Enjoy the Ride.

I learned how to bike in a basement.  Living in Kansas City in the Eastside, which was and is one of the poorest areas that is notorious for crime, it was not a good idea for the 5 year old me to bike around the neighborhood.  I fondly look back on the circular pathway that was made for me in the basement; I pushed those pedals around that circle countless times.

When I was in elementary school in Fort Collins, I cherished the bike rides I would take.  It was such a rush to be independently whizzing down a street and discovering the neighborhood around me.  I never went too far, mainly because biking on big roads seemed a bit too terrifying (uhhh still does).  I vividly remember that I decided to walk to a friend's house instead of bike and I felt so frustrated about how sloooow walking was.  I thought to myself, "Why walk when you can bike? The wind in your face as you speed to your destination is so worth it." (Even back then, I was sentimental...or as poetic an 11 year-old can be)  I walked a block and then turned around so that I could get on my bike because walking was just not good enough.

Somewhere in the middle of junior high, I forgot about biking.  My bike got a flat tire and I never bothered to pump it back up--it has been gathering dust ever since.  I think I've taken out a bike for a short spin three or four times since junior high.  I've used stationary bikes a lot at the gym and thought that was comparable to real bike riding, only because I forgot what it felt like.

The rushing wind.  The quick turns.  Completely eating it when you slide unto a wet patch of leaves (that's probably fueled the lack of bike riding...).  Hearing the birds chirp.  The low hum the brake makes when you pull it.  The switch of the gears.  Standing up to pedal to get really fast.  Using your arms to signal turns.  Feeling the sunshine warm my skin while the air breezing by cools it simultaneously.  I can't help but giggle when I bike that first block away from the house I'm staying at.

These small things enrich my experience of this summer in Bexley.  I am lucky to be here, with people supporting me in every way that you can imagine.  I have a place to stay (Thanks Langknechts!), a bike to ride on (Thanks Marcia!), and deep levels of love and care being poured into me (If I mention all of you, this post would be entirely too long).

As I petal through the streets of Bexley, I remind myself to relish in this journey.  I'm really skilled at worrying and creating anxiety within myself that makes obstacles seem too big to handle.  CPE seems like this scary blob right now, but I can already feel the energy of massive change moving through me.  Soak it up and enjoy it.  This road is meant to be travelled and I'll be heading down it no matter what I do.  Might as well grab the helmet, roll up my pant leg, petal hard, and enjoy the ride.

Clinging.

A year ago, I was absolutely terrified to leave Columbus, OH.  I recall a dream I had last June in which I was in a room with many people; there was a small girl that resembled me as an 8 year old.  She was sitting on the ground with her knees gathered up so that her chin was resting on them.  She asked to stay in Columbus.  Columbus was familiar and full of people that know and love me;  it makes sense that leaving across the country away from my undergrad home would be difficult.  Pieces of my heart clung to Ohio last year and were not prepared to leave.  I kept telling myself, "You have to leave in order to come back. You can come back but for now you will experience something new."

This week, I make the trek back to the Midwest; I will once again live in Bexley, OH.  My heart longs to stay here in Berkeley.  I want to continue making (and drinking) macchiatos and grabbing fresh vegetables from Monterey Market.  I want to see the water of the Bay sparkle as the sun sets in the horizon.  I want to walk through the streets of Berkeley that are adorned with greenery and flowers; I want to be able to stop for a second to sniff the sweet aromas held in between colorful petals.  I want to stay out too late dancing with my friends here.  I want to cling on to the daily routines I have here in the Bay.  I don't want to put my life here on pause; but it's happening and the change is soon.

Does this mean that I love Columbus any less? Absolutely not.  I know that my experience will be wonderful and I cannot wait to be surrounded by the loving support that I have in family and friends in Ohio.  This summer will wrench itself into my heart; not only will I be tested in ways I've never imagined in working and learning at Nationwide Children's Hospital, but I will be able to spend time with amazing people who are important to me.  It will be a great breather outside of seminary community while being a clinical pastoral challenge.  I cling to this future because I feel called to aide people in their time of trauma; I hope it is as fulfilling as I have imagined and felt in the past.

I am going to have indescribable experiences and part of that is why I am holding on to my Berkeley life that I have established here.  Luckily, my narrative in Columbus will live on and Berkeley will hold a place for me to come home to.

Here's to the knowns and the unknowns, on both of which I cling.  Here's to the beauty and familiarity of both Columbus and Berkeley.  I am grateful that these places both feel like home now; my heart continues to splinter as it holds memories of Fort Collins, Columbus, London, D.C., and now the Bay Area.  What is next for this ever expanding heart?

Stay Weird.

Thanks to a fellow seminarian, I have a KEEP CHURCH WEIRD sticker that I placed on my laptop cover.

While working on an essay at a local coffee shop, someone walked up to me and asked about that sticker.  He had seen it before on a car and wanted to get one for himself.  I couldn't help him in that respect but in our two minutes of interaction, we connected in our love of weird and love of church.

This man was wearing a Berkeley Farm Collective tank top and looking very much like the stereotypical hippie.  In this Berkeley community, I often feel a great disconnect between what I believe or do and what the people that live in my neighborhood or the people that frequent the coffee shop I work at.  This city of Berkeley holds so much love and community but not often in the context of church or religion.  We have fresh markets, quirky little cafes, neighborhood gardens, co-ops, and plenty of bike culture.

In the scheme of US culture, Berkeley is weird.  The Bay Area is weird; it's the place where composting is city-wide affair (it still surprises me that I could put a steak in our compost bin and it would travel along with the banana peels to be turned into fertilizer).  But the Bay Area is infamous more for it's political dialogues than religious or spiritual practices.

And here I am, embracing the weirdness of Berkeley yet putting the people of Berkeley in a box.  Because I assumed that the man coming up to talk to me was not interested in my KEEP CHURCH WEIRD sticker but my SAVE THE POUDRE sticker (that's a long explanation but it's a Fort Collins environmental thing).  But weird means no boundaries; weird means out of the norm.  Berkeley has constantly gone against the cultural norms politically and will continue to defy norms when it comes to spirituality and religion.

As this man grabbed his coffee and headed out the door, he called to me, saying, "Stay weird!"  He has no idea how wonderful it was to hear those words.

I am here in Berkeley to be weird; I am here in seminary to be weird.  I will not fit into boundaries and I will open closed doors.  I will call for change where I see pain and suffering and I will be that weird one refusing to be quiet.  Thanks, man in the coffee shop, for reminding me that there is no boundaries for who the people of Berkeley are and supporting me in my journey of weirdness.

And now back to essay writing...

Sigh of Relief.

Today is the sigh of relief.
Not because there are more answers or less questions.
Not because there are less thoughts percolating in my head.
Not because there is less pain in the world that needs to be addressed.

I am relieved because today I let go of the labels that I feel I have to take on.
I have been holding a label in my hands that is too heavy for me to carry.
The label of spiritual leader, pastor, chaplain, deacon, etc. is huge.
It's big because other people place their own ideals on it,
and I also hold the memories of leaders I know that make this label bigger than what I will ever be.

I will not be a leader that is like any of the 50 pastors that I know because I will be me.
My calling is personal and walks with me everywhere I go.
It's hard to connect who I am and who I am in comparison to the multitude of pastors that I know.
It's hard to connect who I am and what the label of pastor is.

So why do it? Why pain myself into doubting what I can do or if I should be here?
Why should I be able to be comfortable taking on a label?
Why should we be comfortable to place labels on everything, including God?

I am me, I am Kaitlin.  I am called by God and Jesus walks with me.
I would be doing the work of God anyway, no matter where I was or what I was doing.  I am here, in Berkeley, continuing to learn what it means to be a church leader in the ELCA.  That does not define me; my relationship with God defines every fiber of my being.
I am a leader and I have a strong relationship with God but those are not mutually exclusive.

I am me and that is all the label that I will ever need to do the work that I am here to do.  Does my future include a label of pastor/chaplain/ordained minister? Yes, as it happens.  For me, the label worth emphasizing is my humanity and the love that the Divine One has given to all humanity.
 

Candles and Prayers.

"Let my prayer rise up as incense before you, and the lifting up of my hands as an offering to you." -Psalm 141:2

The sun rises and each day; people around this world encounter death and birth every day.  Yesterday, in particular, the minds of people here in the US were focused on the bombings in Boston.  There was the same stirring of anxiety within our hearts as the Sandy Hook elementary shooting and the Batman movie shooting in Aurora.  We pour over the headlines and Facebook statuses, hoping for assurances of safety for all of our loved ones.  But for some, that day is a crack that will be permanent on their family's structure.  These tragedies in our own individual lives are not reserved for massacres and acts of violence, but our own deaths that we grasp in our hearts and the deaths of the people we know and adore.  Every day, there are many life stories that have ended here on Earth; maybe it's the celebration of life of someone who lived for 93 years, or it's the silence found in the sadness of losing a 9 year old child.  Every day these senseless acts change the reality of people; these stories are the ones that affect us all many times throughout our lives.

When is the grief done?  It isn't done now; the tears are still being held behind our eyes.  When will the groans of pain cease? I don't know, but I do know that I want to be a part of the love that hugs the pain.

My adopted grandmother asked me last week, "Why am I breathing here still when I am old and wrinkled and that young child died? What am I doing here still while that kid is gone?"

I told her that she is here to support and help.

Last night, a group of us in our apartment complex met in a living room for a prayer vigil, around a table adorned by candles and Salvadorian crosses.  Together, we held the pain, the prayers, the love, and the scars.

All around us, every day, people are left with only themselves and other creatures around them (I say creatures because animals are such a great comfort during times of trial).  Together we face events that are so strange because they are inherently inhumane or senseless.  We join the the endless song and prayer that says that we are deeper than the pain and grief.  There is love, there is kindness, there are helpers everywhere.

I think I might have inhaled you.

"I think I might have inhaled you,
 I can feel you behind my eyes,
 You’ve gotten into my bloodstream,
 I can feel you flowing in me."--Bloodstream, Stateless

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3b1CDLsiGU

This is one of my favorite songs to dance to that I've encountered in my past two months of blues dancing regularly.  The first night I danced to it, I went home and danced by myself with this song on repeat the rest of the night.  It touches the deep recesses of my soul, just as blues dancing has these past months.

The first time I encountered blues dancing, I absolutely hated it.  It made me nervous, being so close to someone.  Following a lead dancer seemed difficult because I was too anxious to stop and listen to the beat the lead dancer was trying to show me.  It's hard work to stop our bodies and minds to tune ourselves to the heartbeat of another person.

How often does that happen in our regular lives?  We run about our days so quickly that our interactions are prepared sentences or our own shit circulating outside of our heads with others doing the same thing towards us.  We walk around with our own worlds constructed around us and these worlds collide together in community, for better or worse.

Dancing teaches you to drop your self conceptions and listen.  If I don't attune myself to the beat of the person leading me in a dance, I end up looking like an ass.  And dancing doesn't just call me to listen; it calls me to boldly step along with another person.  Sometimes that means being unsure that the move I am about to make is the one my partner intended and messing up.  Within that mistake lies me, covered in the fear and shame of being unsure and having to admit that.

We hold these masks over our faces that let other people know that we know exactly what we are doing and that we are doing just fine always.  This assumption that we make up for ourselves is so far from the truth and it not only damages others into thinking that they are alone in their insecurities, but it tears apart any hope we have of development.  How can you change if you teach yourself to believe that you are fine and have things in control?  Because you do not hold the control.  You never will.  And that is a gift.  Revel in the fear of being wrong or not knowing what comes next and laugh at it.  Be content with the mystery because there is nothing else to do.

Dancing has taught me to face the mystery and see the gracefulness of what happens when you tear away the insecurity and just be.  Be the body that moves to a beat that matches the music and a dance partner.  Be the lead dancer and move to the rhythm as it unites with your soul and the wooden floorboards.  Dance by yourself and see how graceful it is to move to the feeling before thinking about it; letting your soul soar through your body's movements.  Be the embodiment of the music-you hold the musicality of every song with your fingers, toes, shoulders, and hips.

I think I might have inhaled the divine.  I can feeling it in my bloodstream; I can hear it in the pumping of the bass line and the pauses in the music notes.  I feel the divine flowing in me.

Silence that Soars.

It's funny
the lyrics of my own
that flow
to my lips
when there is nothing
but silence infiltrating my ears.

Giving space for growth, making room for acceptance of the changes.

This past weekend, I made the time to be quiet with my own self.  Worries and unresolved issues bubbled up and I had a space to dwell on it rather than plugging into my Ipod or chatting with someone about something irrelevant.  It is a rare occasion when I have nothing scheduled ON PURPOSE.  It felt delicious; I was anxious that it wouldn't be as satisfying as it was.  I often find myself filling my schedule not necessarily because I want it that full but because I want to keep moving rather than reflecting.  It's easy to avoid meditation when you aren't ready to hear what your soul needs to tell you, or what God needs to tell you.

So simple it is to slip into self ignorance; the journal gathers dust as I spend my extra time watching a TV show, picking up extra tasks, or spending all my extra time around people.  What do you find yourself doing to avoid listening to yourself and God?  Try as hard as I might to be in touch with my feelings, I watch myself distracting rather than focusing.

I gave myself some space this weekend and repercussions of this self-reflection time are strength and genuine laughs when I got back into the swing of my daily life as a student, barista, leader, and friend.  I've felt more energy these past days than I have in the last few months (probably also has to do with the amazing amount of sleep I got this weekend).

Mantra for this week:
My foundation is love and with that love, I am kind to myself and the needs of my soul.
My heart is my own, right here in my chest.  It stays with me and I can give it freely yet wisely.