A Moment with Merton

Photograph of Merton in ball cap by Ralph Eugene Meatyard
© Meatyard Estate

"Whatever I may have written, I think it all can be reduced in the end to this one root truth: that God calls human persons to union with Himself and with one another in Christ, in the Church which is His Mystical Body. It is also a witness to the fact that there is and must be, in the church, a contemplative life which has no other function than to realize these mysterious things, and return to God all the thanks and praise that human hearts can give Him. It is certainly true that I have written about more than just the contemplative life. I have articulately resisted attempts to have myself classified as an "inspirational writer." But if I have written about interracial justice, or thermonuclear weapons, it is because these issues are terribly relevant to one great truth: that man is called to live as a child of God. Man must respond to this call to live in peace with all his brothers and sisters in the One Christ."

Edited to add, for clearness sake, before the message of this quote becomes bogged down in semantics...

...too much angst over the difference between "A Christ" and "The Christ" becomes tedious once you realize that both are contained in the phrase "One Christ." Let's take a clue from Merton and bend our minds eastways for a moment as we consider the meaning of unity and of being united to God. And remember that "Christ" simply means "anointed". That's far more interesting to think about. One is annointed with Chrism, which means "oil mingled with balm". Oil...a source of Light and food. Balm...comfort, healing.

Hmm. There's lots there.

Adeste Fideles

It's the end of the day some call Christmas. All in all it was a good day. Even the blog scored...I got a digital camera for Christmas and can now proceed to photoblog the living daylights out of you.

I haven't got a lot of deep thoughts. It's been a good few days of snuggling and squabbling with various brothers and sisters. As always, the ridiculous excitement of the little ones upon seeing me is humbling and lovely and a little sad. I went to Mass with the family last night. I listened carefully to the readings, and looked at the Liturgy of the Hours for Christmas. It was interesting to notice that some of the readings strictly associated with Christmas in the Church are the ones that I hear repeated over and over all year by Quakers. So much so that we might be desensitized to them, a little. I've been spending time with them today, trying to let them penetrate a little deeper into my understanding, trying to penetrate a little bit deeper into their truths. These days, meditating on snippets of scripture seems to occasion the deepest worship. For someone who's been bible-allergic in the past, it's a wonderful re-discovery. Reading these verses in the particular context of Christmas and all of its stories and metaphors is powerful.

Christ is here! That's the message of Christmas. God is among us, and these readings speak to the reality of this presence. In prayer with these verses, traveling through the promises, through the longing, through the discovery of the Light, I've been filled with joy and gratitude at the gift we've been given in the presence of God among us. Emmanuel. I've felt again the call...adeste fideles, come all ye faithful. I've felt the call to come to the manger, to adore and give thanks for the manifestation of God's promise...a God to dwell among us...a God to cradle. The importance of the literal existence of a virgin-born god-child in Bethlehem two thousand odd years ago seems to fade away in the magnitude of the Truth that God has given godself to us and dwells with us.

All of these verses are taken from the readings for the Christmas masses, or the Liturgy of the hours for Christmas day.


In days to come the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it.
Many peoples shall come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.
O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!

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Then a shoot will spring from the stem of Jesse,
And a branch from his roots will bear fruit.
The Spirit of the Lord will rest on Him,
The spirit of wisdom and understanding,
The spirit of counsel and strength,
The spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.
And He will delight in the fear of the Lord,
And He will not judge by what His eyes see,
Nor make a decision by what His ears hear;
But with righteousness He will judge the poor,
And decide with fairness for the afflicted of the earth;
And He will strike the earth with the rod of His mouth,
And with the breath of His lips He will slay the wicked.
Also righteousness will be the belt about His loins,
And faithfulness the belt about His waist.
And the wolf will dwell with the lamb,
And the leopard will lie down with the young goat,
And the calf and the young lion and the fatling together;
And a little child will lead them.
Also the cow and the bear will graze,
Their young will lie down together,
And the lion will eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child will play by the hole of the cobra,
And the weaned child will put his hand on the viper's den.
They will not hurt or destroy in all My holy mountain,
For the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
As the waters cover the sea.
Then in that day
The nations will resort to the root of Jesse,
Who will stand as a signal for the peoples;
And His resting place will be glorious.


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O God, you are my God, I wait for you from the dawn.
My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you.
I came to your sanctuary,
as one in a parched and waterless land,
so that I could see your might and your glory.
My lips will praise you, for your mercy is better than life itself.

Thus I will bless you throughout my life,
and raise my hands in prayer to your name;
my soul will be filled as if by rich food,
and my mouth will sing your praises and rejoice.
I will remember you as I lie in bed,
I will think of you in the morning,
for you have been my helper,
and I will take joy in the protection of your wings.

My soul clings to you; your right hand raises me up.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Out of the depths I have cried to you, Lord: Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears listen out for the voice of my pleading.

If you took notice of our transgressions, Lord – Lord, who would be left?
But with you is forgiveness, and for this we revere you.
I rely on you, Lord, my spirit relies on your promise;
my soul hopes in the Lord, more than the watchman for daybreak.

More than the watchman for daybreak, let Israel hope in the Lord:
for with the Lord there is kindness and abundant redemption.
He himself will redeem Israel from all its transgressions.


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In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God.
All things came to be through him,
and without him nothing came to be.
What came to be through him was life,
and this life was the light of the human race;
the light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.
A man named John was sent from God.
He came for testimony, to testify to the light,
so that all might believe through him.
He was not the light,
but came to testify to the light.
The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
He was in the world,
and the world came to be through him,
but the world did not know him.
He came to what was his own,
but his own people did not accept him.

But to those who did accept him
he gave power to become children of God,
to those who believe in his name,
who were born not by natural generation
nor by human choice nor by a man’s decision
but of God.
And the Word became flesh
and made his dwelling among us,
and we saw his glory,
the glory as of the Father’s only Son,
full of grace and truth.
John testified to him and cried out, saying,
“This was he of whom I said,
‘The one who is coming after me ranks ahead of me
because he existed before me.’”
From his fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace.

A penny for your thoughts, your books for a penny.

It's an unmatchable winter day here. The sky is that soul-stretching blue that lets in all the vitamin D and lifts you about a half inch from the ground whenever you look up at it. I always this of one of the few of Frost's poems that had always "found" me:

Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)--
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet.


Yep. It's my favourite colour, apologies to my greying pink teddy bear.

I feel funny today, not bad, just funny. It's such an odd time. I've been wearing myself thin with the silly Nutcracker costumes and work and the same old no-money thing. I feel like I could use a day or so of sleeping before I head out to North Carolina. When I get back to Cambridge, I'll be moving to the meetinghouse. I've met the roomates and picked out my room. (I think I'll be painting it blue, it's a dreadful yellow at the moment) The money panic will cease, for the first time in my life. I've learned to live a lot more simply but I still dribble money wherever I go. I've been reading old Quaker biographies where much is made of the account-books of Quakers, and also old Disciplines where the queries on money and money-handling go on for pages and pages. This is one little respect where I have a lot of room for Quakerly improvement.

I think there's some strange sort of rebellion in the bleeding of small amounts of money. I can scratch and howl for rent, and be within an inch of having the phone turned off, and still go buy a burrito when I've got rice and ramen and mac-and-cheese waiting for me in my cupboard. Or buy the pretty book in the window when I have hundreds at home and millions in the library. I think it's a dishonest way of tricking yourself into thinking you don't have to think about it. But you do have to think about it.

I sold some books today. I do not think I have ever, ever parted with a book before, unless I was giving it to a dear friend. But I am moving and need the room, and it's Christmas and I need the money. This morning I went through my bookshelf. Anything I would not read again, anything I'd put off reading for more than a year, anything that was not a classic or a reference or a sentimental treasure went into a pile. I made myself go over them several times, each time getting a little stricter. I loaded the 40 pounds of book into bags and staggered off to the subway, swaying under all the words hanging from my back. When I got to the bookstore, I felt hot and pale as the clerk looked at my little stacks and chose the ones he wanted. I felt vaugely guilty as I redeemed my little slip for $31.80, but it was good. It's always good to part with stuff. It was surprising. He took many of the books I didn't think he'd take, like a chewed up old terrible terrible Woody Allen book, yet another copy of Chocolat, my mildly ratty Brecht for Beginners, a creepy and haunting Japanese novel that kept me awake for weeks, and some bad science fiction, and didn't take any of the ones I thought he'd jump on...a mint copy of Memoirs of a Geisha and well-kept hardbacks of all the terrible Oprah's Book Club selectios I regularly rescue from boxes on sidewalks. I still have about 25 lbs of book here.

But at the end, I had $31.80 to add to my $1.79 balance in the bank. I was struck by how very relative money is. When I was five, a dollar was a nearly unimaginable treasure. When I was ten, it took five to make me feel rich. At fifteen, fifty dollars was a kingly sum. These days, when I'm feeling flush, I'll spend forty in a day on dinner, some beer, and a movie. When I am fishing for the quarters in the couch, $31.80 seems like a fortune.

It struck me that the early Quakers would be very displeased with this attitude. A dollar is a dollar is a dollar, and I shouldn't discriminate between them just because of the size of the group they're hanging out in.

I don't make very much money at all working my 20 hours a week, but when I am trading my time for rent, I'll have more at my immediate disposal than I ever have. I'm planning to pay off a few small older debts, finally catch up with the student loan, and save, and all that good stuff, but I also feel like this will be the time of all times to start handling my money like an adult--now that 95% won't automatically go into that old staying-alive game. The Quaker ladies of old kept a little notebook where they recorded all transactions down to a penny. These days, we've got budgeting systems and computer programs and all that stuff, and I'm going to get that started with that in the New Year. But I think I will start with a notebook. I think it's very interesting that I'm so squeamish about this...

Anyway, I hate money, but I love books. The homeless books I didn't sell will be "released into the wild" via the bookcrossing project. (urging you to commit random acts of literacy!)

A book is not only a friend, it makes friends for you. When you have possessed a book with mind and spirit, you are enriched. But when you pass it on you are enriched threefold.

Henry Miller
The Books In My Life (1969)

Well, well, well.

23 years ago today, I was born.

1 year ago today, while I was living in Brooklyn, pouring coffee for strangers in the East Village, I got an adorable e-mail from an adorable boy and the first flutter of a hopeless crush was born.

Today, I am 23, and I share a city with that boy. And he even likes me. :)

Many thanks to everyone who sent me their wishes and prayers today. I had a good day. And it's been a very good year.

"Too many are willing to die for war and too few are willing to die for peace." - Tom Fox, CPT hostage in Iraq

Tomorrow is the deadline for the lives of the CPT workers, including Quaker Tom Fox, being held in Iraq. They've been close in our hearts in these last few days.

There is a wonderful article on Salon called Love your Enemies. You don't need to suscribe to Salon to read it, you just have to watch a short ad, usually for Law and Order or something. The article excerpts a statement drafted by Tom Fox and others before their capture about what they would do in the face of a hypothetical kidnapping:

"CPT will attempt to communicate with the hostage takers or their sponsors, and work against journalists' inclinations to vilify and demonize the offenders. We will try to understand the motives for these actions and to articulate them while maintaining a firm stance that such actions are wrong ... We reject the use of violent force to save our lives, should we be kidnapped, held hostage, or caught in the middle of a violent conflict situation. We also reject violence to punish anyone who harms us ... We forgive those who consider us their enemies, therefore any penalty should be in the spirit of restorative justice rather than violent retribution."

The sheer humanity and strength of true Christianity in this statement blinds me with tears of hope and with tears of shame. Hope and inspiration in the fact that there are people who are living out Jesus' radical message of love and forgiveness, and shame that I rarely act with that much forgiveness and peace in my little daily trials.

There was another quote in the article that I found especially sane and moving:

Kindy knows pacifism isn't a shield in a war zone. But dying in pursuit of nonviolence is a worthy sacrifice to Christian Peacemakers. Kindy says he suspects and hopes that, whatever happens, Christian Peacemakers will maintain its presence in Iraq. "One of the things we need to learn from the military is that there are risks that are important to take -- risks worth putting our lives on the line for," he says. "If, in our peacemaking, we can't have that same level of commitment, that would be sad."

I was also moved in another way, reading this:

The litany of horrors Fox kept hearing -- coupled with all the other torments visited on Iraq -- clearly got to him. On his blog, he wrote about trying not to simply shut down in the face of so much anguish. "The ability to feel the pain of another human being is central to any kind of peace making work," he wrote. "But this compassion is fraught with peril. A person can experience a feeling of being overwhelmed. Or a feeling of rage and desire for revenge. Or a desire to move away from the pain. Or a sense of numbness that can deaden the ability to feel anything at all."

He continued. "How do I stay with the pain and suffering and not be overwhelmed? How do I resist the welling up of rage towards the perpetrators of violence? How do I keep from disconnecting from or becoming numb to the pain? After eight months with CPT, I am no clearer than I [was] when I began. In fact I have to struggle harder and harder each day against my desire to move away or become numb. Simply staying with the pain of others doesn't seem to create any healing or transformation. Yet there seems to be no other first step into the realm of compassion than to not step away."

Fox didn't step away. The day before he was taken, he wrote a brief missive, posted on the Web site Electronic Iraq, titled "Why Are We Here?" He concluded, "We are here to root out all aspects of dehumanization that exists within us. We are here to stand with those being dehumanized by oppressors and stand firm against that dehumanization. We are here to stop people, including ourselves, from dehumanizing any of God's children, no matter how much they dehumanize their own souls."

To outsiders, such faith can seem naive or even foolishly reckless. Rush Limbaugh, for one, was pleased by the Christian Peacemakers' kidnapping, saying, "Well, here's why I like it. I like any time a bunch of leftist feel-good hand-wringers are shown reality."

I was very sad to read Limbaugh's quote, and as I felt a tide of anger rise up in me at his callousness and flippancy in the face of pain, I was called back to centeredness by Tom's words:

We are here to stop people, including ourselves, from dehumanizing any of God's children, no matter how much they dehumanize their own souls.

I wish there was some way I could give some of that loving spirit to Rush Limbaugh, to keep him from dehumanizing "lefties", to keep him from dehumanizing himself. I realized that I must not dehumanize him in my own heart, no matter how good a job he seems to be doing on his own soul. May I not step away or turn my face from the ugliness, so that I may step into the realm of true compassion. I pray for peace for Rush Limbaugh, for the kidnappers, and for our friends who are so surely being held up in the Light as they suffer for all that is good, all that is beautiful, true and holy. They are suffering for the truth that war and hatred and pain are not the ultimate reality, that there is something greater, a Divine that yearns and broods over us, longing to have us restored to peace and harmony and love, longing for our salvation, teaching us the way to peace, the way to pull ourselves up out of the hells that we have built. These four men have refused to be blinded by the false "reality" that the world would have us see and despair at, and instead have turned their eyes to the deeper hidden truth of the triumph of Love, and have offered their lives in witness to that truth. All the differences of religion and ideology and language stripped away, this Divine principle of Love is what remains, and is what must be guarded and cared for by the Children of God, even to the point of laying down our lives. Like many of us watching this witness from afar, I am thrown into deep reflection about how seriously I myself take this responsibility in my safe and quiet life.

I take up John Woolman's prayer:
“There is balm; there is a physician! and oh, what longings do I feel that we may embrace the means appointed for our healing; may know that removed which now ministers cause for the cries of many to ascend to Heaven against their oppressors; and that thus we may see the true harmony restored!”

Some things

Thing 1.) My blog is 1 year and two days old today! Wow, time flies.

Thing 2.) I donated blood today! I was very scared after the great Drain-and-Faint debacle of 2001, but after a few chicken-outs, I made it all the way in this morning. This time it didn't hurt at all. (I mean, the needle stick stuck but last time it hurt the whole time.) I weigh a good 20 lbs more than I did in 2001, so now I feel I've discovered the secret of painless bloodletting - get chubby! Anyway, I'm very proud. I'm drinking non-diet coke. And I have a sticker that says "Hug me, I donated blood today!" So if you see me, do.

Thing 3.) I finally lurned how to purl (thanks Sol for the kre8tive spelling suggestion!) and I'm thrilled. Knitting is so much fun now, I think I'm becoming an addict. (For amazing knittingness see my friend Pauline's blog in the sidebar, she's my hero) I am making an awesome hat in a pretty shade of green. (not so fancy as the one on the site). I had to unravel it all once due to a bizarre mistake, which was sad, but take 2 is going strong. Circular needles are fun! Pictures to follow.

Any Soldier

I had a bit of an opening the other day. I was feeling really emotional, imagining the terror, suffering and hope that must be in the brave hearts of the CPT hostages, if, God willing, they are still alive. Because one of them is Quaker and two of them Canadian, I was able to identify with them instantly. They became "us", our own.

And somewhere in questioning myself about that, about my heightened grief over a few of the thousands of people suffering in Iraq every day, just because they have identifiers that make me feel I somehow know, and therefore love them, I thought about soldiers.

For all my talk of furthering the cause of love in the world, it struck me that I have not been very loving to soldiers. I live in fear that the military might get my "little" brother, who's 18, handsome, incredibly fit, with a testosterone streak a mile wide. Recruiters are salivating over him. In my anger and fear over my brother's possible not-too-distant fate as a pair of boots in the Eyes Wide Open exhibit, I've been channelling a lot of negative feelings towards every representation of the military I see. I shudder at the sight of servicemen in the airport. I gag at recruitment commercials and sneer at posters. I want to spit whenever I see some dignitary in a pristine suit gingerly patting dusty soldiers on the back and telling them what a good job they are doing. Aside from some vauge anger and sadness on behalf of all the members of the poverty draft, a few tears when 60 Minutes shows me a weeping family mourning their lost son, and a certain twinge when I see the faces of soldiers that should still be playing Dungeons and Dragons or cheerleading, I haven't had a lot of sympathy for the kids out there. There's been a lot of judgement in my heart. Somewhere deep inside it seems I want to believe that they are all a little bit twisted, or just plain stupid. "They must like it," I thought. "They must like being pawns of a capitalist power- and vengance-mad administration. They must like being used to help continue to tear apart the lives of people that have been strife-ravaged for so long." Aside from giving lip-service to "Support our Troops - Bring them Home" there has not been a lot of love in my heart for soldiers.

Suddenly, in some combination of thinking about the Christian Peacemakers and my brother, I was able to to open my heart to the humanity of each of the soldiers out there, and to long for their happiness, safety, and healing. I was convicted of my anger and hatred and found that God had no use for those emotions in me. My heart was made tender.

There are thousands of reasons a child might enlist in the military. When I think of some of my own wounds that brought me to my own terrible choices in the past, I recognize them in the faces of soldiers I see. A need to be needed. A need to be respected. A need to prove to myself that I was grown-up. A need to prove to others that I was grown-up. A terrible need for acceptance and belonging. A powerful desire to make my life matter somehow, anyhow.

I found a website called anysoldier.com. A lot of kids without families, or with terrible family situations, turn to the military as a way of gaining a family. That means a whole lot of kids out there with no loving support behind them. The harsh arms of the armed forces are the only comfort they've got, and the armed forces aren't very good about sending some TLC. I read stories of soldiers, 18, 19 years old, who watch the mail clerk pass them by every mail call. They see cards and packages carrying love and prayers and warmth from home cherished by their fellow soldiers, but go to bed empty handed. They are forced to see and do terrible things every day, and they are alone. Anysoldier.com takes requests from soldiers over in Iraq. The #1 request is for letters and prayers. #2 is for food (many of them are in mobile units far away from mess halls). They also ask for everything ranging from babywipes to shampoo to socks to bibles to videogames and CDs. One soldier said "I never knew it got this cold in the desert, we only get one pair of long underware and we never know when were going to get to wash it if you get my drift...."(sic)

One letter that really brought home the humanity of the soldiers out there was this, a letter from a soldier named Miguel, coincidentally the same name as my beloved brother:

Hello everyone;

I am sending this letter to as many of you as I possibly can to explain what I am doing and am involved with here in Afghanistan.

In the last month or so I have adopted some 12-16 kids that gather every day at the front gate of our base. They come to beg for the garbage that our soldiers leave behind, and I literlly mean "The Garbage". They empty the garbage cans and take the garbage to their houses. They use the garbage to rumage through for something eatable, to burn for cooking fuel and to burn for heat. You may think that this is unusual or once in a while, they come each and every day and they will fight amoung themselves for the garbage.

They come with no shoes ragedy clothes and filthy as can be. One day I found out that the cook threw away all the food that was left over from our breakfast every morning at our own military dinning facility. I went and ask him if he would give me the food so that I could give it to the children rather than throw it away. He not only said yes, he went the extra and porvided me with the plates, utencils drinks and anything I needed for the kids. I asked him the same thing the next day and he said yes. This has now been going on for 3-4 weeks. Every day I take our left over breakfast (still eatable for any one) and feed the children. In feeding them, I have taught them some English words. They have to wash their hands and face every morning with baby wipes that we provide for them. At first I would wash everyone's hands and faces, even feet, now I just hand them the wipes, mention the word "face, hands " and they repeat the words with me and clean themselves. The older ones (8-10 years old) help out and clean the little ones (11/2- 2). I have used the words "the little ones" so often that now they are "the little ones" even to the locals.

Some how things are coming up and are multiplying daily. Just 2 days ago, someone told me to go to a certain container and see what was in there. I found a container full of cases and cases of fortified cookies, clothing, cooking oil, and blankets. I have sence moved everything into a container that was provided to me by the Camp Comander. He has been absolutly wonderful and gracious with me. Anything I want and need for the children, I get from him.

For months while I attended my duties at the front gate, I would walk from my tent to the front gate along with my dog to take care of clearing the vehicles coming in to the compound. About 4 weeks ago when some friends of mine left, they left me their pick-up. It has been invaluable and a great blessing for all the activities. Without it I could not do what I am doing. Thank God for little favors. Unfortunately the clothing is for adults but the rest is adaquate for the children.

I would like to see if you are interested in adopting one of these children and while I am still here you can take a part in reaching out to the Hearts of these children. I know that we will not winn the Hearts of the adult population for so many reasons, but I feel that America still has a chance in the future generations of this country starting with this small "little ones" generation...

I would like to provide for everyone of them the following;

1.) a small childs backpack.

2.) a pair of shoes (preferably tennyshoes) the appropriate size.

3.) a tooth brush and a tube of tooth paste

4.) a bottle of shampoo (no tears preferably)

5.) a hair brush

6.) a set of appropriate clothing for the individual

7,) some kind of lunch pale or tupperware for them to carry home some extra food. There are days that even after feeding them all they want I still have to throw away food which I would rather not.

8.) a small childs thermos for drinks

This Saturday, I am bringing all the children into the camp and we are going to bath each one of them. A female soldier will assist me in bathing the little girls. I have purchased some new clothing and new shoes for all of them which we will provide for them. We have no underware so feel free to add some to the list. After the shower, we will cloth them and take them to the first aid station, the medical staff will check them out and attend to them. After that we will take them to our dinning facility, sit them down and feed them breadfast as much as they want. We have blankets, toys, beeny babies, candy, fruits, and other items that we want to give them before they go home looking like a million bucks. Their own family won't recognize them when they arrive.

He even specified "no tears" shampoo so it won't sting the little ones' eyes! It's something my Miguel would do.

I've felt very funny about this. It isn't sexy for a liberal 20-something to send care-packages to random soldiers. A friend who writes letters to marines says she cringes everytime she gets one back that says "We're glad you support the war" because she really, really doesn't. But she says she feels like the people come first. Last night I thumbed through motorcycle magazines and racks of beef-jerky, and for the first time in my life I tried to think like a soldier. It was a bizarre and strangely moving experience. This anonymous boy I was making up a present for became fleshed out and human in my eyes. I hoped he like peanut butter. I fussed between Sports Illustrated and Popular Mechanics. I wondered if cherry chapstick was too girly, and worried that he might hate sour candy. I picked out some paperback mystery novels about boxers and gangsters, and wondered if I was stereotyping this guy. A stranger and I in the stationary store struggled to find a holiday card that wasn't too religion specific or covered in fluffy animals and glitter. I wondered if a card that said "Peace on Earth" was laying it on a little thick.

And I wrote a little letter, saying in essence "I was thinking about the war, and how we can get you guys back safe and sound. At the moment all I can do to help you guys is do my best to increase the amount of love in the world. So here's some love and candy. I'm praying that you are happy and healthy, and that you can come home soon. I hope these things help keep you smiling until you do. Hope you don't mind getting mail from a tree-hugging Quaker like me."

Like most things I tend to find myself called to, it seems somehow homely and completely random. But I think it is important that these well-meaning kids who are not monsters, but doing their very best to be heros of some sort, know that those of us who oppose the war and decry the policies of our nation also have great love in our hearts for them, and that as individuals, and especially as individuals with that of God in them, they are precious to us. If you'd like to send a package to a soldier, you can find a recipient on the anysoldier.com lists, and send a "flat rate box" available at the post office, as heavy as you like, for just $7.70. The website also has important information about customs, packaging, military addresses and what you must not send.

And if you do send something, write to them with tenderness, without being patronizing or preachy. You don't have to disclose your politics, but if you are a Quaker, don't be afraid to tell them so.

Rest in Peace, Harlie

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

My little cat Harlie has died.

She was all of those things, bright, beautiful, great (in her old age) small (enough to ride around on my shoulder) when I got her. And she was very wise, and very wonderful. When I cried, she always came and found me. She was my first pet that was all mine and nobody else's. I saw dozens of kittens (in rural Canada the papers were full of free litters) before I found my tiny treasure. She was the only girl in a litter of boys. Her mother's name was Razz, so they'd called her Zarr, because she looked just like her mother, only with the bicolor sides of her face reversed. As a romantic and artsy eleven year-old, I re-named her Harlequin Phantom. Harlequin for the multi-coloured coat of the Commedia dell'Arte character, and Phantom for the Phantom of the Opera, because of her white half-mask. It was promptly shortened to Harlie, but I bristled whenever anyone suggested she was named after a motorcycle because of her purr. "It's with an IE at the end!" I'd sputter, as if it made a difference.

She and my dear old dog Caila were best friends as babies, and uneasy allies as adults. When they were roughly the same size they'd wrestle and play. Harlie never got over the betrayal of Caila growing up to be ten times her size, but I don't think she forgot her old friend. They'd sleep on the same couch, not touching, but close.

I was looking forward to bringing Harlie to live with me at the meetinghouse. I thought we'd have a good ten more years of lap sitting and window gazing together. I'm really sad that I didn't get to say goodbye, but so glad that she died peacefully, happy, and sleeping, which was her favourite thing to do. My mum sent me a very sweet and brave e-mail with the news. Poor mummy kept it to herself all weekend because she didn't want me to be upset over the Thanksgiving weekend. It was very kind of her.

Anyway, goodnight, Harlie-cat.

Worship

In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.

~ Rumi
(translation by Coleman Barks)

Who will take care of us?

Today, in a very vocal Cambridge meeting for worship, I was struggling to listen to all that was said, as important work was being done inside me. I walked into meeting in tears...I'd had a hard morning and ended up losing my composure. I was feeling a little bit despairing. I thought...I've got the medications, I've got the doctors, and I'm doing the work, but there are still broken parts of me that I can't get ahold of. Sometime my hurts come alive and take over, and I'm left feeling very helpless. I wrote about this in an older blog post, where I admitted my struggles with depression and anxiety.

On Friday night, I went to see Peterson perform. At one point in the performance, he takes on the persona of an sweet, goofy, enlightened minister with an adorable English accent, who talks about Jesus weeping at the grave of Lazarus, and of the pain we go through when our Omnipotent God won't fix what we need fixed, won't save who we need saved, won't cure the one who desperately needs to be cured. I was distracted by phonecalls from an irate housemate in the middle of this most moving section, but what I did manage to see lodged somewhere deep in my heart. I missed half of the end of that scene, but the preacher was saying something about how we can help one another rise, how we can cure one another.

A few days ago, I read a powerful post from Nancy, a blogger I'd somehow missed for a long time. She spoke of envisioning God not as Father, as Deus Omnipotens, but as a helpless baby:

Do you hear what I hear? I now confess to a heresy. I don’t hear a still, small voice. I don’t hear the Word. I don’t hear the Almighty. I don’t, as Annie Dillard suggests, have any inclination to wear a helmet to Meeting for fear of the forces let loose from the universe.

I hear a cry, like a baby.

I first heard that cry on the eve of first Gulf War. Canadian soldiers were heading to war for the first time since World War II. A huge multifaith group had gathered in our city—some 200 Hindus, Catholics, Muslims, Bahais, Evangelicals—all in the same room, all in agony. We sat in silence, with some rising to sing, some to chant, some to pray with beads, to weep, to return to silence. I heard it then, the cry of a baby, helpless, abandoned, forgotten.

"…a child, a child,
Shivers in the cold,
Let us bring him silver and gold…"

...

God is so in need of our protection. We have the task of keeping God alive among us, feeding God, helping God to grow. It’s the reverse of the old image: now it’s we who carry God through hard times, so that it’s our footprints in the sand.

Otherwise, I’m afraid God might die.

My first response was a split second of awe as I realized the truth of what she had just said. Immediately on the tail of that awe was terror. I closed the browser. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to think of it. I thought I'd let go of most of my old preconceptions of God but apparently somewhere inside me I was still clinging to the idea of a warrior God. The God who with his brawn could swoop down and save me. Deliver me. The God who could do anything.

I sat in meeting today and thought about asking God for healing. Asking God to swoop down and remove the wounds in my soul. As Friends rose in meeting and spoke of pain, of chemical weapons, of torture, of sorrow, of forgiveness, of guilt, of all the brokenness of the world, I remembered my childhood sorrow when my prayers for relief went unanswered. Why didn't the all-powerful God use some of his Power to take away all the pain that I witnessed and felt? He was all-knowing, so it's not that he didn't know of the pain. He was all-loving, so it's not that he didn't care about the pain. He was all-merciful, so certainly he must know that the innocent should not suffer. He was omnipresent, so it wasn't that he was busy somewhere else...

I sat in meeting and I thought about that. I thought about the all-poweful God. And I thought about the helpless infant God.

Again, I recoiled from the baby. If God needs me to take care of him, I thought,

then who will take care of me?

I felt small and still and cold inside. I thought of the old standard I used to sing in a piano bar in New York, my feminist concience always smarting a bit as I'd form each co-dependent word...

There’s a somebody I’m longing to see
I hope that he, turns out to be
Someone who’ll watch over me

I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the wood
I know I could, could always be good
To one who’ll watch over me...

I smiled to myself a little bit. But really...

Who have I in heaven but Thee?

I thought of Jesus, speaking to Peter:

"Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?"

He said to him "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you."

He said to him, "Feed my lambs."

A second time he said to him, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?"

He said to him "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you."

He said to him, "Tend my sheep."

He said to him a third time, Simon, son of John, do you love me?

Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?"

And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you."

Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep."

I read the passage over and over. I thought of the old chestnut "He has no hands but thine" and I know that I try to remember that in terms of my own behaviour. I work hard to become God's hands, to do what I can of God's work, to relieve what suffering I can in God's name. I looked around the meeting house at the people who were praying, at the ones who were fidgeting, at the ones who had spoken to my condition and the ones who I'd struggled to hear.

A Friend stood. "Between the love and the horror lies our work."

More Friends spoke. About languages, about communication, about becoming the change we want to see in the world.

I thought about a Canadian children's show I used to watch when I was little. The host always ended with a song called "Take Good Care of Each Other".

And once again I was struck still in meeting by a cliche, and I realized that we are what we've got. In almost every case, God's love, God's healing, God's mercy, and God's power are transmitted from one human being to another. I thought of how often I raise my eyes to the sky in search of relief, and turn away from the people in my life who could be agents of God's peace to me.

Oh, where am I going here?

I will lift my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my salvation.

Yes, of course I will. but I will also lift my eyes to my Friends.

There was something more...but I've gotten distracted. And I think this is where meeting ended as well. But I felt such an urgency. We must turn to each other in love, and learn to trust each other. We are the ministers of God. God is watching over us, and God is taking care of us. But God needs us to do that.

The God in me cares for the God in you?
The God in you cares for the God in me?

That Big Question

Quaker Bloggers, does this question look familiar?

Perhaps in a future post you could explain to those ignorant of your readers what you consider to be the central tenets of Quakerism? My brother in law is from a quaker family, and I've tried to have him explain it to me, but all I get is 'pacifism' and a lot of fuzziness - his community seems to have contained both vague deists and definite Christians, and variations on just about every other thing I've always thought of as 'Quaker', and I would love to know what are the non-negotiable central tenets common to all Quakers - or are there any?

Kate, a Catholic, left this Query on my blog. I just stared at it for a minute and then rolled up my sleeves. I think it's the question that we're all always more or less threshing on these Quaker blogs. Kate stated it in wonderful Plain fashion:

what are the non-negotiable central tenets common to all Quakers - or are there any?

Though there's the tired old joke that if you ask three Quakers "What is a Quaker" you'll get four answers, it's true that the most confusing thing for everyone is that there's no Creed or Catechism. A lot of us are really hung up on that, for varying reasons. Given the huge variety of theological diversity among Friends, this question becomes enormously difficult to answer. As a compromise, people often go into long historical lectures, or simply state their own particular set of beliefs.

There is an extraordinary essay called The One Testimony that Binds Them All Together. In it, Friend James Healton says:

To an outside observer, and indeed, many people inside the Society of Friends, there is little rhyme or reason to the assemblage of doctrines and practices historically emphasized by Friends. Frankly, it does look as though the founders of the Friends movement collected together all the most eccentric beliefs and practices ever dreamed of, and some not dreamed of, among Christians, put them into a hat and then drew out nine or ten of them at random and decided that would be Quakerism!

But, in fact, there is a powerful unity and purpose underlying all the elements that go together to make the basic contours of Quaker theology and practice.

Now, Friends who debate or question the exact nature of the unique divinity of Jesus will find a lot to waggle eyebrows at in the essay. But the central importance is that Christ has come and changed the world forever. Friends believe that the Kingdom is here. Friend James says:

(T)raditional Christians accepted that Jesus fulfilled the prophecies concerning His death and resurrection, but there was much more that they either entirely overlooked or postponed until after death or the "Second Coming."

James Healton gives a biblically-based list of things the Quakers believe are possible here and now, not in Heaven or a "New Earth" or at a "Second Coming", but now, because of the Presence of God in the world. He prefaces each item with with "Because Jesus is the Christ". Other people may quibble. Others will want to argue the exact meaning of "Christ." I myself would say "Because of Christ". For example,


Because of Christ:

"God's people beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks and no longer prepare for war. They are secure, knowing that the day long foretold by the prophets has come and that ultimate triumph over evil will be achieved through following their victorious King."

Because of Christ:

"God now rules His people directly, rather than through prophets, priests and kings. As the prophets foretold, "a king will reign in righteousness" and the fruit of His reign will be righteousness and peace. He will be their shepherd to guide them in the paths of justice and mercy. God's people will not be ruled by one man or a few, or even by the majority, but by God Himself, present in all and leading all together."

Because of Christ:

"The Spirit has been poured out upon all flesh so that all God's people are prophets. Women as well as men may prophesy, one by one, in order that all may be encouraged and all may be instructed by what all have learned from the Father."

The whole list is very extraordinary, and I originally posted it here because although I obviously cannot speak for all Quakers everywhere, and some (many) of them might (would) have (many) issues with the language, I think that this list of beliefs is a solid representation of "what Quakers believe". But it made the post so long I feared it was becoming unreadable. So I urge you to go read them yourself in James's article.

So, what do I think is the "powerful unity and purpose underlying all the elements that go together to make the basic contours of Quaker theology and practice."?

God is here, now, in his Fullness. There cannot be More God or Less God anywhere. God is everywhere at all times, available to all people at all times. All of the prophecies can be fulfilled, here, now.

"It is accomplished."

We believe that not only is God here, but that there is that of God in each person, which makes them Holy, and Precious and Sacred, which can lead them into the fullness of expression of Divine Love. If we believe that God is in others, we can do them no harm. If we believe that God is in ourselves, we must discipline ourselves to be faithful to his Inward leading and teaching.

Because of the Good News of Christ, we must now go about the work of fulfilling all that the Presence of God makes possible. Which is everything. We sit in silence and still our hearts and listen for the leadings of God that will bring us to our part of this work. We sit in silence and we offer up our hearts and minds and hands to God to do this work. We sit in silence and we offer thanks for the gift of Christ, God in our midst. We sit in silence and rejoice that God is with us.

We bring the fruit of our silent worship into the world. All of the testimonies, practices, queries and disciplines of Friends spring from the belief that God is here, that God is living, and above all, that God is living within us.

We follow this commandment and strive to take it to its extreme logical conclusion:

Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. Matthew 22:37-40 and Mark 12:30-31, Luke 10:27.

Our whole lives spring out of a desire to be faithful to the promise of the Good News: that the kingdom is now. That the kingdom is here. That the kingdom is among us. That the kingdom is within us.

There's also a lot of confusion on why we don't have creeds or outward sacraments. I'll do my best here.

No Creeds: This is what gives birth to the whole question. How are you defined if you don't have a Creed?

Friends worry that written creeds can never express the truth about the infinity of God which we experience, and that they can lead seekers to passively accept “truths” that they do not know experientially to be true. Because we believe in the urgent immediacy and reality of God's Presence in our lives, we believe that the personal experience of God is the foundation of faith. There can be nothing passive about our belief.

“You will say Christ saith this, and the apostles say this,
but what canst thou say?

Art thou a child of Light and hast thou walked in the Light,
and what thou speakest is it inwardly from God?”

Margaret Fell, quoting George Fox

As Quakers, we believe in Continuing Revelation. We don't believe that God is ever finished revealing Godself to us. We are continually being taught more. We learn from the richness of past revelation and measure new insight for consistency and coherency with what we've already been taught, but to codify doctrine or creed, to freeze it at one point in time, is foolhardy and dishonest.

No Sacraments: Though there is nothing wrong with outward expressions of faith and Grace, we believe that Grace is never limited to one time, place or occasion. While we believe that we are all agents of Grace to each other, no human intervention (i.e. outward baptism) is required to call down the Presence and Grace of God. We believe that we are in communion with God every time we turn our hearts to him, because God is already present.

A good way to get an idea of how Friends try to go about this work is to read our "books of discipline" known these days as Faith and Practice. Each Yearly meeting has its own and though they differ substantially in their wording, they all express the "how" of living our faith.

I feel like everything I've said here is well expressed in the section of New York Yearly Meeting's Faith and Practice entitled "Seeking the Spirit":

My faith is firm in the blessed, the eternal doctrine preached by Jesus and by every child of God since the creation of the world, especially the great truth that God is the teacher of his people himself; the doctrine that Jesus most emphatically taught, that the kingdom is with man, that there is his sacred and divine temple.
--Lucretia Mott (1793-1880),
in "Margaret Hope Bacon, Valiant Friend", 1980

There is that of God in everyone. This principle of the Inward Light, the Christ Within, illumines for us every corner of religion, philosophy, ethics, morals, daily living, social relationships, and international relations.

Before we can express this faith to others, whether in words or in deeds, we must first experience the reality of the Inward Light in our own souls. Then we are released to be faithful to this Spirit. The corporate and personal disciplines Friends have used are the means by which we have found and experienced the presence of God. Through these disciplines we have been able to remain faithful in our witness to the world.

Cast aside, now, thy burdensome cares and put away thy toilsome business. Yield room for some little time to God.

--Anselm (1033-1109), Proslogium

"Seek, and ye shall find," said Jesus. From the beginning Friends have emphasized the search. We do not have the whole truth. But we can search diligently for understanding and use some of the guides that help us grow toward the Light.

Okay, Friends. My gosh, that was huge. Pile-on time. How did I do?

As if this is not long enough, I do feel the need to disclaim...I've seen everything I've here attributed to Quakerism lived out by people of all faiths, Catholics included. Most of the faithful Catholics I know do not passively swallow their creed but strive to make it live for them, and their faith transforms their lives. They work faithfully to improve the world and spread God's love to their neighbours. And what I've described is the ideal of Quakerism. We're all in here paddling together in the Ocean of Light and Love, and we all fall short of what God has opened to us.

Quakers and Catholics share a belief in the literal Presence of God in the world, though they express it very differently. In this way Quakers are closer to Catholics that to Protestants.

I'm not sure if there is anything else I need to say, but just a blessing of Love to all of you reading this.

People, look East.

This First day Jeff and I went to Fresh Pond Meeting. I've been once before that, and I just love it. It's small and full of children and everybody seems to know everybody else without being clannish or cliquey. Every community has its quirks...I'm not starry-eyed on that account. But my soul was fed in worship there, and I know I'll be back.

A Friend gave ministry on the topic of "Sing and Rejoice". Often in worship my mind isn't passively quiet, but silently humming away at any of the dozens of hymns I internalized as a child. I was in the middle of a verse when he stood to speak. One that's been with me as the year turns is an advent hymn. Though as Quakers we believe that the Kingdom is among us, that Christ is here, there are still many powerfully moving themes that have to do with the themes of Waiting and Fullfilment, themes that have been resonating with me deeply.

People, look East. The time is near
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look East and sing today:
Love, the guest, is on the way.

Furrows, be glad. Though earth is bare,
One more seed is planted there:
Give up your strength the seed to nourish,
That in course the flower may flourish.
People, look East and sing today:
Love, the rose, is on the way.

Birds, though you long have ceased to build,
Guard the nest that must be filled.
Even the hour when wings are frozen
God for fledging time has chosen.
People, look East and sing today:
Love, the bird, is on the way.

Stars, keep the watch. When night is dim
One more light the bowl shall brim,
Shining beyond the frosty weather,
Bright as sun and moon together.
People, look East and sing today:
Love, the star, is on the way.

Angels, announce with shouts of mirth
Christ who brings new life to earth.
Set every peak and valley humming
With the word, the Lord is coming.
People, look East and sing today:
Love, the Lord, is on the way.

There are a lot of things I love about the song. I'm not bothered by theological or historical inaccuracies (What? God wasn't born in a snowsorm?!) because the truth it holds is fresh, and the hope and cheerfulness and good will in every line is apparent. When was the last time you heard the word "Mirth" in a hymn?

Even the hour when wings are frozen
God for fledging time has chosen.

I've known that to be true in my own soul!

I'm digging the church calendar a little this year. A lot of things that I once recoiled from when I was asked to believe them literally I can now warm to and love as full and beautiful illustrations of the journey of the soul to God, and of God to the soul. I like seasons, and I like this cyclical story of change and growth, of laying down and renewal.

In other news...I'm moving in with the Quakers in January! Yep. I'll be a Friend's Center Resident at Cambridge. In return for scrubbing and mopping and swabbing the deck, I get a room right beside the meeting house, a short walk from work. It will mean that I can pay off my student loans for my one unsalvageable (in terms of getting a degree) year of college as I start up a new one. I won't have to worry about how many hours I am or am not getting at work, and I can afford to visit my family more often. It's a wonderful blessing. I'm really going to miss my posh Davis Square dwelling, but it's really worth it. Pray for me!

Remembrance.

Here in the States, it's Veteran's Day. In Canada, it's Remembrance Day.

re·mem·brance
n.
1. The act or process of remembering.
2. The state of being remembered: holds him in fond rememberance.
3. Something serving to celebrate or honor the memory of a person or event; a memorial.
4. The length of time over which one's memory extends.
5. Something remembered; a reminiscence.
6. A souvenir.
7. A greeting or token expressive of affection.


Either way, it is a day for sorrow. A day to count and mourn our dead, to hold tenderly the boys (and now girls) we sent away to be mangled inside and out, whether they came home or not. To cry out for the end of war, and the end of blood.

When I was a little girl in Canada we handed out and pinned little red felt poppies to our coats. They still do that there. I'd see all the people go by with the festive red spot on their lapel and know it was solemn, but not quite why. At school we learned by heart and recited this poem:

In Flander's field, the poppies grow
between the crosses, row on row,
which mark our place - and in the sky,
the larks, still bravely singing, fly
scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago,
we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset's glow,
loved and were loved, and now we lie
in Flander's field.

Take up our quarrel with the foe
to you, from failing hands, we throw
the torch - be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die,
we shall not sleep, though poppies blow
on Flander's field.

I guess I've never really thought about the poem until now. As a little girl, I felt a cold shiver at "We are the Dead." I trembled with sadness at the thought that short days ago they loved and were loved, and now, they're dead. The words seemed weighty with importance and grief. Though it was heavy, I'm afraid that the sorrow I felt for the poor Dead soldiers wasn't actually all that different from the sorrow I felt for the Velveteen Rabbit or Old Yeller. Deep, but largely imaginary.

When I read the poem again this year, remembering, I was startled at what sounded like a call for revenge. At what seemed like a threat.

I was shaken for a moment. How could this poem that my heart thrilled to recite at 8 years old be so blood-thirsty? And then I was quiet and listened, and I felt a deep sadness in understanding. It was not a threat. It was a promise.

The foe is the dehumanizing of our fellow children of God. The foe is the hideous disregard that we as a nation have felt for the precious souls of God that we mow down in the interest of our own "interests" and our callous turning away from the sufferings of the "collateral damage".

Tonight I realized that the souls in the poem have kept their promise. The Dead are swelling their numbers every day, and they do not sleep.

I've been opened tonight by the realization that I can only look at death in old black-and-white photos (that's a real, dead man up there. Why don't I wince?), and I turn my face from images of the real-live horror of the Dead. The babies with eyes full of flies dying of AIDS in Ethiopia. The Sundanese mother wasting with intestinal parisites, unable to feed her shrivelling newborn. The Afghani child with two bloody stumps where her feet once were. The trembling, desperate Iraqi teenager with a vest full of vengance, ready to die for what's "right". The trembling, desperate American teenager from South Carolina, with an armful of M-16, ready to die for what's "right".

And I'm sick at the thought that this useless little blog post sounds like just another cliche Quaker squalling about peace. That I had to wait until the arbirary date of 11/11, to be stirred by a dusty old worn-out poem, to think very much more about it than pinning a little plastic poppy to my coat. Tonight I don't know what God wants me to do about it, besides remember. What happened then, but mostly, what's happening right now this very minute.


Then the Lord said to Cain, "Where is your brother Abel?" "I don't know," he replied. "Am I my brother's keeper?"

The Lord said, "What have you done? Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground.

Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand.

When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth."
Gen 4:9-12

The Wrong Sort of Saint

There were many thoughtful responses and questions left in the comments of my last post. We could have several interesting conversations around them, especially about the Original Sin bit. Kate wrote a very good post about one take on original sin. Reading her post will probably give some further context to this one. I did want to clarify that when I said "I backslid into a steaming pile of original sin", I meant that I backslid into my old thinking about original sin. These days, Kate's conception of it is much closer to the way I feel.

But a comment of Liz's called out to me, and I've been sitting with it a bit:

it is hard for me to get a sense of how much you truly lament your plain-dress (in which case, you may wish to test the good order of laying it down) and how much you are just having fun

It startled me, because I didn't mean to give the impression that I lament my plain-dress.

The question that was disturbing me in my post wasn't so much the question of "Oh gosh, must I be so drab?" but a much bigger and older one: how much of becoming "good" has to do with transformation, and how much has to do with becoming your authentic God-created self? And are the two mutually exclusive? Are we supposed to replace ourselves with God? Scoop out the juicy Amanda-Pulp and pack in the Christ?

It is not I who live, but Christ in me

My current leaning (not necessarily leading) is to remember that we are all in the image of God, and to take that very seriously. Each of us posesses a unique and irreplacable reflection of God. I know that God is One, and that God is Infinite, and all of the billions of differences in every thing on the planet are still not enough to show all of the facets of God.

But we're supposed to try, and that's what we're here for. Being faithful has to do with being true to that facet of God it's been given to us to reflect.

Grey Jumpers vs Rainbow Socks sounds a bit silly in the context of these important questions. But of course, plain-dress is supposed to be the outward sign of an inward process. The process of becoming Godly.

My old pattern for being a Saint was very limited. There was a particular template, and my job was to pattern myself after that Master Copy. I felt that to become a faithful servant of God meant trimming away all the parts of myself that didn't fit the template of "Godly".

I've also been thinking of, God help me, Harry Potter.

"Dark and difficult times lie ahead, Harry... says Dumbledore "...soon we must all make a choice between what is easy, and what is right"

Well, duh, right? There are lots of times when being good is difficult. It's not easy to keep from snapping at highly irritating people, but it's right. It's not easy to give up your spare time to serve a good cause, but it's right. There are a lot of challenges inherent in doing the right thing. So when the stubborn or lazy or irritable parts of me get in the way of doing right, then it's proper to struggle against them, and "trample and thunder down" all that is contrary to good.

When it came to the question of plain-dress, I started re-examining this policy of trampling down and sanding off and trimming away. As I said in my post, I used to feel "That there are parts of me that...that must be stripped away, pruned, weeded, burned" and I realized that I'd been reverting to that idea. And not only that, but I wondered if I was taking the weeding and the sandpapering too far, trying to get rid of parts of myself that weren't sinful or wrong, but that just didn't necessarily fit this outside pattern I was holding myself up to.

Maybe I've been being too literal about the sorts of ways I am supposed to emulate the Master Copy. Maybe I've been confused about just what the Master Copy is. Maybe I've been looking at a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy, and things have been getting blurred.

I've been savouring this John Woolman quote.

"As Christians all we possess are the gifts of God...to turn all the treasures we possess into the channel of universal love becomes the business of our lives.

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about why I do the things I do, thinking of Aristotle, and how he said "virtue" is found doing a "good" thing because it is "good" and for no other reason, which of course begs the question of what is "good", and automatically it becomes a bit self-indulgent and time-consuming after a while, sorting out the sheep from the goats. I am tired of trying on this or that second-hand set of ethics, which will supposedly help me judge what is good or what is virtuous or what is Godly. And whenever I sit in worship and ask God "is this-or-that "good"?" I get the same question in response, every time "Is it loving? Does it further the cause of Love?"

When I've examined my behaviour and my belongings in the past, I've been examining them against these outside measures of "good"...which ever measure of Good I happen to be nearest. Is this Baltimore Catechism Good? Is this Secular Humanist Good? Is this Pragmatically Good? Is this Liberal Conservative Hicksite Plain Quaker Good?

And each of those "Goods" have had large dollops of Loving in them, and in the barest essentials, a lot of the "Goods" have been the same in each case.

But when it comes down to things like choosing the colour of my socks or the length of my hair, I could get a different answer from anyone's set of ethics. And when it begins to seem as though applying the question "Is it loving? Does it further the cause of Love?" is ending up with a shrug, I start thinking: "Well, then why do I feel guilty about this? Is this something that I need to prune out of myself so that I can be more like God?"

I think, well, maybe it's that I'll be more humble, and that will make me more loving.

Maybe.

I think, well, maybe the time I spend thinking about my socks will be better spent loving people.

Maybe.

And then I think, well, maybe I am just trying to cut myself to an outside pattern for reasons that have nothing to do with love.

Maybe.

I've wondered about the difference between ego and individuality. I've read about "losing yourself" in God, about being immolated by the Spirit until there is nothing left of you but God. And I've wondered about the deeper meanings of these ideas. How much has to burn away before it's just God? What exactly is it that remains?

All we possess are the gifts of God

I don't want to sound like I'm haggling with God..."You can have this, but I want to keep that. You can have that, but then I want two of these..." because it's not that at all. Turning all of my treasures into the channel of universal love probably doesn't mean destroying or obscuring or defacing them. If all I have is from God, then what am I doing taking a power-sander to it? As Kate said:

God does not want you to be smaller or less than you are now, but more, and larger.

Can it be that some of the things I've been trying to hack away at are the very things that God gave to me to be put to use in the service of universal love?

And of course...I'm not really talking about socks here. I'm talking about the possibility that one of the reasons I struggle so much in my spiritual life has been because I've been working against what I've been given, contorting and distorting myself into a pattern for the wrong sort of Saint. And maybe that does absolutely nothing to make me more loving. Maybe when I try to diminish myself, I'm diminishing the God in me.

In the meantime, the smaller plain-dress question is pretty moot. I'm not in the market for anything new, and the plain and not-so-plain clothes that I have are serving me well. It wouldn't be loving for me to own any more than I already do.

I'm also giggling because I was mocking myself a little about "precious precious unique little snowflake" and then, envisioning myself trimming all sorts of bits off myself to fit each set of ethics, I thought of the paper snowflakes I used to make as a kid. I'm sure there's some exhausting illustration in that which completely contradicts all I've just said. :)

Wherein Amanda talks about witchcraft, deception, trickery, striped socks, and other things that might have her burned/read out of meeting in 1700.

Yeah. Halloween.

It's been my favourite holiday for a long time. I am desperately bored with the history behind the whole thing, how it went from a Feast Vigil into Satan's playground, and I'm sure you are, too, so I won't go into that. I am intensely uninterested in that particular set of moral dilemmas.

It's enough to know that around the age of 8, Halloween in our house turned into All Saint's Day. I can't say I was thrilled. There are not very many Rainbow Brite Star Wars Polly Pocket Fairy Princess Carebear My Little Pony Saints in the catalog. But I still managed to work around the restrictions. I'd pour over Lives of the Saints, choosing mostly by the pictures, and by who had the best outfit. Sometimes we'd stretch the boundaries and label anyone that showed up in the bible (except Satan) fair game. I got to go as an Egyptian Queen, (the chick that found Moses), a queen, (St. Helena), a queen, (St. Elizabeth of Hungary),a grotesque burn victim (St. Lawrence of Rome), and a zombie..er...leper...er...St Lazarus. All scoffing aside, it was always a fun time, and it's probably why I can tell you the lifestory of many obscure saints.

As soon as I could, though, I trekked my way back to the evil door of Halloween. I've worked for three different costume shops. I have three professional books on stage makeup. One year I was paid $100 bucks to design the make-up for a low-budget horror film revolving around Demented Clowns. That was the same year I set up a little side business attaching those gross latex things to people's faces. Right now I am costume mistress at the Ballet Theatre. I'm the chick everyone comes to for help planning their costume for any costume event. Before I went plain, half my closet was devoted to "this will come in handy for someone's costume".

Oh yeah.

I went plain.

I'm still dressing up for Halloween. I'm going to be a DooWop Vampire. Yes. I am.

Last night I was discussing Halloween costumes with Rachel. I noticed Jeff looking utterly ambivalent, but I tried to ignore him. Later, we walked the dog.


"I am a frivolous beast." I declared.

"What? Why do you say that?"

"I just am."

"????"

I explained that pretty much everything I like most is "pointless" and does not "further the glory of God". It's true. I like brightly coloured underpants. And tutus and pointe shoes. Also useless miniature figurines like the ones that come in Monopoly. I like movie musicals and muppets. I like theatre and opera and sketch TV. I'm not crazy about the Carebears any more but I sure do like Smurfs. I eat gummi bears from Germany. I like ultra-amoral back-and-white French New Wave art films. My favourite t-shirt of all time was from Old Navy and it was 100% rainbow striped. I enjoy eating peppermint flavoured lifesavers by the dozen. Once I was a ren-faire dweeb. I enjoy reading websites about cryptozoology, and I watch shows on The Discovery Channel like "The Half Ton Man" and "I Am My Own Twin". I eat Sugar Daddy lollipops. I miss fishnet stockings in several colours and getting my picture taken in fours in the pub photo booth. I like scotch and I even sometimes drink "Bitch Beer". I read Science Fiction and all kinds of novels, and I adore poetry. I giggle when people teach me a new obscenity and practice it to myself in the mirror. I've always wanted to play paintball, just once. I like Bollywood. Sequins are fun. I still read the American Girl Catalog. I was happiest with my hair when my hair was cut like Ringo's and dyed a nutty auburn. I like brightness and shininess and things that are red. Especially if all those three qualities are found in a shoe. I love blankets and wasting time lying in bed. Also, I like kittens. Puppies. Rabbits.

And I love, love, love to dress up.

"How," Jeff asked "can you be plain and celebrate Halloween?"

"It's...it's...it's play." I said.

We had a long and fairly thoughtful conversation. Jeff came up with a few good answers to his question, though he said he still couldn't see how it was to the glory of God. But all I could think was, "It's play! I'm still allowed to play, dammnit, grey socks, black shoes, and white underpants notwithstanding."

(I don't really wear white underpants.)

And I felt something very like panic rising up in me. Also something very much like pouting. I felt horrible. Again and again I have given up things that I loved because I couldn't see how they were in service to God. Like that fateful time I gave up the opportunity to get my BFA in acting and last minute threw myself into a religious school I knew nothing about, all because it seemed somehow likelier to please God.

I said something to the effect of all this to Jeff, and he asked:

"Well, did you ever think that maybe a life of monasticism and plainness is not for you?"

It felt like a slap in the face, though I knew it was said in love. Without thinking, I reacted with a flash of self-hatred.

"It's not meant for my corrupt fleshy bits. It's meant for my good bits. My saintly bits. And for now the crappy frivolous beasty bits out-number the rest. Okay?"

I backslid right into a steaming pile of Original Sin, an idea that has always curdled in my soul. A feeling that I'm somehow tainted, wrong, off. That I must do violence to myself, cutting off my hand or eye. That there are parts of me that are rotten and putrid and that must be stripped away, pruned, weeded, burned. Choose your illustration.

As I stewed in these thoughts, I began to wonder, "Well, what is this will of God I am always supposed to be sacrificing things to? How does this or that bit of denial "Glorify Him" more? What does God want? What Glorifies God?"

Well, the answer's pretty familiar. We were created to love. We were created perfectly to love. We are created in the image of the Lover. That's what we are, that's what we're here for. In the absence of any other evidence, with the presence of a thousand "X-factors", this is the only Will of God we know or have any way of knowing. Love is the glory of God. And if we're created in Love, by Love, and to Love, then the only things that need to be stripped away are the things that are not us, that are foreign to us, that have been added on after the fact. Anything that comes between us and our created ability to love has got to go. God requires from us authenticity....to be our true, created selves--the selves that are perfectly tuned for Loving.

Jeff was talking about the fundemental difference between Simplicity and Plainness. From what I gathered it had to do with Plainness being a sign of a religious witness/committment. To dress for the glory of God.

As I've been struggling with my plainness in the past few months, I've found this division difficult. I went plain because I didn't want to be the rich young man who went away sad. I had several issues at hand...I felt that I used fancy clothes as a way to be other than my Authentic self...the self who was created to Love. I also felt that consumption and materialism have real, measurable effects on the world around me. Abusing my fellow creatures, who labour in sweatshops, and abusing my home the earth, which staggers under the weight of landfills and poison, is not Loving.

But the grey, and the long skirts, and the kerchief?

I don't know. In the beginning I wanted them to connect me to Quakerism in some sort of tangible ways. I wanted a feeling of kinship with the long-dead Friends who taught me in their books. I also wanted a feeling of togetherness with the plain people I ran into online, who all seemed to think like me. These people, I felt, called out to my more authentic self, and I wanted to honour that, to make myself as palpably a part of that as I could.

I have found that greatly restricting my wardrobe has led to much less consumerisim on my part. The ideas about clothes have spread to other areas of consumption. Freeing myself from every-day makeup was a revelation. I didn't feel that I had to "fix" myself so much anymore to be ready for people to see me. Not spending $40 to $120 (yes.) dollars on haircuts every two months was another important step. I can't live like that when the world is starving and call myself a Lover of God.

I have found that the grey, the long skirts, and the kerchief do often help me to "act holier". I move more cautiously and gently through space, and I feel a bit more meek. I never flirt with counter-help or grin at someone across the subway when I am in a long black dress the way I might in a cute pair of cords. I don't shoot whiskey in a bar with my head covered. I think a lot about "what kind of image I am giving?" when I look "holy". And this is, I think, for the better.

If the grey makes me more loving, I'll keep wearing it. But I'm not sure if I am more loving in grey or in a pair of rainbow-striped kneesocks. I'd hope that as long as neither the grey nor the rainbow was made in a sweatshop, and the rainbow kneesocks were not a sign of me trying to be other than I am, then I'd be equally loving in both.

Am I called to a life of monasticism and plainness? I don't know. I'm called to life of love and authenticity. Every choice I make, from clothes up, should reflect and further those ends. Because those ends are the only Will of God I am likely to ever know. I can't claim to know what God's fashion sense is. I don't know if that puts my clothing/practice into the "plain" corral. To be honest, I'm not sure that that particular tag is so important to me anymore.

Whatever happens with all of the above, is authentic of me to play, and dress up. Play and imagination and fantasy are a large part of who I am.

I will have it be known that have never been less loving when I was wearing fangs.

Aliens and slurpy sounds. And dish-pan hands.

Well, I fixed the "I am a Vegetarian" link in the last post. It's about Turducken. You want to know about Turducken? Yeah? Are you sure? Then click on the link!

Here's a brand new link for you, from a very dear donor:

Jeff Hipp Loves Klingons. And the Word of God.

(ps. he didn't make it. he just found it. if he'd made it then I'd probably have to kidnap him and keep him in my sock drawer for sheer cuteness/dorkiness. And for his own safety.

...might have to do that anyway.)

Okay, onto serious things. Wellll...I seem to be malingering

(ma·lin·ger
intr.v. ma·lin·gered, ma·lin·ger·ing, ma·lin·gers

To feign illness or other incapacity in order to avoid duty or work.

[From French malingre, sickly.])

with some sort of sub-par psychosomatic, hypochondriac grumbling bug. I woke up this morning and asked myself if I was feeling ill or just lazy. I decided that if I had to ask, I knew the answer. But then my boss told me I looked sick, that I have "fever eyes" (Yikes! Fever Eyes?) and should rest. So they are all enabling me.

For all that I am working and geting lots of stuff done. I've cooked myself up a little mess of shrimp Ramen

(I guess I am not a vegetarian. I am no-warm-blooded-creatures-arian)

and am taking this work-a-day pause to sip Ramen and watch the boxing match inside me. The feelings of luckiness that the trees on my street are turning pink, that the rain has called in sick, that an astonishing array of astonishingly wonderful people care about me, that I have good health insurance and time-shared cats are at war with the snotty-nosed whiny cry-baby feel-sorry-for-myself feelings that have grumbles about work and money and how much I prefer my bed to my desk.

I think I should have brought popcorn instead of Ramen.

What does all this have to do with my spiritual life? Well, it IS my spiritual life, I'm realizing. I often wish I could take the day off to be a good Quaker. Bah.

Lately I've noticed that a lot of the (very relative. suffering is relative.) trials and tribulations I've been going through recently have left me feeling wrung out. It's a weird feeling, not a pleasant one. I'm sort of damp and scrunchy and full of holes. Like...like...

A Sponge.

Only perhaps a bit more square.

Let's try again.

A Sponge.

Hey kids, it's a whole new metaphor for Amanda to flog to death! But really, it's true. Things I've always known, like, Life is Not a Dress Rehearsal, God is in Your Daily Work, Carpe Diem, etc, are slowly seeping in. I've been squeezed, brothers and sisters. I've been twisted and compressed and squashed and drained and left to drip-dry. I know I was holding one heck of a lot of greywater

And now that it's gone, I've been floated on a puddle...a pool...a stream of living water?. Things are seeping in. I'm trying to learn how to make my damp and squishy days into days that still somehow further the purpose of God. I sat in an office, during a pause in dictation this morning, and looked out the window with my Fever Eyes at a tree that has leaves like ferns. I looked at the leaves and watched the wind, and thought about all the students I type recommendations for. Some of their gifts are catalog-able. I thought about all the different gifts I've tried on for size in the past. None of them have fit right. I looked at the tree, and asked idly, "Well, I am not up for any amazing awards or fellowships. What I am here for?" and I knew the answer was love.

Which again, we know. But it's seeping in.

It seems that a big part of my work is learning how to love from my mudpuddles. Learning how to further the cause of love when I feel damp and wrung out and the thought of sopping up anything else makes me tired. Or how to be tender to the people I meet on the days when I am dried out and crusty and molding on the edge of the sink. How to be loving when it rains for ten days, or when I'm staring at the heating bill, or when...whatever. When I have Fever Eyes. When my metaphor is tangled.

And not learning how to love in spite of all of the aches and pains and little moments of misery and wrath that I collect, but how to love IN them, and THROUGH them, and DURING them. Doing anything in spite of anything takes too much energy. Or at least, it's not efficient. I'm not going to stop falling into my little potholes any time soon, so I have to figure out how to be good in the middle of them.


Back to Aliens. I just read The Sparrow, which I can only describe as Sci-Fi with God in it that doesn't suck at all. I enjoyed it very, very, very much. It's fun to read something from this century. Or the 90s. Whatever.

Oh yes, and:
I may be a no-warm-blooded-creatures-arian. But woah. Awesome.
(thanks, Sol!)

This Blog Entry has been brough to you by the Number Ramen and the Letter Diet Coke.

Are you SURE it is not Monday?

So, this morning I was doing work-study at the ballet theatre. The revered blind pianist, Rosie, comes in. I help her to her seat.

"Is Bridgette around?" she asks.

"I'm not sure." I say "What does she look like?"




Just as I realize what I've said and am choking back my howls of humiliated despair, without missing a beat she snaps:

"I said Richard, not Bridgette! What, are you deaf?

Auuuuuuugh.

AAAAUuuuuuuuuuugh.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!

Through the various tribulations of today, this link from my much loved office-mate has helped a lot:

Just Click. Now.

Also,

I am a Vegetarian. But woah.

One more...

I know it's totally self-indulgent and has nothing to do qith Quakers, but I am bored and this is fun. Also, I like getting other people to do this, because then I get to learn tidbits about them.

What I was doing 10 years ago:
Ten years ago I was twelve. We were all still living in Canada. I was already somewhat depressed and struggling a lot. It was a very hard time for the whole family. But we had our little farm, and we lived on a lake where we could go fishing in a leaky boat. I had my own flock of geese. We learned how to chop wood and make strawberry jam and pickles. We tried sewing our own dresses with the help of Mrs. Stanistreet. I think it was that year that I got the chickenpox so badly that I hallucinated. We went to Latin mass. I had a monster crush on a blond 15 year old altar boy named Jeff and couldn't concentrate on my prayers when he was serving.

5 years ago:
I was seventeen. I was cast in my first-ever production, Cinderella (that's the same theatre but a different year). It was one of the very happiest times of my life. That's really all I have to say. I can't believe that was 5 years ago!

1 year ago:
I was living in NYC, and had been attending 15th street meeting for a few months. I was working as a florist for a "big name" shop, doing flowers for the Ritz, but pretty miserable with the working conditions. I'd made friends at a nearby piano bar and was singing there about once a week.

Yesterday:
really, really wanted to go to ballet, but there was only an elementary (higher than my level) class. I really debated going, even though I just intended to take the barre. But finally I decided to go. I asked the teacher's permission first. She was sweet, and the barre combinations she was giving were lovely, even though they were too hard for me. It wasn't that they were too hard, but just too fast. I didn't have time to pay attention to my knees and my chin and my ribs and my heels, etc. I also kept losing my place...they were obviously a lot more complicated than I am used to in my intro class. I was freaking out a little bit, and embarassed to be beside some of the good dancers in the class. This teacher is a favourite who I'd heard amazing things about and many intermediate people were taking the class. So, my cheeks were burning with shame, but even when I was feeling hopeless I at least tried to finish the exercise in good form.

After the barre, during the break, I went up to the teacher to thank her for letting me try it, and to tell her I'd give it a few more months before I came back. but before I could say anything she said that I did a good job out there, and that she'd love to have me come back, and that as long as I don't get frustrated, I'll find myself picking up something new each week. I think I'll wait, though. I felt like I wasn't able to work thoroughly at that speed.

5 snacks I enjoy:
a chocolate Odwalla bar
dates
a pomegranate
sunflower seeds
salt and vinegar chips


5 songs I know all the words to:
In My Own Little Corner
What Child is This
Love Hurts
Matty Groves
Part of That World (yes. from the Little Mermaid)


5 Things I would do with $100 million:
Buy a farm for my family
Set up a college fund for the sibs
Pay off the debt of myself and everyone I love
Live off it and devote all my time to Quakers, ballet, and travel
Buy a farm for myself


5 locations I would like to run away to:
Nova Scotia
Pendle Hill
Argentina
Scotland
Narnia


5 bad habits I have:
I interrupt people when they are talking
I misplace and leave behind important things
I talk about myself too much
I chew my nails
My intentions are always much better than my follow-through

5 things I like doing:
Reading
Dancing
Playing the Zombie board game with Jeff
Camping
Napping

5 things I would never wear: (We need visuals!)
Beast master!
But what if it gets cold?!?!
My saddlebags--meet the world. World--meet my saddlebags.
The poor kitty cat!
Aaaaagh!

5 TV shows I like:
The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Gross surgical "Medical Mysteries" shows on the Discovery Channel
The long-dead Firefly on DVD (going to see the movie, finally, tomorrow!
Animal Cops (shut up!)
Growing Up... a show on Animal Planet about baby animals. (shut up!)


5 biggest joys of the moment:
Being with Jeff
Pictures of my sibling
Updates on my mum's blog
Break-throughs of inspiration
Fall and the wind


5 Favorite toys:
My computer
My library card
Fancy stationary
...
uh, I'm out of toys.

5 Next victims:
My mum...
and whoever else want to do it.


Okay. No more from me for a while!

Taps

No, no, no...no bugles involved. We still don't know what meme actually means in the context of the blogging world, but I like them. Because usually they involve talking about me. Me. ME.

I've been tapped with two recently and I figured I'd better get them out!

Okay, first, Beppe wants to know 5 idiosyncrasies about me...

id·i·o·syn·cra·sy
n. pl. id·i·o·syn·cra·sies

1. A structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.
2. A physiological or temperamental peculiarity.
3. An unusual individual reaction to food or a drug.

Well...this has turned out to be harder than I expected. This list is very random. Honestly there aren't that many things that are peculiar just to me. In fact, I bet nothing on this list is. As for unusal reactions to drugs, some antibiotics make me throw up. But that's not unusual. It's just gross. Here goes.

*I've been on an informal ice-cream strike ever since "Jerry's Jubilee" a flavour that was half Cherries Garcia and half Chocolate Fudge Brownie was discontinued. I've been relenting, lately. And the Cherries Garcia frozen yogurt is not bad. I've been tempted several times to make my own Jerries Jubilee...but it seeems so indulgent...

*I twitch and shift my legs, hands, feet, fingers all day but somehow manage to sit (mostly) still in meeting. Proof of the existence of God?

*I wait anxiously for the cold weather to arrive so that I can sleep under my 30 lbs of blankets. I sleep so much better that way!

*When I cook, I have to be very, very careful to scale things down, but still hardly ever manage to make the right amount. After making spaghetti a thousand times for my family, I can't wrap my mind around the tiny amount you need for one or two people.

*I honestly know I'm not as weird as I think I am, and so I can't think of anything cool or weird enough to fill out the fifth spot?

Was that lame?


Next,
Seven Things

(This feels a litle like answering paegent questions!)

7 Things I Can Do:

* Train a dog.
* Raise kids. (Well, I'm pretty sure that I could. I've had practice.)
* Read between 2-5 whole books a week.
* Milk a goat.
* Remember my dreams when I wake up.
* Remember inane little things from before the age of 2.
* Obsess over irrelevant details until you run screaming from the room.


7 Things I Can't Do:

* can't do any decent jumps in the center portion of ballet class.
* can't skip rope double dutch. I used to be able to, but no more.
* can't find anything I need when I need it.
* can't swear to be on time.
* can't sleep if there's anything to look forward to tomorrow.
* can't do algebra.
* can't remember to do my laundry before I run out of underpants.

7 Celebrity Crushes:

Okay, not all of these are current. I don't think I could sustain seven crushes at once anyways. And I don't think that I've really crushed on all of these people, but they're ones I've thought were cute at one point or another. Plus, no particular order.

* Harrison Ford, but only if George Lucas is involved.
* Liam Neeson, but only as a painfully noble IRA leader.
* Jake Gyllenhaal, but only in October Sky.
* Rob Thomas, but only because I was fourteen. (shut up!)
* Nicole Kidman, but only as Virginia Woolf.
* Ewan McGregor. All the time.
* Erm, I'm out of celebrities.

7 Things I Find Attractive (changed from "Attract Me To the Opposite Sex"):

* Height. I know it's shallow, but it's fun to tip your chin back for a kiss.
* A strong sense of silliness.
* A bit of a baby face.
* Nice eyebrows.
* Big eyes.
* Nerdiness.
* Patience.

7 Things I Hope To Do Before I Die:

* Live on a farm again.
* Dance en pointe.
* Achieve zero gravity!
* Adopt a baby.
* Become fluent in French and Spanish.
* Visit Argentina and meet my father's family.
* Scuba dive and do that thing where you tickle a clown fish under the chin and give the camera a thumbs-up.

7 Things I Say Often:

* "Oh, expletive, I left my purse ___________! Aaaaaaaaaargh!"
* "Oh, expletive, I'm supposed to be there in five minutes!"
* "Pugsley, you smell horrible."
* "Pugsley, please stop licking your nose."
* "Whoops, sorry."
* "Hmmmm. I don't know."
* "I love you."

7 Bloggers I Would Like To Infect With This Meme:

*Twink
*Claire
*Rob
*Beppe
*Kate
*I'm embarassed to ask most people their celebrity crushes, so that's it for now.

Also, I found this on Polly's blog, and it's funny. You google your name with the word "needs" after it and find out wat you really need. Here are my best ones:

*Amanda Needs Herself A WIDESCREEN TV.
*Amanda needs your help building her bike! (no, Jeff, seriously, it was there when I googled!)
*Amanda needs to know: Why?
*Amanda needs wisdom & strength to do what is right.
*Amanda needs to relax.
*Amanda needs to chill out.
*Amanda needs to suck on a pacifier to clear her ears