clothes. My bike is the most perfect bike ever and it has not gotten stolen. I have been reading the Bible which is a good habit for me. I get to go snowboarding on Saturday. I have only one more day before the weekend. I didn't burn the turkey I was cooking. Cumin is so delicious and I can have it any time I want. So is home-made hot chocolate, and I have the perfect hot chocolate mug--with a mermaid on it. Chocolate chip cookies are delicious and I can have them pretty much whenever I want. My body is strong and capable, even if I do look pregnant because I have a huge pot belly.

Deadlines

Today was a blue day. I have so many deadlines, yet nothing is very important to me.

I am training with my friend to run a marathon that I am not going to run. I have all this work to do to get my teaching licence--and I don't even know if I want to teach! I reapplied to a masters program in counseling, and start taking courses towards my counseling degree next week--I already abandoned it once because it didn't exactly feel like a fit. I am applying for a job living at a resort at the Great Barrier Reef....a one-in-a-million shot to borrow some time so I can figure out a "life plan." I am not sure what I will teach tomorrow, or the next day. Each day I am simply throwing something together, last minute. I have to finish about 10 books that are sitting around my house, plopped open to the page I left them on. Meanwhile, I just ordered three books from Amazon and have two on hold at the library--all on stuff I am mildly interested in. I am either strictly dieting or neurotically shoving carbs down as fast as I can put them in my mouth. I want to create a stable life, but I am planning to secretly abandon it all and start over--in Africa, or Ireland, or on the Great Wall of China. I feel like I am doing everything I can to find answers, cope with anxiety, "stay on task," but then I don't have any clue what to do.

I am a girl who heard about a treasure in a field, and sold all I had to buy the field. Only I have been digging and digging and still can't find a thing!! (Or I wouldn't recognize it if I found it!)
I want peace, but I am at war with myself! I am a champion of souls, but I leave mine to be victimized by my impulses, my intense anxiety, my fear. I am a thinker who is out of my mind!

Maranatha. Lord Come.

The beginning

Sometimes I preach at my church. Its nothing I thought I wanted to do. It never occured to me that it was an option, or that I would like it. But Pastor John encouraged me and, since I have started it has been a cathartic experience. It forces me to draw conclusions about the information I have now. It gives me a deadline for applying scripture to my life. In the process of deciding what a passage means, I often have to change some things in my life to accomodate the truth. Here are John's expectations of us:

What we want from our preacher:

1. Prophet: prepare your heart. Preaching means you are aware that you stand before God as you say these words. God/Christ are your primary audience. The rest of us are listening in and want to hear from God.
2. Pastor: help us to help us feel the love of Christ. So. You must be in touch with Christ’s love to be congruent! It doesn’t have to be “perfect” but you must be in as good a place as you can… “all prayed up.”
3. Priest: help us see how to come into the presence of God/Christ. How did your material get you there?
4. Witness: use scripture wisely, to help us feel and understand God. Don’t just give us pleasant thoughts about how to be healthy or whatever…. We want something out of the Bible. Maybe read a Bible commentary on your passage. But that has to somehow help us in our relationship w God and Christ!!!!
5. Child: own whatever you’re trying to tell us. How is this real to you? How is it touching you? How is it informing your life? How is it making you grow? If you are “above” whatever you are talking about, just sit down and pray.
6. King/Queen: how do you want us to change? Preach to our will. What do you want us to do with/about this? How do you want us to grow up?

So with all this on my mind, plus a disturbing conversation with Jimmy, I finally decided that my connection with him had to be severed, even if Dream Jimmy was still around. Here is the sermon that I gave in October that finally led to a goodbye:

Question: What does hospitality look like? Is showing hospitality always the right thing to do?
I hate to be stuck in the same old tired stuff. Yesterday I was looking through old emails from Pastor John…I have been at this church over two years now! Weird. All that time there is all this candy and Jimmy drama. These days we are all talking about change, what it means to be progressive. How would you change the Bible to reflect your life?
“Taste and see that processed refined sugars are good, blessed is the woman who takes refuge in them.”
Or “Fear the lord your God and serve him only unless Jimmy dumps his cheep hoe girlfriend”.
“Those who hope in the lord and go on shopping sprees at Nordstrom’s that they can’t afford will renew their strength.”
I want to talk about how we show hospitality to strangers who are destructive in our lives.

First I want to play a song. Its called "The Stranger" by Leonard Cohen.

It's true that all the men you knew were dealers
who said they were through with dealing
Every time you gave them shelter
I know that kind of man
It's hard to hold the hand of anyone
who is reaching for the sky just to surrender,
who is reaching for the sky just to surrender.

Chorus 1
And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind
you find he did not leave you very much
not even laughter
Like any dealer he was watching for the card
that is so high and wild
he'll never need to deal another
He was just some Joseph looking for a manger
He was just some Joseph looking for a manger

Chorus 2
And then leaning on your window sill
he'll say one day you caused his will
to weaken with your love and warmth and shelter
And then taking from his wallet
an old schedule of trains, he'll say
I told you when I came I was a stranger
I told you when I came I was a stranger.

But now another stranger seems
to want you to ignore his dreams
as though they were the burden of some other
O you've seen that man before
his golden arm dispatching cards
but now it's rusted from the elbows to the finger
And he wants to trade the game he plays for shelter
Yes he wants to trade the game he knows for shelter.

Ah you hate to see another tired man
lay down his hand
like he was giving up the holy game of poker
And while he talks his dreams to sleep
you notice there's a highway
that is curling up like smoke above his shoulder.
It is curling just like smoke above his shoulder.

You tell him to come in sit down
but something makes you turn around
The door is open you can't close your shelter
You try the handle of the road
It opens do not be afraid
It's you my love, you who are the stranger
It's you my love, you who are the stranger.

Well, I've been waiting, I was sure
we'd meet between the trains we're waiting for
I think it's time to board another
Please understand, I never had a secret chart
to get me to the heart of this
or any other matter
When he talks like this
you don't know what he's after
When he speaks like this,
you don't know what he's after.

Let's meet tomorrow if you choose
upon the shore, beneath the bridge
that they are building on some endless river
Then he leaves the platform
for the sleeping car that's warm
You realize, he's only advertising one more shelter
And it comes to you, he never was a stranger
And you say ok the bridge or someplace later.

Chorus 1

Chorus 2

I always took this song as a good old fashioned man-hating song. The woman seems like the victim of a player who doesn’t really know what he wants, or knows what he wants but just wants some comfort for a while. This week I was convicted of the woman’s culpability in the song.

2 John is a weird book….its short…the shortest one in the Bible. It’s a follow up to the message in 1 John, which I think can be summed up as this: You can’t separate love and God…To love is to know God. We know God through Christ. Don’t make up your own idea of God, and your own style of love, follow Christ!
2 John reiterates some of these points. John is talking to a lady who is following Christ. He reminds her that the command is to love one another, and that real love is following Christ’s commands.
Then it gets unusual. He tells her not to show hospitality to people who deny Christ’s teachings.
2 John 7-11. There are a lot of smooth-talking charlatans loose in the world who refuse to believe that Jesus Christ was truly human, a flesh-and-blood human being. Give them their true title: Seducer! Deceiver! Antichrist!
Be very careful around them so you don't lose out on what we've worked so diligently in together; I want you to get every reward you have coming to you. Anyone who gets so progressive in his thinking that he walks out on the teaching of Christ, walks out on God. But whoever stays with the teaching, stays faithful to both the Father and the Son.
If anyone shows up who doesn't hold to this teaching, don't invite him in and give him the run of the place. do not receive him [do not accept him, do not welcome or admit him] into [your] house or bid him Godspeed or give him any encouragement.
For he who wishes him success, who encourages him, is a partaker in his evil doings. You are giving him a platform to perpetuate his evil ways, making you his partner.
It’s weird thinking that there are limitations to hospitality. That God might have some commandments against us showing hospitality in certain situations. Being part of this church, we have already decided that Christ shows hospitality to the poor, broken, needy, and crazy. We show hospitality to many who don’t believe in the message of Christ.
Historically this book is about supporting the ministry of the Gnostics. Opening your home to a Gnostic was equivalent to supporting the message he was spreading throughout the Empire. It was not just showing kindness, but backing the message, supporting the ministry.
This week, God has convicted me of indiscriminate hospitality—of being hospitable to other lovers. 2 John, the woman getting word from John was either the church leader or the leader of her family. Showing hospitality of a Gnostic not only strengthened the message, it put her and her family, and what they stood for, in potential danger. At best, the energy that the woman devoted in showing hospitality to a Gnostic preacher could not be given to an itinerate follower of Christ. At worst, she could be in danger of losing her first love.
A part of this Leonard Cohen song has haunted me all week. Jimmy called me at 2:00 last week professing his love blah blah blah, asking if I’d leave this weekend open for us and his girlfriend to hang out. Being the Jimmy’s ever-willing emotional hostess I answered the phone at 2:00 and talked with him for an hour, and went through a week and a half of manic behavior (over spending, over eating, a ridiculously expensive facial an expensive haircut that looks strangely like Slash from Guns n’ Roses except not curly--or maybe Rod Stewart, along with max levels of stress, and consuming a ridiculous amount of candy.) For whatever reason, what Jimmy is offering feels like love to me.
You tell him to come in sit downbut something makes you turn aroundThe door is open you can't close your shelterYou try the handle of the roadIt opens do not be afraidIt's you my love, you who are the strangerIt's you my love, you who are the stranger.
It occurred to me that I did this to myself! I let him in to a place that I can no longer seal up! I have lost some security; somehow I have put my internal family in danger. Then I let candy and overspending in to. Then it was Jimmy, Candy, and overspending at the dinner table in my head drinking all my creative energy and goodness. And I feel nuts. Then I saw it…And the song says that I am a stranger too. I am not actively looking for another lover besides Christ, but I am passively letting other lovers in.
So how do you know if the hospitality you are offering is Christlike or not? I think that if we are inviting others to see Christ with us we are doing his will, but if we are inviting other lovers in we are not doing his will!
So how do we get them out!!!???
The book mentions truth five times in four verses!
2 John 1-4: To the chosen lady and her children, whom I love in the truth—and not I only, but also all who know the truth - because of the truth, which lives in us and will be with us forever: Grace, mercy and peace from God the Father and from Jesus Christ, the Father's Son, will be with us in truth and love. It has given me great joy to find some of your children walking in the truth, just as the Father commanded us.
How does truth keep us from inviting in other lovers? The one lover I invite in a lot is candy!! It happens so subtly. I am being so good that I reward myself with just one cookie until it becomes 6 candy bars and two ice cream bars in a day. Friday, I ate a whole box of ‘Nilla wafers and two candy bars, yesterday a whole thing of Milano cookies and milk..Dang. If I knew the truth about how abusive this is I think I would stop..
This guy Mike Geary sends me his emails, and here is the latest: “Why do some of us see junk foods and not crave them at all (and even view them as disgusting), while others see junk foods and cannot resist the temptation? For me personally, I can say that I think the reason why junk food is so revolting to me is that I've spent so many years reading about all of the negative effects that these foods have on your body... and digging into the actual science and the negative cellular reactions that they cause within your body. I have ingrained in my head over the years that these foods are pure evil and therefore, I have no desire to eat them. In fact, my dislike of junk foods is so deeply rooted at this point in my life, even the smell of deep fried chicken or donuts sometimes can make me feel sick, whereas the smell of a healthy meal makes me feel energized. Everyone always said I just had "discipline"... but now that I've actually thought about it more, I've discovered that it's not discipline, but rather that my brain views junk foods with such a negative view, that the thought of eating junk food almost makes me feel sick. Keep continually educating yourself on nutrition and how different types of foods are processed and react in your body. Hopefully, by learning exactly what is going wrong in your body when you consume trans fats or excess processed sugars, perhaps that will help you to view junk foods in such a negative way that you no longer crave them at all.”
I can mostly believe that bad food is bad for me. But there is a death there that I have to face that is hard. Food gives me the dopamine rush I need to comfort myself with. It may not be as good as God, but I don’t have to trust God to get it--it’s there for me any time I need it. In order to move on I have to let God kill this thing. I have to let go of the good that I get from it. I have to trust that something is on the other side of it. I have to trust that even though I have been conditioned to believe that this is love, that it is not!
I know if I knew the truth about who Jimmy was he wouldn’t hold such a fascination with me. In The Cloister Walk, author Kathleen Norris quotes a Benedictine nun who spoke about her own early infatuation with a priest, and its role in her formation as a celibate: She broke off contact on the advice of her novice mistress, and about a year later, ran into the priest by accident.
“I realized then that my obedience had dispelled the mental image that I’d built up of him. My infatuation hadn’t taken the real person into account. I found that love starts when you see the real person, not the one you’ve invented…I learned…that what matters is not that you’re good, but that you trust.” She trusted in her guides, in the process, and in her decision—the decision to enter the monastic life. “I finally realized that I had to keep in mind that my primary relationship is with God. My vows were made to another person, the person of Christ. And all of my decisions about love had to be made in the light of that person.”
So I did it, I said goodbye.
Hey,

It bothers me you didn't call to get together this weekend.

Our interactions aren't good for me. They send me into this weird state of manic self destruction/self improvement/self loathing. I don't understand it, but I don't want it in my life. It’s like a bad trip. (I haven't done drugs, so I haven't had a bad trip but this is what I imagine they feel like.)

So, I know you said when you were drunk you would do anything for me; Here is what I want: don't talk to me anymore. I know you have good intentions, I know you mean the best. I don't want you to even write me back and say so. I believe you. I believe in you, I want all the best in life for you. It’s just that having any sort of relationship is just no good for me.

It seems like you are thinking about and working on some cool things. I pray for God's peace and mercy on your travels.

See ya in Heaven? We will have eternity to catch up I'd imagine.

Find a good nun friend with better boundaries to take my place would ya?

Jaim

But with Jimmy I have some things to mourn. He was my muse. He was an unexpected excitement in a romantic life that looks like the Sahara desert. He held my attention. He allowed me to carry hope of an unbelievable romance with another human. I have to mourn that stuff and it sucks. It’s not something I wanted to do, even though I wanted him out of my house! My friend SL said she would help me with a Jimmy funeral which will be good.
So hospitality is an awesome expression of Love if we are able to bring our guests to the foot of Christ. But if our guests take the place of Christ and the message we have to get them out!! I think that If we are inviting others to see Christ with us we are doing his will, but if we are inviting other lovers in we are not doing his will!

Writing?

Wow--I finally decided to step off the cliff of competence and free-fall into the awkward new abyss of writing. Its easy for me to run every day even though I don't need to be a famous runner. I recognize the value of getting exercise. So why is it so hard to write--and face the possibility I may not be a fabulous and famous writer? Creating something has value in itself right? I guess writing is closer to the core of who I am. I want others (God even?) to recognize my creation as good. I want to say some thing new, or at least say something old in a different way. Sometimes its hard to believe I am "special" enough to do that.



But here three things I am trying to believe:



1) My friend said once that, "Everyone has a few sermons." In other words, we all have something we can say to the world, and no one can say it all. I don't want to become merely a consumer of other's wisdom. I want to be brave enough to explain my perspective, with the faith that I can say things a little differently than they have ever been said before.



2) "What is most personal is most universal"--Henry Nouwen. There is something about blogging that seems voyeuristic...like "emotional porn". However, I think it is possible to be vulnerable with my feelings, thoughts, hopes, fears, intuition--without exposing my self too much. At the same time, the more honest I can be, the more others will relate. I love that thought..that the farther I go in, the more the outside can identify.



3) We are constantly consuming these grandiose redemption stories; the beautiful woman saved from harm, rags to riches, average people finding themselves on incredible adventures, wars, arch-rivals, super powers, treasures found, rare talents, world-shifting events. I think we lose a taste for the subtle redemption story. My friend who has done a lot of drugs once told me something that relates to this. He said, "People use drugs because they want to experience transcendence. Drugs simulate the experience that monks have in prayer. However, with drugs, the high is immediate, use is controlled, and the high is far from subtle. At the same time, there is no relationship with the divine--only a sensation of one. When someone decides to find transcendence without drugs, its extra hard, because the "real thing" is so subtle and out of their control. I think the same thing is true for redemption stories. We only have a taste for the redemption stories in neon lights. However they aren't ours. We don't own them! If I can write my own redemption story--maybe one that is too boring for Hollywood--others would be brave enough to write their own, not-too-action-packed story.

I am beginning this story before my "redemption". I am sure I have had some significant "lost-but-now-I'm-found moments in my life so far, but I intuitively sense that I am in the beginning of a journey towards a significant breakthrough--that I am moving from a lonely, scattered indirection to a place of identity. I am calling my redemption story, "How I finally got over Jimmy." Maybe what is really going on is I am willing to believe that redemption happens to us all, if we are willing to pay attention. I fancy myself a journalist, chronicling an event I am sure is worth covering. Jimmy is sort of a real guy, and sort of not. He does exist, somewhere in Chicago, but the real Jimmy is not even close to the Jimmy in my mind--the one who shows up in my dreams. I think I will have moved somewhere significant when I can finally stop believing that the Jimmy in my mind exists in real life, and has anything to do with Chicago Jimmy. The Jimmy in my mind is beauty, charisma, power. He has "it"--whatever it is. When he walks into a crowded room, everybody stares. When he commands others the whole words stops and hangs on his every word. I guess Dream Jimmy is God, the Devil, everything I am not, everything I want to be. Dream Jimmy is an archetype, a mythical hero, a misunderstood Marvel Comic character, my rescuer, the one who understands me, and can save me from a prison of despair, while at the same time telling me who I am. I think Jimmy is somehow a stand-in for Jesus.....

Since I am teaching middle school, I started reading the Twilight series. (Just to get in touch with the kids of course :) ) Its pretty addicting. I want a vampire boyfriend! (Dream Jimmy is sort of like Edward, the really hot Vampire who is in love with a seemingly average Girl.) One thing Pastor John said today was that we don't all get to be fabulous, but we all get to be in relationship with a fabulous God (Then he looked at me and gave me an air hi-five.) In the Twilight series, Bella, the "average" girl is somehow extraordinary, because Edward, this "god", loves her uniquely. Is this somehow true of all of us? That we all fabulous because we are loved uniquely by a "rock star" God?