Wider Still.

I spent the last five days in Austin with Nathan and his partner Abel. It was a lovely, relaxing vacation in my favorite (non-New York) city, spent with my dearest friend. Good times were had by all.

The timing of my trip just happened to coincide with Austin Gay Pride weekend. Since moving back to Austin, Nathan has started to go to the University Baptist Church. This is a place I always wanted to go while I lived in Austin. While we were in school at UT, UBC became notorious because it had chosen to disaffiliate itself with the Southern Baptist Convention and decided to become a welcoming and affirming church, something very bold even in a liberal mecca such as Austin. On Thursday night, while I was there, the church hosted a Gay Pride Unity Service. This service brought together people from many different faith traditions to show unity and solidarity as a community, and to worship together. The experience of being in a room full of people who have taken refuge in this church, many of whom have been rejected by their families and faith communities because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, was simply profound. People being able to rest there and fully feel a part of a community of faith, knowing that there is safety and acceptance for them and their partners and their children and families.

And so I feel renewed. There are so many grave injustices that we encounter everyday that seem insurmountable. But this is not one of them. Every one of us who is part of a community of faith has the power to undo this. The power to extend a hand, open a door, open a heart and see justice done.

At the end of the service, one of the choruses sang a song called, Draw the Circle Wide. This is what we must seek to do...draw the circle wide, wide enough for everyone to stand inside. Everyone. Everyone, EVERYONE. No one stands outside.

Draw the circle wide. Draw it wider still.
Let this be our song, no one stands alone, standing side by side,
Draw the circle wide.

God the still point of the circle Round whom all creation turns;
Nothing lost, but held forever, in God’s gracious arms.

Let our hearts touch far horizons. So encompass great and small;
Let our loving know no borders, faithful to God’s call.

Let the dreams we dream be larger. Than we've ever dreamed before;
Let the dream of Christ be in us, open every door.

All at Once.

So it's been a bit since I've posted anything. I've started no less than 5 posts, but could not make any sense of them, so I quit. Right now, as I find myself reading several things at once, my mind is a bit muddled.

Every time I go to Austin, I come back with no less than 5 new books. Part of my circuit there is the book stores, so I hit Book People (a wonder in itself), the Half-Priced Books on North Lamar and the Goodwill near my old apartment that has an impressive, but very unorganized library. This time I can back with Mrs. Dalloway, Franny and Zooey, The Corrections, something called Total Happiness (an independently published book that was quite good until the end) , The Irresisitible Revolution, and Are Men Necessary? by Maureen Dowd (who is an op-ed columnist for the New York Times.) And now I am in the process of getting through all of them.

I started with Are Men Necessary?, which is a commentary on feminism, politics and the rise of cosmetic surgery in America (among other things). And then I moved on to The Irresistible Revolution, which is pretty amazing. And in addition to these two, I'm reading Financial Peace Revisited as part of a class I am taking. Reading The Irresistible Revolution right after Are Men Necessary?, has filled my head with thoughts of revolution, and the means to combat some -isms (i.e. material-, rac-, sex-, etc.), and to bring about others (i.e. optim-, femin-, liberal-, etc.). And then I read about attaining financial peace and am told that I should work toward "wealth building" and that I should have the means to buy a boat should I so choose (I won't, because boats make me nervous, but the choice is there). But the voice in my head responds "Savings, Retirement, Boats, Houses, Cars? But people are sleeping in the park across the street from my office. Something is wrong with this." I feel like I'm simultaneously living in two worlds.

I had been told about The Irresistible Revolution by some friends, but am just now getting to read it. The author, Shane Claiborne, is part of The Simple Way community in Philadelphia. He and several others have opened a community center and live there along side the residents of one of the poorest neighborhoods in the country. In the book he tells stories of protests, and important trips to India and Iraq, and of using joy and love to show the world there is another way. That conflict can be solved without violence, that poverty can be overcome when we care for each other, that dying people can be given dignity even if they cannot be saved. This gives me hope that my generation of Americans is looking at the World differently and seeing what has to be done to make it just, and safe, and peaceful.

So now I am wrestling with and trying to reconcile these two worlds. I find money very tricky, and am made very anxious by its presence in mass, but also by its absence. I have lived my entire life in a place of financial struggle (though I know very well that I and my family are among some of the wealthiest people in the world), and can see the great potential of finally winning this battle. I simply must hope for the discernment to know when enough is enough, and to use what I have to do what is right.

Holiday.

Today is my first day back from a very nice vacation. I was off for a week and spent 4 of those days in Texas. I enjoyed the heat, did a significant amount of car singing, spent alot of time with my wonderful friends, and got to see two of my favorite people get married (to each other). I got to go to Kerbey Lane, and Book People, and both of my favorite grocery stores. And at one point got so lost in the suburbs/woods as to confirm that I can never live there. Trees make me nervous.

Windsor.

I got an e-mail from my mother today, letting me know they had had to put my dog, Windsor, to sleep yesterday. I say "my dog" but he was really my mother's dog. He loved her with such devotion that made the rest of us jealous. I was often offended that he did not want to play with me, but would take the toy from my hand and go with it directly to my mother, as if bearing a slobbery bouquet of flowers. He was a very sweet dog. Hyper but not too much. Very smart and tolerant, as in high school my friends would often pick him up and make him dance and I was very found of making him do a dog show run. I used to take him for walks around the neighborhood--a rarity in his backyard life--and we would stop at my best friend's house, and Windsor would wait patiently as my friend and I talked for hours in his drive way. My best friend always spoke to him with a British accent as he thought the name Windsor warranted such a thing. He had a great love for stuffed penguins, and the occasional cow, but was known to turn his nose up at anything not black and white. And he knew very well that he was not allowed to bark in the house, so he would sit at the front window and if he saw something worth barking at would run to the back yard through the dog door and bark. So polite.

I have not seen him in almost 4 years, as that's how long it's been since I've been to my childhood home, but it is still sad that he is gone. He's probably the last pet I'll ever have, as my allergies are now beyond being able to tolerate anything other than maybe a fish. But he was a good pet, a loving companion, and a constant source of amusement. And he will be missed.

Home...again.

I have found myself a bit homesick as of late. Wanting so badly to be in Austin, for just a few days. I think it's mainly because I'm really cold. I miss the feeling of leaving my cold office to enjoy the heat of my beloved car, Bianca. I miss parking her next to Tellulah in the mornings. I miss Kerbey Lane pancakes. I miss quiet outdoor dining. I miss hills and trees, uniterrupted by concrete. I miss UT. I miss Book People. I miss my friends (though most of them don't even live there anymore). I miss polite waitstaff. I miss Chili's. I miss MALLS. I miss driving to visit people, rather than having to fly across the country. I miss convenience. I miss space. I miss hippies.

Reunited (2).

Last night I had a dream about my high school reunion that again confirmed that I probably should sit this one out. In the dream, my best friend (who didn't go to high school with me) and I decided to go to this very large mental health clinic for some sort of community support group. Support from/for what I don't know. And then Nathan was suddenly gone and I was there alone and people I knew in high school kept popping up. I was like "What are all of you doing here...at this mental health place...in Brooklyn?" And they were apalled that I didn't know that this was our high school reunion. I spoke with people who I have not seen or thought about probably since high school graduation, and knew an amazingly lot about their lives. And then my 2nd grade best friend, Heather, who I also went to high school with, walks in with her mother (who was the ultimate band mom, and who used to let me spend the night at their house on Fridays in the 2nd grade). I was really excited to see them since this was a friendship I always valued a great deal. And then her mother starts yelling at me about how I'm responsible for all of the troubles they've had, though I've seen or spoken to none of them since Heather's wedding in 2000. It was just as confusing in the dream as it is now upon waking. That's some serious reunion anxiety rearing it's ugly head.

On Moving...

Just like I know roommates, I also know moving. They're connected I guess. I come from a family of movers. That I remember, I have moved 18 times. The place I moved from this weekend is the place I have lived the longest, second only to the house my parents still live in (which I lived in for 6 years). This move has been particularly strenuous. It has resulted in a poop-load of boxes, a much need thinning out of my wardrobe, several bags of trash, some decent (and not so decent) furniture left on the curb, heaps of reflection on the past 4 years, and a rather heated telephone fight with my best friend (sorry, love). It is amazing to think how much stuff--physical and emotional--one building can hold. Now I'm here in the new digs. I heart my new apartment. My new roommate is great. Yea new apartment!

Reunited.

This morning, on my train ride to work, I was thinking about the prospect of going to my high school reunion. And I got a bit nostalgic about seeing a few people who might be there, and excited at the prospect of wearing some fantastic shoes to show to the girl who used to make fun of my Birkenstocks and socks, and my now high-style Converse sneakers (that I am wearing today, and sadly have a hole in the bottom of them). Then when I got to work, I decided to check out the Calallen High Class of 1997 Web site, having decided in my nostalgia-fog that I was definitely going to go. The Web page pops up, and there are dates for the reunion. And I am filled with TERROR. Apparently, nostalgia only works when there's no actual potential for interaction with the Mean Girls. This might be me deciding not to go, as the terror has not waned. And I do actually have a valid excuse as I have to be in Texas for a wedding just two weeks before. So, is there anyone out there who actually regrets not going to their 10-year reunion?

Texas, Our Texas.

Today marks the 171st anniversary of Texas' Independence. And though we were only a country for 9 years, it bears celebrating. I remember when I was in the first grade celebrating Texas' Sesquicentennial, and my sister being a play in which she dressed as a Native American, wearing clothes and headress made of papersack. So in honor of this auspicious day, and of the state I had no love for until I left it, I bring you a survey. Anyone who has ever lived, or longed to live in our state may fill it out and post in the comments section, though I've just realized that this is really long.

1. First of all, where in Texas do (did) you live? Denton, Perryton, Corpus Christi, Austin
2. Where's your favorite place to chill in Texas? Downtown A-Tex.
3. Have you ever been on a boat in Lake Travis? I have, on an ill-fated graduation cruise.
4. Do you go camping? Did back in the scout days, but now I am all City.
5. Do you ever use the word "y'all"? I do. It's my tell.
6. Have you ever owned a truck? No, but I've driven one for like a day.
7. Have you ever had heat exhaustion? Probably during summer band, or while walking to class at UT.
8. How many "Texas snows" have you witnessed? Many when I was a small child.
9. Do you prefer the Spurs or the Mavs? I don't care so much about either.
10. Do you like the city or the country? I am entirely City. I break out in hives the instant I leave the city limits.
11. Have you ever been sprayed by a skunk? No, but I have hidden in a cabin from one.
12. Have you ever run over an armadillo? No, but I've been in a car where one was run over, though that is currently being disputed.
13. Have you ever been to a Cowboys game? No.
14. Have you ever been to a Stars or an Icebats game? Icebats...it was really cold in there.
15. What's your favorite Mexican food restaurant? Trudy's in Austin, by far.
16. Have you ever drank Shiner beer? No.
17. Have you ever been on a hayride? I have and I think I sneezed the entire time.
18. Have you ever ridden a horse? No, I'm allergic.
19. Were you in 4-H or FFA? No, but I did get days off from school because everyone else was.
20. Which place in Texas has the best scenery/view? Turning the corner from 290 to 360 in South Austin.
21. Which grocery store do you shop? HEB on Red River, or Whole Foods of course.
22. Have you ever partied in a barn? No, but I'm sure I missed many a barn party in high school.
23. Have you ever partied in a pasture? No, same as above.
24. Do you like keg beer? Not particularly.
25. Are you Baptist? Nope, B&RCsquared (that's born and raised Church of Christ).
26. Have you ever been swimming in a river or creek? Many, many times, though I probably complained about it the entire time.
27. How many presidents do you know lived in Texas? The two Bushes (though they're not really from Texas) and LBJ.
28. Have you ever been on the Comal River? I have, on many a Girl Scout trip.
29. Is/was your school big? High school was medium sized; College the biggest.
30. How many times have you been to Houston? Probably 10. I am not a fan.
31. Do you know the words to the Texas State Song? I certainly do. I've played and sung it many, many times.
32. Have you ever ridden a mechanical bull? No, that's cruel.
33. Have you ever been to the rodeo? Once in Austin, and we took our Finnish friend. That was some serious culture shock.
34. Do you own a cowboy hat? Sadly no, but I'm in the market.

Living Room.

When I was in college I wrote a play entitled Living Room. (punctuation included). It was about 4 twenty-somethings living together in a 2BR apartment. It was titled thus because it all took place in their living room, and they needed room to live. I am all about the double entendre. And aside from the fact that it was just a little bit racy, as all things in college tend to be, it was fairly true to form. If there's anything I know, it's roommates.

As I rode the D train this morning, I was mulling over my roommate experiences. I am soon to embark on a new one, and have had many, many. My friend Paul (one of the many) and I were discussing one day how many roommates we have had and set up criteria for this count. If you and said person shared a living space for two weeks or more, in an uninterrupted period. And if you've lived with them more than once, you should only count the time when it was the longest. Paul and I count each other roommates, both because I lived with him for two weeks upon my arrival in NYC, and because he and his roommate (my best friend) were the only people I knew in NYC, and thus I was at their house all the time. I maybe should've paid rent. So here's my list, 19 in all, not including roommate to come. Some have names, others epithets.

1. Clara, Shoe Stealer
2. Megan
3. Pauline
4. Janet
5. Carrie
6. Aydrea
7. Shelley
8. LeeAnn
9. Pothead Guy, Whose Name I can't remember
10. Credit Card Stealer, Whose Name I wish to forget
11. Courtney
12. Paul
13. Olga, Russian Mafia Hooker
14. Karen
15. Nathan
16. Caleb
17. Jeremy
18. Brent
19. Adam

This is everybody since I left for college, in August of 1997. I am still friends with 10 of them, if MySpace friends count. This might be a roommate record. I don't know that there is anyone who can best me on that. Hmmm...there certainly are a lot on that list. Good luck #20!

28.

Today is my 28th birthday. I am very big on birthdays, anniversaries, other milestones. I, however, do not age so well. I am really intimidated by the numbers. And being that I have always been the over-achiever everywhere I've been, I'm used to be the youngest (or at least one of the youngest) person at my job, or school, or whatever it is that I happen to be doing at that moment. But now that I am quickly approaching 30 (Noooooo!), I don't think that will be the case any more. How does one adjust to such things? I'm told that once you turn 30, 30 no longer matters. I hope that's true.

The scariest part about 28 is that this year includes my 10-year high school reunion. I've kept in touch with maybe 5 people I went to high school with, and I've only seen or spoken to one of them within the last few years. So I struggle to decide whether it's worth the trip. Through the insidious MySpace, I've gotten back in touch with a few friends from elementary, junior high and high school who I would actually like to see, but wow...a whole weekend with Calallen High. I don't know what to expect from that. I was not unpopular in high school, but I was not popular either. I was a pretty intense student, and was friendly with kids from all of the cliques, including a couple of football players and at least one girl from the dance team (both major enemies of all those in band). Due to this intermingling, I was known as neutral space between the punks and the jocks. I was Switzerland. But as you probably can tell if you if you've read any of this, I am no longer so neutral any more. I'm not sure how that will work. I'm hoping that the my new exotic locale will overrule the fact that I am a Blue sitting deep in Red Country.

Where Youth Meets God.

I realized last night that if I hadn't moved away, I might have spent last week as a counselor at the summer camp I went to every year when I was a kid. Most of the Churches of Christ in Corpus Christi, Texas go to a camp called Bandina Christian Youth Camp. It is about 45 minutes north of San Antonia, situated between two towns, Bandera and Medina (thus the name). And it is something I've grown to appreciate only with age. I started going there when I was 11 and became friends with all the girls in my cabin. And these girls were my camp friends for the next 6 years. I'm still in touch with one of them, my friend Misty. When I was in college most of my friends from my home church were counselors there during the summer, but because I had to work and I was not a part of that church any more, I never got to. So I would go back for Friday night, which was generally a type of reunion for alot of people. Parents would come then, who had gone to camp there 20 years before and were now enjoying watching their children having so much fun. One year I went up for Friday and I ran into Misty in the Pavillion (0ur cafeteria/worship hall) and she invited me to stay the night in her cabin. It turns out this was the cabin where she and I had met 12 years before.

Though I was not so religious, these were by far the greatest weeks of my summer. I painted cups and made bracelets and necklaces in Arts & Crafts. I stood by and watched the Campers vs. Counselors softball games. I greatly anticipated everyday at 11am when all the high school kids would get together in the "Gabezo" (really a gazebo) and sing as loud as we wanted. I always got a seat next to my friend Stuart, who had and still has one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. And I hoped against all hope that we would sing Paradise Valley...or Ring Out the Message...728b, Our God, He is Alive. Now I appreciate the words of these songs for what they are, but then it was the music that was so beautiful to me.

But this week as I think about Camp Bandina, it is with a bit of sadness. One of my dear friends from my home church died last year about this time. The last time I saw him was at Camp, the summer after he graduated from high school, the summer after I graduated from college. I met him when he was about 11 and I was about 14. And though he was quite a bit younger than me, he has always been one of my favorite people. Such a kind and gentle spirit. I wish him peace now. One of my fondest memories of him was riding in his mother's Suburban on our way to Camp, him singing When They Ring Those Golden Bells into his portable Karaoke mic. It takes a special kid to rock the portable Karaoke mic. I think of him often, mostly when I'm singing a very happy song. I hope that's what he doing now.

Does God Care About Football?

First of all, I must say GO HORNS! I don't know that I've ever been so elated as I was last night watching my beloved Longhorns win the National Championship. It's well deserved. TEXAS FIGHT!

Now on to my question...does God care about football? Everytime I watch the Horns on TV, it makes me smile to see a player, after having scored a touchdown or won a game, point to the sky and thank God for that. It makes me happy that all the publicity and hype hasn't gone to their heads and that they still know that their talent, like all things, comes from God. But does it really matter that much? I know that there are many fans, especially at high school football games in Texas, who pray before the game for their boys to be safe and for them to kick some butt. In the South, we pray for everything (ie. parking places, sandwiches, spelling bees, etc.), so it should come as no surprise that organized butt-kicking makes that list as well. But does God like it when we kick butt? Or would he rather us engage in a less agressive competition, like a competitive poetry reading? Are tackles and fumbles and interceptions given freely by grace of God?