Lessons learned in love, part two.

Flip side, same coin.

Sometimes, letting it be is about grieving - or at least about accepting the imperfections that exist, facing the obstacles ahead with quiet confidence, and having the humility to know that sometimes Time is a better healer, philosopher, and problem-solver than any of us will ever be. That was then.

Other times, letting it be is about celebrating - or at least about accepting the good things for what they are (i.e. they are enough), looking at the open road ahead with confidence and not skepticism, and having the humility and faith to know that when Time does quite fine work when we stop trying to do its job ourselves. This is now.

When I stop wondering if things are okay, I usually discover that they are. With less than a month between now and a new year, I am already wondering what I will resolve to accomplish. Today I am confident that one of those resolutions will be simply to let it be.

Lessons learned in love.

Once, the song "Let It Be" was, for me, a song about me and my best friend. Later, it became the wisdom of my calculus teacher and the beauty I felt at the end of high school. Now, it's a song about reconciliation, the sun rising, and things falling into place in life, whether because or in spite of our best efforts and detailed plans. I love the way I keep coming back to this song, at once a relic of the past and an instrument of the present and future.

The lesson of letting it be is not an easy one to learn, especially for the high-achieving American. We are raised in a culture where most of us are taught to make (not let) the world around us happen. We are raised to chase dreams, make grades, climb ladders. Just imagine if we were taught to listen, be reflective, say prayers.

My life has recently been faced with a tragedy in which I truly have no control. One particular relationship has simply lost something of its luster. Whether there is a chance for that certain sheen to be restored remains to be seen. And if this chance exists, the first steps will be moving on, having patience, and respecting time - no grades to make or ladders to climb; no "doing" to speak of. If that lost luster is to be seen again, it will be something new, born of plenty of time and space.

And it is for this reason that "Let It Be" has become that anthem about reconciliation, the sun rising, and things falling into place in life, whether because or in spite of our best efforts and detailed plans. I love the way I keep coming back to this song, at once a relic of the past and an instrument of the present and future. I hope to come back to some other things too.

Greetings from the Mecca

I think it's fair to say that summer feels more like summer now: I have made my way to Montreat, North Carolina.

For those of you who don't know, Montreat is what some call the "Presbyterian Mecca." It's one of three national conference centers operated by the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), and it's situated next to Black Mountain, NC - close to Asheville.

I'm here to lead recreation for two weeks of Montreat Youth Conference, where each week one thousand high school youth will converge on this little place to enjoy one another's company, take some time away from "the world," and explore their faiths and their relationships with God. At least, that's officially why I'm here.

Frankly, I consider the fact that I'm here to be providential. Doing leadership for these conferences is something about which I have daydreamed ever since I began attending these conferences. And this is a place I have visited, for one reason or another, each of the last five years. This, the sixth year, was going to be the first summer in which I had no reason to visit Montreat. Too old to go to Youth Conference, too young to be a small group leader. College Conference isn't happening until January. And then, as I told in an earlier post, I was asked to fill in for someone who could no longer lead recreation for weeks three and four. Amazing.

I am optimistically and hopefully taking this course of events as a whispering from God. And somewhere, in the midst of staying up late and leading energizers and going crazy and singing and feeling the energy, I'm hoping to find the space and the method for whispering back to God: it's been a while since the two of us had a good talk.

I feel pretty certain that Montreat is a special and holy place, set apart from the rest of creation, from the business of life. My hopes for what I find here are high. Thanks be for Montreat.

For reflection's sake

Here is something that I wrote more than two years ago. I re-posted it for the first time about a year ago, and now I want to revisit it once more.

i think the happiest people are the ones who manage to live comfortably dynamic lives. somewhere, it seems, there is a balance between holding on to the established and embracing the new that seems to satisfy.

life is somewhat like unfolding origami. our connections to one another are part of a delicate and intricate pattern, and as one unfolds a piece of origami, some faces are folded out of sight, some faces are shown the light, and in all circumstances, the same life - the same sheet of paper - is differently folded and redefined. there are also, however, the central creases and points...the parts of the intricate artistic folding that remain present through the unfolding...and it takes turning the life upside down to hide them from the light.

some of this old community i have established for myself - that is, some of you - are already being folded away from the light. some of you are being revealed. and others of you are without a doubt the people i need to be the central creases and points, the people whose faces i hope to never cease seeing.

true to my origami form, i am being redefined as my story is unfolded. thank you, each of you - old or new to me, loyal or unpredictable, seemingly genuine or seemingly not, for your place in the intricate folding pattern of my pattern of my life. though i can feel some of you falling away, i am glad to have had the time i have had with you. and as new ones of you enter, i smile with excitement. and thankfully, there are the ones of you who can't escape me. i look forward to our lives together.

I'm not really feeling much like expounding upon it. I just wanted to put it up here for reflection's sake.

Thoughts on well-timed country songs

What a nutty few days. Struggles with responsibility, struggles with identity, struggles with confidence. Struggles with the political fates of entire nations and churches. One of those times where you think you probably should be getting more sleep, but somehow you know that more sleep would only go so far. Weight of a thrillingly wonderful and yet impossibly confusing (sometimes) world on your shoulders.

I'm not one for projecting God onto situations which are really quite normal (or just lucky). But what notable good timing when I got in the car in the midst of a day that had already presented serious frustrations and the country station was playing "Jesus, Take the Wheel."

I am always involved in an ever-continuing quest for authenticity in faith. God should be far more than an imaginary friend for adults or a cute, powerful name to give to sheer coincidence. And listening to cheap American Idol country music on Nashville's Big 98 may or may not be a terribly poetic and appropriate moment for finding God. But for me, everything lies with the mystery of life - say, for example, those moments when the weight of the world really is on your shoulders and you truly understand that you can't go it alone. Is it possible that Carrie Underwood's big country hit is revelatory and profound?

I'm inclined to say yes. Crazy.

In other news, I am committing myself to letting go of some my frustration about the PC(USA) moderator election, and I am grateful to Apostle John for his calm wisdom. Good to electronically meet you, John. Perhaps even GA is a "Jesus, Take the Wheel" situation. Perhaps we presbynerds could use a lesson in letting go.

Pardon me for brain-dumping, but one reflection more. I am super into (at least one side of) Ben Harper's most recent album, "Both Sides of the Gun." Particularly the song "Better Way." Goodness, how wonderful.

It's a hot day in Nashville. Hillsboro Village looks lively and wonderful as ever. Perfect day for enjoying some coffee, turning off (or at least turning down) my brain and relinquishing my hold of the wheel.

The New Moderator

I know there are plenty of non-Presbyterians who read this; my profoundest apologies.

I must confess to a desire to know it all, to be the informed and wise party on every issue and kick serious ass in the process. That being said, I must also confess that I know little about the candidates for moderator for the 217th General Assembly of the PC(USA), but I am going to have some things to say anyway.

The elected moderator is Joan Gray.

My new year's resolution was to love everybody, and Gray is not at all outside the sentiment of this resolution. But I wish to state my sadness that everyone keeps clamoring for centrism in this world. Sure, the polarization of beliefs in this country is frightening, but I hold mine strongly because I truly believe them! I am convinced that God's love is not exclusively given to straight individuals. I am convinced that a generous and just Church will only exist when we open our minds and our doors and our ordination standards.

Joan Gray said she felt homosexuality wasn't God's intention for our lives. I want to know what reason she has. But even if she had good reason, I would want to know if she thought it was God's intention for us to tell white lies. Perhaps anyone who has ever told (or continues to tell) white lies should be barred from ordination.

I will be loving and fair and in prayer for Joan Gray. And not the kind of prayer that is "please change her mind, God." I am excited and hopeful for new leadership in PC(USA). But this argument will continue to go around and around and I am hurt and I am worried.

Reflections on Winnie the Pooh Day

Today was yet another annual Winnie the Pooh Day in Jim Smith's AP Calculus class at Williams High School.

Of course, it's been two years since my Winnie the Pooh Day, as I graduated in 2004, but today was my brother's Winnie the Pooh Day, and so I have been inspired to reflect on mine.

What is Winnie the Pooh Day, then? Each year, on the last day of classes at Williams High School, when the AP Calculus class meets for the last time, Mr. Smith (who is famous around these parts for his relentless nature, his odd sense of humor, and his bow ties) teaches each calculus class the last lesson, in which he commends them to the world on the other side of the bridge. Graduation is a week and a half away still, but this last day of classes is what truly marks the moment in which he must let go of the students (most of whom he has had for two years) so they can continue. And the primary source material for this last chapter in his educational relationship with these students is, fittingly, the last chapter of A.A. Milne's "Winnie the Pooh." It is an emotional occasion: thoughts about growing up, Mr. Smith (who hereunto had seemed like such an ice man) typically cries, the graduating AP Calculus students present Mr. Smith with a picture of their class to hang on the wall next to all the other students he's shepherded.

It's an odd tradition, isn't it? A calculus teacher hanging pictures of his of classes on the wall and crying when they leave? Perhaps we would expect this from drama and music and dance teachers, growing emotional as an artistic relationship must go in a different direction, hanging pictures on the wall from concerts and stage productions. But a calculus teacher? Furthermore, I'm a music major. I owe so much of where I have been able to get in my career thus far to the musicians who have shaped me and loved me and taught me, but here I am on this day reflecting on the wisdom of my calculus teacher. And I hardly remember a blessed things about calculus.

How strange it is to mark the passing of time. How strange to hear my brother speak of Winnie the Pooh Day and to be floored by the fact that already two years have passed since I occcupied his proverbial shoes. How frightening to watch things be born and grow and fade so quickly. And how compelling that the feelings of my Winnie the Pooh Day, now two years ago, are so well etched in my memory that writing this post makes my heart turn in a way that is both something of the past and something so familiar.

I've always been a complete wimp in so many ways. Mr. Holland's Opus pretty consistently brings tears to my eyes; so does at least every other church service I attend; so does that scene in Almost Famous where a spontaneous sing-along of "Tiny Dancer" brings reconciliation when nothing else could. But I find more and more, lately, that things are so intense (and often so beautiful) that tears form in the corners of my eyes - and I am often so embarrassed! I nearly cried at an NPR story about piano lessons one time! Come on!

But as I sit here today and reflect on Winnie the Pooh Day, I think about how the end of each year finds a few tears in the eyes of the famous Mr. Smith, the calculus teacher who pushed us so hard, who made us so angry, who intimidated us so powerfully. And I laugh at myself for being such a baby, but I wonder if these tears are revelatory in the truest and most powerful sense of the word. I wonder if they aren't the perfect way to help us keep track of time.

I wish that I had written "On Reason and Imagination." It was cool.

For the record, the subject has little to do with what I intend to write. But seriously, I remember reading "On Reason and Imagination" in Mr. Bennett's class and it was so...well...neat.

First and foremost, the reason I actually decided to write something is because i'm in the middle (well, not at all to the middle yet, but you catch my drift) of reading Donald Miller's Searching for God Knows What, partly because I liked Blue Like Jazz quite a bit (we don't agree about everything, but it's a fantastic book), and partly because Donald Miller will be the keynote speaker for Montreat Collegiate Conference 2007, and as a member of the planning team, I feel somewhat responsible to fairly well-versed in Mr. Miller's work, especially as I believe we are naming the conference "Searching for God Knows What," after Don Miller's book.

That being said, there's a part I want to quote. It's very insightful:

...I had always suspected language was quite limited in its ability to communicate the intricate mysteries of truth. By that I mean if you have to describle loneliness or how beautiful your sweetheart is or the way a rainstorm smells in the summer, you most likely have to use poetry because these things are not technical, they are more romantic, and yet they exist and we interact and exchange these commodities with one another in a kind of dance.

Don Miller's words actually remind me of another instance that had me wanting to reflect in this blog. I can't remember exactly what song was playing, but it's incredible to me how much emotion we (or, at least, I) wrap up into the music to which I listen. I mean, they say smell is most closely tied to memory (and I buy it: Montreat has a particular smell, for example), but surely music has to run a fairly close second, especially for some of us. I mean, put on some old school Vertical Horizon ("He's everything you want, he's everything you need..."), and immediately I will think of my strange friendship wih Megan Williams in eighth grade. Or play Ani's "Angry Anymore" and I will certainly think of Montreat and other elements of the summer after my freshman year. I can pretty clearly recall the intense emotional state I entered when we sang "In the Beginning" in the final performance of You Can't Stop the Beat! (our original musical revue) my senior year. Strange, isn't it? And beautiful, too? I think so.

Let me also record one more quick reflection. It's a good thing that not many people read this blog, because I honestly don't want this next thing to be a huge deal, but I do want to spend some time with it. You see, this past week, something made me think of Montreat – a youth newsletter or something – and it finally occured to me that I was too old to hang out at youth conference, there would be no college conference this summer (I had been blessed to be on the leadership team for that last year), and I am too young to be a small group leader at youth conference. So after five straight summers of spending at least some time at Montreat, it occured to me that I had no reason to do that this summer (though I would probably stop in on the drive back to Nashville, just to look around and feel God's presence in that place). Not forty-eight hours later (read: very soon after), I received an e-mail from one of the co-leaders of recreation at youth conference weeks three and four, and she told me that her partner in crime had needed to drop out and that my name had been passed along when she was looking for a replacement – all this to say that I will be co-leading recreation at Montreat Youth Conference weeks three and four and I am ecstatic! It's just so funny how all that worked out. Amazing.

I think perhaps my normal elevated tone is a bit absent from this post. And I am afraid I have said nothing profound. But it surely is nice to write about life, even if only one person will read it. Even if that one person is me.