Perspectives of the City.

 It took a few days on the streets to fall completely out of love with San Francisco. The City had been a playground for late nights dancing, long days of walking to “see the sights,” and places to spend money for a piece of luxury. Now I was faced with the dichotomies of the beautiful, shiny buildings and the shit that actually paves the streets.

Like many, I bought into the fantasy of the heart of San Francisco. I imagine the City as this slinky woman in a sparkly dress that speaks in a husky voice: “Come to me and I will hold you; I will kiss your wounds and made it all well.” Lady Francisca whispers to the lonely outsiders and offers a mild climate with a comforting bosom on which the hurting can rest their heads. This lady points to the sparkling blue Bay, the rust colored arches of the Golden Gate, and the mysterious fog as the environment where souls can be restored. But here's the thing: Lady Francisca is bullshit.

Lady Francisca has deep, sharp claws that will sink into your pocketbooks and flesh until you are dried up. Lady Francisca offers you a few hits to kick back and relax until your brain is obsessed with the next fix and the fix is no longer a kind gesture but a demanding fist. This mystical place of hippie love, space for all, and progressive politics pays close attention to the color of your skin: if your skin is not white, it does not matter if you were born here or work hard or have dreams.

I walked the streets and peered into the corners of this City of “Free Love” and found how many prices there are to pay to reside here. I saw the distrust in the eyes of faces that were hardened by years of judgement and being pushed out of their homes by the Bay. I saw the “affordable” high-rise lofts in the Filmore that replaced beloved neighborhoods of many African-Americans. I heard about the many years that Chinese immigrants and Chinese-Americans were kept inside the walls of Chinatown, not allowed to become a part of the community of San Francisco. I felt the desperation leaking out of people's voices as they whispered, then spoke, then yelled to be heard and seen from their spot on the streetcorner.

I lowered my eyes in shame as I waited in line to get food, use a restroom, or be able to sit down somewhere. There is nothing I could do to make myself not a young woman with shiny teeth and innocent eyes that glaringly told people that I did not know or understand the streets. My eyes deadened with exhaustion from sleeping on church floors and pews, walking for miles, and holding in pee, but that exhaustion didn't change that after 3 weeks of being immersed in the streets of San Francisco, I got to go home. As I walked the streets littered with trash, I knew that there were a few coins and bills in my bag that could pay my way into any coffeeshop or bar. What a luxury, to know that if worse came to worst, there were so many safety nets lined up for me to fall into. How terrifying to see that those nets can easily be broken apart into useless pieces of fabric.

The first days walking in San Francisco as a “cultural immerser” I felt myself on edge. My back was tightened, waiting for the sting of something or someone. The only person that was attacking me at that moment was myself; the fear held all of my ability to connect with others. I immediately felt changes as I boldly strolled down a darkened street as a night minister: I wanted to be seen and I wanted for people to talk to me. Every pair of eyes that I made eye contact with was someone that I could acknowledge, give a nod to, or maybe have a conversation with. I met the people that I would call the real Lady Franciscas: the night ministers who embrace those on the street who are hungry for comfort and a listening ear.

As I settled into being a person who walked the streets of San Francisco for hours each day, my eyes were opened in new ways. The people on the streets, whether they were hurriedly walking to an appointment, full-on running to catch the BART or bus, or sitting on a stoop while calling out for money, these people did not seem like strangers to me. I saw the fear in the eyes of young women walking down a dark street, I saw the seemingly powerful confidence of a suit-clad person walking with a cell phone. I watched many people pass by and ignore people that were sitting or standing on the sidewalk, asking for change. I have been that person that walked right by a person hoping for interaction; I have been an active part of this system of overlooking the real humanness of people in this city that we say we love so much. Rather than being a part of the system, I stepped back and saw all of these people as opportunities to learn more.

I walked past a man sitting on the street who was yelling out for someone to hear him: “ANYONE? DO YOU HAVE CHANGE?” His face was twisted in anguish as he called out to the people that quickly passed by who avoided his eyes. As more people encountered him and did not acknowledge his presence, his voice rose and fell in desperation. I looked over towards him and our eyes locked. 

The man's face changed so instantaneously that I was in shock. His desperation and anger melted away into a smile that creased the skin around his eyes. He gave me a thumbs up as I asked him how his night was going; I told him I hoped he could find some warmth that night. He waved goodbye and with that broad smile, said, “Thank you, bless you and enjoy your night!” I was astounded by the sudden happiness that lept off of him as I took a few seconds to glance over at him. It seemed like there was a hunger that was running deeper than the need for a bite to eat or a warm, safe place to sit: he was deeply yearning for someone to see him as a person. This man gave me hope that night in the city that had been exposed to me as bleak, greedy, and cold.

The shiny lights of Lady Francisca still don't entice me the same that they once did. Yet I learned how to love San Francisco again from a man with a toothless smile who sat down with me at a senior citizen luncheon. This quiet guy talked me through his daily routine of begging for coffee each morning and then walking around the neighborhoods of San Francisco. He spoke of his favorite spots to view the rolling hills of San Francisco and the best benches to rest on for an hour or so. He described the Presidio's green trees with a fondness and familiarity; he advised about the best times to see the sun shine just right on the Golden Gate Bridge. After describing all of these beauties in the city, he said, “You know, every single place in this city holds so many perspectives; it just depends where and how you are looking at it.”

I can look at San Francisco from the eyes of a guarded woman walking alone in a darkened street; I can see this city from the eyes of a business person hurrying about their day. But I choose to see this Foggy City by the Bay from that man's gentle and caring eyes: I see the fog silently rolling in through the buildings or the sun shining on the pavement that is worn from walking. I see this City with tired feet and with a heart that is turned towards hope.

Calling it by Name.

I felt angry the first time I heard the term "overeater."  My mother had sat the 15 year-old me down and calmly asked if I was an overeater.  I felt such a mixture of emotions in that minute:  She had noticed my eating habits? My eating habits were abnormal?  How dare she name it outright?  Is that what I was? I had no clue.  I remember making a face of confusion/disgust and clearly stating, "No!"  Which is a typical response of an immature girl who doesn't want to be called out on her shit.  It is even a typical response I hear from people and tell myself often; outright denial of our deepest fears is so much easier to do than face them head on.

But here I am, bearing the reality of my life.

I know that I have an unhealthy relationship with food.  I remember quite clearly a day in 5th grade choir when we celebrated a special occasion with a pizza party.  I thought to myself as we waited for the pizza to arrive:  "I hope there is enough for me to have 3 pieces of pizza; I will not be happy unless I eat 3 pieces."  Hold up: WHAT?  Happiness= an arbitrary amount of food?

But there it was, my emotions already inexplicably wrapped around what I would be able to eat.  I think of that day and I want to hide my face in shame.  How did this happen to me?  Why do I think this way?  Why am I unable to control myself and why am I not able to eat normally?  What is wrong with me?  I could play the mind games of negative self talk forever (in fact, I often do) but it doesn't get me anywhere.

I am not often aware of the way that I negatively impact my view of my body and how I destroy it with my unhealthy relationship with food.  I find myself often tugging at my clothes as if begging them to fit or even more fantastical, wishing that my body was not what it is.  This is a conscious and subconscious stream of thought; these thoughts are so prevalent that I lose track of where my hunger comes from.

There are so many reasons that I feel "hungry": 1) My body needs nutrition; 2) It's the normal time to eat so I should; 3) I feel shitty/lonely/depressed/anxious/whatever so therefore I should eat; 4) I hate my body and myself so self-destruction to keep that hate going comes in the form of eating; 5) I think that food can fill the deep void of emptiness that comes from not accepting myself; 6) Free food is near so I should gorge on that because it's free, as if there is a scarcity of food in my path.

Here's the ultimate truth: There is a deep hole in my soul that I attempt to fill with food and negative self-talk about my body.  I've gone through many fantasies in my head about a time in my life in which I will not obsess about whether I'm allowed to eat a delicious treat, socialize normally with food, enjoy food until I am full, and so many more scenarios.  I dream of enjoying running and looking amazing in a pair of jeans.  I've built so many houses of self esteem in other ways, like using humor and friendliness to make myself feel as if I deserve to be loved/adored.  I'm a master at prettying myself up with coordinating and brightly colored outfits with dresses, scarves, jewelry.  And the truth is that I do have many gifts and I am a person that holds a lot of love on her sleeve.  I'm not looking for pity about my self-hatred by writing this on a public blog, but rather to bare another part of me that I desperately try to hide from myself and others.  I need to hold myself accountable for the things that I so wish were not true: I am not a normal eater.  I often do not know when to stop eating and I engage in a lot of guilt/ negative self talk about eating.  My obsession with food is overwhelmingly powerful and I am done floundering alone.

I attended my first Overeaters Anonymous (OA) meeting this week.  It was absolutely terrifying to be in a space where I knew no one and had to be honest with people about their and my coping mechanisms around food.  I told a tiny part of my story and I cried because this deep void goes so deep; it reaches to the core of my being.  It feels like my unhealthy relationship with myself will never end and that there is no where to go but down.  But being honest and paying attention to the ways that I self-destruct with demanding so much of myself whilst indulging and compulsively eating food is a tiptoe in the right direction.  I hope to notice the triggers in which I feel hungry because my emotions and to journal about the feelings rather than entering into a cycle of unhealthy compulsive eating.  I want to pay attention to my trigger foods as well as situations that make it hard for me to be healthy.

I'm currently full of questions about how to do this, especially as a young, social woman who wants to still be actively engaged the communities that I love.  I know that I am in a stressful situation as a student with lots of TO DOs and little time to spare.  But there is always time to prioritize what I really care about.  And what I deeply need/want to care about is myself and my own health.

This is scary and frustrating and all consuming.  Thanks for reading and being a support for my journey.

God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Refreshment.

Being back in Colorado's crisp, cold air has felt like a refreshing drink that has reset my mind and soul.

This past semester and fall has been chock full of moments of feeling at peace, making time to stay healthy, tailoring my learning on things I care about (feminism, liberation, clerical celibacy, the Trinity), connecting deeply with a couple of people, and continuing to feel my call to be a minister, teacher, and chaplain.

Yet I also felt surrounded by moments of lost connections, deep insecurity (whether mine or another person's), and doubting my ability to engage with others.  It's been great living into the fact that it's more important to do what I need/want to do rather than trying to be the Kaitlin that I think everyone else wants, but in living into that I find myself not being the life of the party part of me that I lean on and appreciate.  This has required a lot of introspection for me this past month.  Do I like being a jokester for myself or for others?  Why do I have this compulsion to be the go-to person for others?

I spent much of last year spending a lot of my social time laughing, joking, and feeling that I was socially connected with a lot of people in my seminary community.  But in my deep inside, I was lost and lonely and unsure of where I fit.  Now I have places to be outside of the community, boundaries that I set for myself to have time for homework and sleep, and focus on precious people rather than pleasing everyone.  Deep down, my calling is clear and I have people that I have made wonderful memories with.  Yet I'm still here, in the confusion of being comfortable with who I am enough to not try to prove myself to others and still wanting to be a person people seek out to laugh with.  I'm in the tension of what it means to be me right now.

Anyway, that was a very long explanation of why I felt cloudy recently and getting back here to Colorado has been a beautiful comfort in showing me the ways that I am me.

I have streets that remind me of a girl who learned to drive timidly; there are coffeeshops that remind me of my first employment as a barista.  There are houses that I've been to countless times that are filled with faces that are etched with lines of laughter and tears that I have been active in experiencing.  There is a church in which I showed up to church early and stayed late (not by choice...), sang loudly, danced proudly, and played games when I maybe should have been in worship.  The cold air reminds me of the winter nights I drove with my windows down in order to feel the bitterness.  The quiet, dark nights in my neighborhood beckon for awakenings not unlike those of my teenage years; my soul feels refreshed so that I can feel deeply about new things.

My mind feels cleared so that I am able to articulate my stories well and interests spring up inside of me about the people and places that are changing along with me.  The twinkling lights scattered on the trees in the gorgeous Old Town Fort Collins stir up giddiness within me and bring a smile to my lips.

Fort Collins has been my home; my place for recharging.  I never sleep better than when I am comfortably in my bed in the room I spent most of my teenage years in.  I've struggled here, I've thrived here, I've grown so much here.  It's safe here.

What will happen once this place no more is a place where there is a house that has my family name attached to it?  When I will have a reason to not spend my holidays here, since there will be no place to vacation at?  When coordinating visits will no longer be as simple as showing up with a home to stay at?  What will I do without the refreshing breeze of change that flows through this place and into my heart?

What does it mean to refresh anew?  It means holding unto the home that my family has created with each other.  This house that was called home for 10 years has been stripped bare, but the memories are plentiful.  I've leaned on Colorado to be a place where I can clearly see me for me and now it's time to see the ways that I have been created me, without borders.

But this reminder and refresher of who Kaitlin is has been so delightful and helpful during this season of massive change for my family, so I'll hold on tight for all it's worth as long as I can (which will be just another 5 days....).

Transform: (a sermon).

Matthew 11:2-11
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples ³ and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” ⁴ Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: ⁵ the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. ⁶ And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
⁷ As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? ⁸ What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. ⁹ What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. ¹⁰ This is the one about whom it is written,

‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
    who will prepare your way before you.’

¹¹ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

 

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

This question feels familiar on my lips. We ask questions like this every day. Questions like:

Is this job the one that will stick as my career, or am I still looking for another?

Is this is the house for my family; is the search over or are we back to square one?

Is the person that I am daitng the one I will spend the rest of my life with, or am I supposed to wait for someone else? Or, Wow my spouse is getting on my last nerve today, maybe I was better off marrying somebody else....

As we look around us and search for things in our lives that we know to be true and right, we also turn those questions in on ourselves.

Am I good enough? Or am I a shadow of who I could be?

Is this it? Is the path I'm on the right one for me?

So many questions. They feed into our consumer-driven consciousness, telling us that there must be a right and wrong choice. This natural urge to look for a definitive answer speaks to how important it is to make meaning in our lives. We are a people that are anxiously awaiting hope amidst devastation and struggle. In this Advent season, we are present now in our waiting of the coming of Jesus. As we look forward to the story of Jesus's birth, we see that we are still waiting for the answers of the mysteries of God.

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

John the Baptist is asking this not only as an important prophet who had people following him, but someone who had been clear about his belief that Jesus was and is the Messiah. Now John finds himself stuck between his strong convictions and the painful experience of prison. I find it comforting to see that even John the Baptist held a quiver of doubt and fear when he sent his disciples to go to Jesus and ask if Jesus is the one that John had been waiting for.

I have also been in that place of questioning God and Jesus: Jesus, are you for real? God, have I rightly placed my trust in you? I spent so much of my teenage years thinking that I was alone in these questions and doubts. And yet here is a prophet that Jesus describes “as the messenger that will prepare a way for him” who is questioning and searching for truth. Rather than seeing doubt as a detrimental aspect of faith, we see in John's question that to be uncertain is part of life. We cannot be sure about what happens in our lives and we are not able to tangibly see who God is. So we hold these questions together in our hearts and minds.

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

John the Baptist asks his question from a place of being uncertain; he wants to know that his life of being a messenger for Messiah has purpose. This question calls for a definite answer; a yes or a no.

But Jesus doesn't give a yes or no answer, which isn't necessarily out of character for Jesus or God. Moses asks for God's name in Exodus and God replies with “I am who I am.” God encompasses all that we understand about this world and then goes beyond all of those things. God is who God is and we will never have clear answers that give us a complete picture of God. Instead, We are able to see glimpses of God; Jesus speaks to this as he answers John.

Jesus tells John to look out into the world so that he can hear and see the works of God that are everywhere in this world. Jesus quotes Isaiah in saying that the blind will have sight, the lame will walk, deaf people will hear, and the dead are raised up. Jesus is pointing not to the properties of his holiness as Messiah but rather how people are being transformed in the world. Jesus is saying: “Do not look for me but see the ways I am working in the world.” We cannot fully understand what it means for Jesus Christ to be divine and human, but we can witness the actions that Jesus did and continues to do in the world. How do we live into being a witness to the works of God here and now? We are witnesses as we orient ourselves to be open to see the transformations that Jesus is doing.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the ways that I've transformed and developed into a young adult. Sometimes I'll be walking around Berkeley and all of a sudden it hits me: Wow, I'm such a different person than what the 13-year old Kaitlin imagined I'd be. Of course, my viewpoint was narrow since my biggest aspiration as a pre-teen was to be the youngest female country music star, but instead that label went to Taylor Swift. As awesome as it would have been to be a country music singer, I think that 13 year-old me would have been astounded by how cool I turned out to be. My hair is short and edgy, I can spitfire sarcasm any moment of the day, and I even have a tattoo on my left shoulder blade. And setting aside the easy ways to see change, I've gone from someone who held all of her questions inside to someone who calls out for people to discuss the pieces of life that are unknown. I recognize the gift that God has given me to sit in the tension of the insecurity and doubt. I've walked with my own fears of loneliness and uncertainty about the future and in the midst of the pain of growing up, I'm getting closer to realizing that the more you know of the world, the less you understand it. In some ways, I'm still that 13 year-old girl trying to figure out the ways to be secure in my own body and self. In that respect, I wonder what 60 year-old Kaitlin will think of who I am now as a 24 year-old.

I've gotten pretty good about living in the questions that we cannot answer and I feel like I am a good space in my life. I have a passion for helping people and am privileged to work towards being a pastor and leader; I will soon be surrounded by my family as my parents move to San Mateo this January; and I have meaningful and deep relationships that enrich my life. Yet here I am on tip toes, waiting for a pin to drop. I feel like John the Baptist and asking: Is this it? Am I the person that is to come; am I who I am supposed to be? Are we as a church community being the church that is to come? Are we living into the future that God hopes for us?

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

When you ask for clear-cut answers from God, most likely you will not get them. God calls us instead to reorient ourselves to look for the answers out in our community. When Jesus speaks that we will know him when we see that blind will receive sight and deaf will hear, maybe it is us whose eyes can now see and ears that can hear. By the gift of grace that we have been given through baptism, we have been born into a community of God. The Holy Spirit is active in our community; Do you see it? Do you hear it? Jesus calls us to look and to listen. Someone in your home is suffering; someone is hungry for deep connection. As we pause our life to open our ears to hear the pain of others, we connect our hearts together in a way that Jesus has called us to do.

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

I wonder what it felt like for Jesus to hear this question from John's disciples. The weight of the label of “One who is to come” is heavy; Jesus knows the Old Testament Scriptures that describe what the Messiah will look like. Jesus has this Isaiah text in the back of his mind that says that God will come with vengeance and terrible recompense; Jesus knows that it has been written that in God, there will be a Holy Way in which no fools, unclean people, or beasts will be. If Jesus says, Yes! I am the one who is to come, does this mean that he will be the one of vengeance and judgement?

Jesus focuses on the part of Isaiah that shows that the coming of God means that people are changed; the lame will walk and the dead shall be raised up. The vengeance of God looks like a tiny child in Mary's arms, borne into the world as a human and as the Divine. The vengeance of God looks like Jesus teaching people that they are to love one another as themselves; judgement looks like Jesus healing the sick. The ultimate act of vengeance and judgement that God makes is Jesus being placed up there, on that cross. Jesus suffers as Christ on the cross and in doing so, we as humans are shown that the vengeance of God turns in on itself so that all who believe are saved by grace.

When we ask if Jesus is the one who is to come, we are looking for a sure answer that Christ is the salvation for all people. Jesus tells us instead to look at the people around us and listen for the ways that we are changed by the love that God gives us. Look around you—do you see the beauty of this world? Do you see the moments of rawness in pure joy and pure pain? Is that God, who loved you before you even knew yourself? Is that Jesus Christ, who has suffered so that all have already been saved? Or are you going to wait for something else to hold you together?

God has given us grace so that we can live freely in the spaces of sacred love that are here and now. Jesus calls us to be active witnesses in Christ and be the actions of Christ as disciples in this world. Christ has freed us so that we have the ability to create opportunities of transformation for others. We are Christ's presence in the world; we have a call to be a part of giving the blind sight and helping ears to hear. We are called to ask ourselves:

Are we the ones who are to come? Or are we to wait for another?

All this time we may have been waiting for somebody to create the changes we want to see in this world, but we are those somebodies. With the gifts that God has prepared for us, we can be the future in this world.

Seek out the Light.

 I had a dream.

I found myself on concrete steps with a slow descent towards a beach. The sun was hiding behind gray clouds and the air was still. As I walked closer to the water, I noticed that I was the only person on this beach. The waves were calm and the stillness of this place settled into my soul as I stood alone.

My heart sank into the serenity of that space. I looked around with curious eyes and all at once, I realized that something was there in that place with me.

She was hovering above me and was clearly still, yet an air that I could not feel was flowing through her being. I could not see her face, if there even was a face to look upon. She came to me as a black substance that billowed and swirled like a dark cloak that moved like a full head of hair immersed in water. She was dark and unknown to me but I felt no fear in her presence.

She came to me but was silent; her presence changed nothing about the peace of this beach. I did not know her by sight but the feeling of her in my soul was familiar and soothing.

I asked her for her name so that I could know her. I asked and asked; I prodded. Every time I asked, she answered calmly. “Golgotha.” I continued to ask because this name made no sense to me; did I create this name for her or was this really her name? It is my dream after all, this is my own truth. But she answered every time in the same quiet, calm voice: “Golgotha. I am Golgotha.”

I told Golgotha about me. Everything I said to her she already knew; she had known me before I had ever known myself. But she was patient and listened. She listened to my probing questions about her and she heard my thoughts. I had a feeling that I had met her before but not in this way; I had never seen her billowing blackness before. There was something different about this space and time; I held no fear. I was enveloped in calm and curiosity; I was not holding my limbs tight around myself but my body was loose and free.

I spoke to Golgotha: “I want to hear what you have come to tell me. I am ready. Speak.”

Golgotha's voice flowed out of the sky: “I am a creature of the dark; I am the creature of the night. I am the creature of depth. You have depth. You will teach people about this depth.”

Yet as these words became understood by me, my eyelids became so heavy; my mind drifted into the great deep. Golgotha soothed me, saying, “There is time for speaking but now you need a rest. You are exhausted; close your eyes.”

I sank into the deep, rolling into unconsciousness. Yet rest did not come; my left ankle came alive with huge amounts of nerve activity. It felt a bit like pain but it wasn't; it was an awakening. The stabbing of awakening punctured through my unconsciousness in this deep. Energy that had been stuck in my body rushed out my ankle as if it was being pushed out by a current. I felt the pumping of release and I welcomed the change. I knew that this was what needed to happen. I let the energy move and rested once again.

As I lost my sense of self in deep rest, I was calm in the silence.

Suddenly, a huge burst of light came at me. It was a sunrise in my soul; it warmed my toes and set my heart on fire. My eyelids were closed but the light was there and brightened my being.

Golgotha spoke in this light; she spoke so strongly that it felt like she was shouting, even though it was the same quiet voice, “This is the Light. It is everywhere and out there. Go and find it. Seek it out, it will be there. Go now, always look for it. You will always find it.”

I lost any air that had been in my lungs; I gasped quickly for the breath of life. As I opened my lungs for air, I awoke to the room around me. I felt my body on the chair I had been resting on. I opened my eyes to this world. I remembered me. And I remembered Golgotha and what she told me. I remembered my task: Seek out the Light; it will always be there but you must look for it.

The Importants.

This past week I had a paper due. In a fit of anxiety and exhaustion whilst writing, I randomly picked up "The Courage to Change;" a daily devotional from Al-Anon that my mother gave to me quite a few years ago.  It's a devotional that I have found useful in accepting what life truly is: a mixture of joyous and dreadful moments.  So I thumbed my way to the correct day, read the first two sentences of the devotion:

"I read somewhere that the things that are urgent are rarely important, and the things that are important are rarely urgent.  I can get so caught up in the nagging, trivial matters of day-to-day life that I forget to make time for more important pursuits."

Soothing words for my brain that was full of worries about how to question the divinity of the Trinity in my History of Christianity paper.  That paper has since been turned in and is no longer the newest urgent thing; now there are 2 other urgents that I'm fretting about.  Yet my importants remain neglected.  This blog is one of my importants and if this blog could talk, it would be shouting a lament at me because I've left it so alone lately.

What else is lying over there in the corner while I scrabble to check off my urgents?  What importants are you letting slip by as you focus on your urgents?

I think so often about about the people in my life that have dramatically changed how I think, love, and live.  I appreciate these people in my heart yet I never get around to sharing that appreciation; a simple email/card could easily bump up my importants above the trivial urgents.  I've even written these emails in my head when I'm biking, walking, working, or any place where writing an email is impossible; it hasn't come to fruition.  Clearly I'm not placing any sort of urgency to my importants.

What about my spiritual connection to the divine?  I spend so much time reading, writing, discussing, and listening to lectures about theology and the ways that people connect with God.  A common worry/complaint I hear from seminarians/pastors is that they don't know where or how to feed themselves spiritually because of a few reasons: 1) Theological exhaustion; 2) Too much head thinking and not enough heart connecting; 3) No time; 4) Focusing on other people's spiritual well-being.

I find myself in this predicament often, though I can be pretty good at taking myself out of it with blues dancing, acupuncture, spiritual direction, and creative outlets.  That takes a lot of dedication on my part; I have placed a lot of value on my own spiritual and emotional well being this fall, and even so, I often get into cycles of time scarcity.

My time here on Earth will always include enough time to do exactly what my heart wants to do.  My heart does not want to spend that time procrastinating on Facebook or Huffington Post, getting up ridiculously early to finish a paper, and drowning out the voice of God with my anxious thoughts or constant stream of blasting music.

I want to sip my macchiatos slowly; I want to cook with gentle care.  I want to hug with no abandon and write kind words to people that are probably hungry for them.  I long to write because my fingers itch to write my thoughts down; I yearn for a moment when I hope that someone brings up spirituality and theology because my heart wants to connect on a deeper level and not from a space of exhaustion.

I want to rearrange the way I live out my importants; the urgents will get done but do not need to consume.  My energy withers when all I have to give myself is checking off of the lists of urgent; my soul glows when my importants are at the center of all actions.  It is important for me to be in graduate school but it's not important for it to suck the soul out of me, especially since the end goal is to minister to people and build up other leaders.  My goal is to glow. :)

Integration.

Here I am, halfway through my third semester in seminary.  I'm sipping a macchiato at Sisters Coffee Company in the Pearl district of Portland.

Is this real life?  I have literally pinched myself throughout these past weeks.

I leaked this whole summer; the tears seemed like they would continuously be present behind my hazel eyes (why yes that was a Kelly Clarkson quote).

I have only cried once in the last 1.5 months and it was because I am so deliciously satiated currently.  I wept for happiness; those tears felt so different than the pain of last spring and this summer.

I feel as if all the pieces are coming together for what it means to be Kaitlin.  I ask the questions that burn on my tongue when I'm class; I readily share my opinion.  I am learning to be authentically me in all situations, whether I'm chatting with a regular customer at Yali's cafe or puzzling over God's authority in my 8am systematic theology course.  When I alb up to be an assistant minister at my Teaching Parish congregation (Holy Trinity in San Carlos) or the PLTS Wednesday chapel service, I feel a smile tickling my lips rather than the familiar fear that had previously paralyzed me.

Each day no longer feels like a constant wrestling with God; I hadn't even realized that I was wrestling until I felt the calm of congruence.  Of course I am still exhausted now; the busy GO GO GO schedule that I have created for myself in Berkeley weighs on me as I try to find time to work on my studies while having time for myself and the people I care for.  I have plenty of worries and doubts that circle in my mind.  Yet I am comfortable in sharing the fears about theology that might break my resolution.  In telling my perspective of faith and doubt, I am calmed in the constant tension.  I am comfortable with the push/pull of not fully understanding anything in this world.

Last year, I tried to absorb the parts of the Lutheran tradition and Christianity fully, hoping that if I did so, I would feel as if I fit into this role of spiritual leader.  Doing so destroyed my soul.  Now I know that I am always going to be me; I am my best Kaitlin when I am honest with myself and my professors/peers about what I believe.  I am true to myself.  Now I continue to wrestle with God and the people around me, but I am bringing all of me to the table rather than who I thought I should be.

I am pulling all of the pieces of Kaitlin together and letting them fit or not fit together.  I find myself not worrying about being the bubbly, sociable Kaitlin but rather just being someone who genuinely cares about people yet doesn't need to be the center of attention.  I'm working on taking some of the pressure I put on myself to be liked by everyone and rather being healthy about my own time and focusing on my precious people.

I feel congruence in my bones; that feeling is so wonderful that I cannot even begin to express how joyful I am to be able to write that.

Does that mean I'm done growing? Uh, FUCK THAT. I've got plenty of insecurities, vulnerabilities, and stumbling blocks ahead of me.  But I'm certainly relishing in the imperfect beauty of contentment with myself.

I've been rereading my journal from these past 9 months and I steep in the pervasive loneliness that permeates from my previous entries.  I glanced at my writing from this semester and the transformation is deeper than I ever could have imagined.  I'm glad for a step back during this reading week vacation in Portland to soak in all of the ways that I have morphed through all of the self-reflection and leaking that has occurred for me during these past 9 months.

I am Kaitlin and I am a minister in many aspects of my life, but that does not mean that the things that defines me is the word minister. I am spiritual when I overuse the word fuck; I am a woman who asserts my faith and theological perspective; I am strong in my vulnerability; I am adventurous and I am precious. And so are you, dear reader; you are adored and loved because you are you.