slightly Out of Place

On Ash Wednesday I made a last minute decision to give up blogging (and primarily the reading of blogs) for Lent.  I made this decision because I was feeling super busy at that time, and I thought that blogging was the least valuable thing I did that consumed a lot of time which I could get rid of. 

I find many in our society spend a lot of time entertaining themselves either through fictional stories (primarily movies) or the lives of celebrities.  I generally think that I would rather spend my time getting to know my neighbours and hearing the stories of friends. 

Shortly after Lent began I read two books in a week.  I don’t normally read so much.  Anyhow, it made me realise that reading blogs is really just like reading short stories, or novels one chapter at a time.  Reading really isn’t bad, and blogs are the thoughts of real people, with whom I can have some (if only minimal) interaction.   

So I really don’t think blog reading is a bad thing.  It can take up too much of my time.  That is true, but in moderation it is good.  So, hopefully I can be part of the blogger world in moderation.

The Cavity

I thought I might say something at my dad's funeral, but I didn't know what to say. I read some of the memories my sister had written, and they made me cry, but I was still clueless as to what I should say. Then I realised that I was afraid to remember. I was afraid to remember because then I would realise my loss. Eventually I wrote (and then read) the following: When I was 6 my dad took me up Mount Cavity. He knew his children well enough to know that it would be a mountain I would love, and Karen would hate, so, I reckon, that is why he took me up there by myself. It was steep, cliffy and there were a lot of rocks. He had previously been up there, probably when he was around 16, with his brother Stan. Every year dad would take me on a camping trip. We would stop for breakfast at Smitty's, and on these trips my dad would tell me stories about his youth, and about his brother Stan. He had many fond memories of the time he and Stan had spent together in Jasper, but I was always too shy to ask about Stan, who had died before I was born, except on those trips where the conversations naturally flowed. The hike up the cavity is steep and involves a fair amount of short climbs, but I was fearless. Coming down I grabbed on to a loose rock and slipped. My dad was below me, as he always was, ready to cushion a fall, and he did, but I still ended up with a nasty scrape on my knee. It was about to rain and my dad wanted to get down before the rocks got wet and slippery, So he told me not to look at my knee, gave me an Advil and we carried on down the mountain. I still have a scar, and remembered that event clearly. This September, my dad, regressing in health, wrote a bucket list, and on it there was a family trip to the mountains. Thankfully we were all able to make it out to the mountains. We went on three hikes, the last one was up to the Cavity. As we hiked up, we came to the place where I had fallen, some 16 years ago, in a mountain full of rocks, there was something distinct about that place. It was a place where memories had been formed, a place where dad had protected me from greater injury, and got me to get up and press on through the pain. It was also there that I learned the lesson to always check if a rock is secure before using it to bear weight. It was something that my dad had told me before we started on the hike, but a lesson I had to learn on my own and would remember through our future scrambles. Falling did not take away from my confidence in scrambling. I always knew my dad was below me, ready to catch me, and would do everything he could to keep me safe.

This morning when my mom called I was still in bed. I was awake, but not yet wanting to get up. I lie there trying to piece together my dream, a dream I no longer remember. Then my phone rang I glanced at it and saw that it was from my mom. I knew I should answer. “Hello” I don’t remember exactly how the conversation went, but I remember her saying “dad died this morning around 7” and I replied “uh oh” Looking back, that wasn’t really an appropriate response, but then again, what is? Then she asked what time my exam was at “noon” I told her, and she told me that she thought I should still write it, if I could. After all, I had studied for it. Then she asked if I thought I would be able to come up after my exam, and I said I would. In my mind I was still thinking that I would go up after my exam, and come back for my Thursday exam. At some point that question of hers made me feel like the bad child. That is not really a new feeling, I have been feeling like the bad child for a while, like the one who never comes to visit, who is the last to respond to emergencies and who stays around for the shortest amount of time. That she had to ask if I’d be able to come up, shows how many other things I have been putting before family. Sorry family.

It was about 7:38 when she called. I could hear my roommate up, but I didn’t want to talk her. Yesterday she had made potential plans to leave the house around 8:30 or 9, and I figured I could just stay in bed until then, and get up only after she left. Only, I had to go pee.

I stayed in bed thinking about how I’d tell people, and crying softly. It actually surprised me that I cried so soon after. I have often heard that people do not react so quickly, or that it will not so quickly set in. I cried, and I thought about the people who I would have to tell, the people I had made commitments with for today and tomorrow. I thought about how I would tell my friend who I was planning to meet up with in the morning to study a little before our philosophy test. There were a number of people who I felt like I ought to tell, but the one person who I actually felt comfortable telling was an old roommate of mine.

Katie was the first person I told when my father was diagnosed with cancer 4 long years ago. We had gone out for tea, and I had acted normal. I am good at masking my emotions. At the end of the evening together she walked me to the bus stop. I knew I should tell her, and when I did she hugged me, and she let me know that I could tell her anything; that I need not hide things like that from her. Thank you Katie. I remember that.

I remembered it today at 9:00 when my roommate still hadn’t left, and I still had to pee. I texted Katie, and told her the news. Within minutes she called me. It was hard to talk to her, but it was good to talk to her. I cried, and as I lie there crying I thought “I am not crying for my dad’s sake, he is fine, I am crying for my loss,” and that thought made me laugh.

At some point my roommate knocked on my door. I wiped the tears off of my check, “come in.” She asked me for advice. I told her that she probably needed to go downtown to get the answers. Maybe it was really just that I wanted her to leave. A while later she came into my room and shared her concerns with me. I listened, but I don’t think I offered the sympathy she was hoping for. I heard her talking on the phone to a friend, voicing the same concerns. At this point, she knew I was awake anyhow, so I got up and went pee. I also grabbed some cookies. Cookies make great breakfast... right? I went back to my room and started packing, though I did not want my roommate to know. If she knew I was packing, she would wonder what I was up to.

Katie had asked a few good questions, 1- If I should really be taking the test, and 2- if it was safe for me to drive alone. I didn’t know the answer to either question. I didn’t know how long to pack for. It started to dawn on me that maybe I wouldn’t want to be back for Thursday. I didn’t know if I needed to take funeral clothes, or even if I had funeral clothes. I left my room again, first determining that I should tell my roommate, but I couldn’t do it.

I went back to my room, and soon after she left (I wrote her a note to find when she got back and I was gone). It was around 10:00 when I was still packing, but that was when I was supposed to be meeting up with my study friend. She had texted to say that she might be moments late. I replied that I might also be a bit late, and might not be able to stay around for the whole time. I was starting to think that I would go and figure out how to get out of my Thursday exam, and maybe see a few of my friends.

My study friend so kindly texted me back “Okay! Do whatever you need to do Patricia! Don’t feel pressured to meet if it’s tricky”. She had no idea, but her text was so full of grace. I am not nearly that nice when I text. But maybe I should be. After all, I may never know when my friend’s dad just died. Somehow her kindness brought me to tears, and I cried longer and harder than I had before. I no longer had the fear of my roommate knowing. Through the tears I sent my study friend a quick text “my dad died this morning, I don’t know what to do.” She thought I shouldn’t write the test. We sent a few texts back and forth. She said if I did go to the university, she would give me a big hug. So I made the decision to go to the university, and decide from there. And she did give me a big hug. She also talked to our prof, and he was so very kind to me. He gave me a copy of the exam and sent me home. I am not sure exactly what he wants me to do with the exam, but I have not looked at it yet.

I ran up 8 long flights of stairs to talk to my linguistics prof to see if I could get out of my Thursday final. I got to his office out of breath, and distressed. He was the first person I told in person that my dad had died. He was not the most helpful, but suggested that I talk with the registrar.

First I went to the Q. I had a friend who I was hoping would be there, and she was. I told her the news. She also gave me a big hug, and said that she would be willing to accompany me on my drive. I considered taking her up on her offer, but she had a paper to write that was due yesterday, and I’d feel bad inconveniencing her so, but it was a nice offer.

Then I went to the chaplaincy centre, and one of the chaplains helped me with exam deferrals and bought me lunch. Then I headed off to be with my family.

The drive was long, but I didn’t breakdown, which I feared. (I just didn’t think it would be safe) and somehow my friend's offer to drive with me brought her with me in spirit... or something like that. I thought about the things I could say to her... that is kinda weird, but in some odd way she brought me company. I tried convincing myself that maybe my dad hadn’t died. Maybe I had heard my mom wrong on the phone. Maybe she had said “dad drank 7-Up”, not “dad died at seven”. Or maybe it was a dream.

Now I am at home, and it wasn’t a dream. This leaves me in unfamiliar grounds. My family has never done much mourning together. I have never lost someone so close. Never have I been part of planning a funeral. So, now, I am learning, learning how to mourn.

running on empty

I am feeling pretty drained, and that it all areas of my life.

Mentally, I have a midterm on Tuesday that I haven’t studies for at all, philosophy reading I have not done and I haven’t done my linguistics reading yet either. I doubt I will get any of that done tomorrow either... uhoh.

Physically, I am tired. I have had mini naps today and yesterday, and really wish I was sleeping right now. But I have also easily tired when I’ve tried to do anything physical recently. I went for a pathetic run on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, but never far nor fast. Even playing soccer today and yesterday was painful. Yesterday I mostly just played goal, but even standing seemed to take too much effort, and today I had to force myself to run.

Emotionally, I don’t know. I am not much one for emotions. My roommate made me laugh yesterday, that was good, but I don’t think I really laughed today. I feel pretty apathetic. Like about school, I don't really care that I am getting behind.

Relationally, seems to take more effort than I want to give. I mean it hasn't been too bad, though I did get really tired writing a letter today. It is that I am hoping for more relationally. I long for some text or email that will somehow fulfil this longing. They never do. I want something more, but it never comes.

Spiritually, things aren’t great. Not at all. I got a fortune cookie the other day, and rather than just writing off the fortune, I tried to understand how I should apply it to my life. I am spiritually thirsty for direction, and a little too eager to take it from anywhere.

That’s all. I am tired. I should go to bed. I think I post this because I long for some connection with people, and thus hope that you will comment, but really, your comments might make me smile, but it won’t last, and I still be thirsting for something more.

Peace

copy cat...

I was reading this post:

http://withoutjah-nothin.blogspot.com/2012/01/its-funny-that-i-consider-myself-artist.html

on my friend Kellen's blog, and realised how i feel very much the same as she does, though regarding a different thing. I copied her post almost completely, just changing a few (but significant) words:

It's funny that I consider myself a Christian. Faith is a constant mind-battle for me.
I do think that I have some measure of gifting to theologically reason and it's something that I love to do, but at the same time, I have never been really affected by a spiritual experience. I strive to fill my days with meaningful conversations that have the potential to move people, while I myself have never been moved (to any significant degree).
I feel like a hypocrite; that is my struggle.
Don't get me wrong, I know that it's possible for God to make an impact on someone. I just have a hard time believing that the impact could ever be huge, even though I know that it can. There is a small disconnect between my knowledge and my understanding...

Community

I love Moses! I love the story of God meeting with Moses. I’ve wished that I could have just a bit of what Moses had when he went up on the mountain and spoke with God for forty days. I have often thought to have an experience anything like that of Moses’ I would have I needed to spend time in silence and solitude. I still think those are great things, but I have been trying to understand what is meant by a “personal relationship with God”. I don’t think that it is a phrase that occurs in the scriptures anywhere, and I’ve been wondering if it leads me to have false expectations about how God should be interacting with me. I was flipping through my Bible with this question in mind, and bouncing some Ideas off of a friend. The letters in the New Testament are written to whole churches, so when it is written “you are the temple of God”, it means that we are the temple of God. That blows my mind. We were talking about how it seems that we should relate to God as a community. (Does that happen in church? Or do we all just relate to God individually while happening to be in the same place?) I thought if we are to relate to God as a community, maybe he will relate to us when we are in community. I wondered if that was true. My friend mentioned the letters to the churches in Revelation; they are to churches, not individuals. I find that to be interesting. I then thought about Moses. In Exodus 19 God has a message for his people, the commandments. He gathers them all together so that as a community they hear from God.

“Then Moses led the people out of the camp to meet with God, and they stood at the foot of the mountain. Mount Sinai was covered with smoke, because the LORD descended on it in fire. The smoke billowed up from it like smoke from a furnace, and the whole mountain trembled violently. As the sound of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses spoke and the voice of God answered him.” (Ex 19:17-19)

I wonder what it was like to be among the Israelites that day?

“When the people saw the thunder and lightning and heard the trumpet and saw the mountain in smoke, they trembled with fear. They stayed at a distance and said to Moses, “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die.”

Moses said to the people, “Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.”

The people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick darkness where God was.” (Ex 20:18-21)

In the end the Israelites back off, and Moses alone approaches God, but I can’t help but wonder if God desires to meet with us in community. I wonder if we’d be ready for that. I think it is time for me to focus on my communal relationship with God.

I is creative...

Look!

I made a tree!
I made it out of dreads... Yup, my dreads, but don't worry there is still plenty of dread left on my head.
A tree made out of dreads...? That's disgusting... I know.

Look!

I made cookies!
They are pretty!
It was fun!
My inspiration?
http://wifeofthecolonel.blogspot.com/2012/01/easy-slice-and-bake-cookies.html
Only, I think I did something wrong because the dough was too soft. I only made a half recipe, so maybe I did bad math, or maybe it was the use of vegan margarine instead of butter.
I added extra flour... and sugar