I'm beginning to wonder if whoever said "Home is where the heart is" ever went through a stage of having lost his heart on account of being confused about the location of his home.
I'm "home" on my 17-day Christmas break and I'm starting to wonder about where I belong: In (mostly) sunny, opportunity-, people-, pollution-filled California or in varietous one-minute-it's-summer-blink-now-it's-winter! Wisconsin; where people know how to take a day off (at least at my job) or where people feel the pressure to work constantly to make ends meet; where image comes before character or where people forget to look in a mirror before going out the door (and it's no big deal because they're putting on a stocking cap and their hair's going to get messed up anyway!) and know they can depend on their neighbor to plow them out after a nasty snow storm.
Plainly put, I miss the sincerity of the Midwest, yet I love the adventure and the idea of possibility that LA has to offer.
It's a good thing I'm where I'm at, because right now I don't have to choose either - living in LA is sort of like an extended vacation and then I get to come back every now and then to visit my family and friends back home.
But I can feel life in LA changing me and, while I'm there, I'm sure it's a good thing; after all, isn't it healthy to be able to adapt to your surroundings? However, when I'm home, things shift and all of a sudden what was "important" out there seems silly and trivial...or misplaced, at the least. And the same thing happens when I go back.
These seemingly opposing perspectives on life seem to conflict with Emerson's idiom of "Wherever you go, there you are." Sure, it works in a literal sense, but what about when it comes to who a person is? How can they possibly be anywhere if they're one way in one place and another way in another place?
Don't get me wrong - I know who I am - my identity has been nailed down for a pretty long while now. The question is more of where who I am fits in better - feels more at home.
Because when I'm in LA, it fits (well, sort of): I'll admit that it's a little lonely out there and accountability is a little hard to come by. And when I'm home it fits (well, sort of): I feel restless at home, like I could be somewhere else, doing something more...meaningful.
My family and I went to church on Christmas eve and the theme of the homily was this very discussion: home. Only it definitely had more spiritual overtones, like "find your home in God." I hope it's not expected for the churning dilemma in my heart to be remedied by that phrase. Yup, I'm doing this whole thing because God made it clear that He wanted me to; I'm doing this because I know it's what will fulfill my desire to be "doing something more...meaningful." But that doesn't make it easy and my decision to move to LA has opened more new doors than I can count...more doors than I know what to do with.
Entonces, que hago? What do I do? I make myself be present to the place in which I am and to the people whose presence I am blessed to enjoy. I bundle up and fill my lungs with frigid air and enjoy how they tingle because though it's cold at least it's clean and I'll be going back to smog heaven in 7 short days and will no doubt be wishing I was tramping through snow and cursing the way winter always wears out its welcome.
So, I'm home for now and I'll be going back home next Sunday. I'll be sure to let the proverbial post office know my forwarding address, in case you should send me some mail. :)
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Dear Santa...
I'm sitting at Gate 40 at LAX, trying to shrug off the irritation of just having found out that my flight got bumped back an hour, so not only am I 2 hours early for my flight, but a full 3. And the seats in the waiting area are all cracked and uncomfortable looking so I settle into a spot on the floor, next to those metal racks in which people shove their over-sized carry-ons in an effort to convince themselves, and to prove to stingy agents, that their luggage does indeed belong ON the plane and not below it.
I'm already getting sleepy and none of the time-passers I've brought seem appealing. Fortunately my entertainment for much of the next 3 hours will be provided by a 3-year old named Logan and her poor, brave, courageous, amazing mother, who has managed to keep her curious 3-year old content in an airport for 6 hours already.
Logan, the mischief-maker in all this, has messy curly blond hair and is wearing a cheetah print Ecko shirt that's almost too small, and black leggings. Her scuffed pink Uggs have been tossed aside and are only called up for duty when she has to go to the bathroom (she's already had one false alarm) or when her mom takes her outside for a smoke break (the mom needs the nicotine; the kid needs the fresh air).
Like many just-too-old-to-be-toddlers, Logan has a thing for pushing buttons: the metal buttons on the ticket taker, the silver, clickity-clacking buttons of the pay phones and her mom's buttons too. But it's clear her favorite buttons to push are those of the pay phones. And she has some interesting conversations with the nobodies on the other end!
I'm not the only person privvy to this show - there are three young men sitting in the area - one's a Marine, one's in the Navy and I'm pretty sure the other one is a civilian, but I'm, not sure - and enjoying Logan's complete disregard for social boundaries. In fact, it seems like to four of them have become buddies. As Logan is exploring other areas of the waiting area, these three guys are looking on one of the pay phones to find out its number (Logan's mom has promised her that, if a phone rings, she can answer it).
Logan is entirely engrossed in dancing her way in a circle in front of her mom when the phone rings. In complete patronization of her daughter, the young mother (who is wearing heels and has bleach-white hair topped with a glintzy silver beany) rushes over to the phone with her daughter and picks her up to answer it.
"Hello?!" Logan says.
"Hello," it's the Marine, one of Logan's new friends, as he does a clumsy James Bond wannabe move to hide himself behind the chairs.
"Who is this?" she squeals.
"Why, it's Santa Clause!"
"Santa Clause!"
"Yes Logan, this is Santa Clause. And I have written here that you've been a VERY good girl!"
"Mommy, it's Santa Clause!" Logan's eyes get rounder and bigger than they were when she discovered she could sit in the suitcase-measurer-basket.
"Tell him what you want for Christmas," Mom prompts.
"I want toys and a drum set and - what else, mom?" Mom suggests tools and clothes and shoes too. "And tools and clothes and shoes too!"
"Ho ho ho, well I'll see what I can do! Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Santa!" Logan hangs up the phone and is so excited that she runs over to me and shouts, "I talked to Santa!"
At the risk of getting sentimental, I'd like to point out how misery can bring complete strangers into company that finds charming the potentially irksome antics of a 3-year old whose been stuck in an airport for more hours than she sleeps at night. And what's more - The graciousness of grown men who realize the importance of encouraging the creativity of imagination and indulging in a childhood story to make it real for a rambunctious little girl named Logan.
I'm already getting sleepy and none of the time-passers I've brought seem appealing. Fortunately my entertainment for much of the next 3 hours will be provided by a 3-year old named Logan and her poor, brave, courageous, amazing mother, who has managed to keep her curious 3-year old content in an airport for 6 hours already.
Logan, the mischief-maker in all this, has messy curly blond hair and is wearing a cheetah print Ecko shirt that's almost too small, and black leggings. Her scuffed pink Uggs have been tossed aside and are only called up for duty when she has to go to the bathroom (she's already had one false alarm) or when her mom takes her outside for a smoke break (the mom needs the nicotine; the kid needs the fresh air).
Like many just-too-old-to-be-toddlers, Logan has a thing for pushing buttons: the metal buttons on the ticket taker, the silver, clickity-clacking buttons of the pay phones and her mom's buttons too. But it's clear her favorite buttons to push are those of the pay phones. And she has some interesting conversations with the nobodies on the other end!
I'm not the only person privvy to this show - there are three young men sitting in the area - one's a Marine, one's in the Navy and I'm pretty sure the other one is a civilian, but I'm, not sure - and enjoying Logan's complete disregard for social boundaries. In fact, it seems like to four of them have become buddies. As Logan is exploring other areas of the waiting area, these three guys are looking on one of the pay phones to find out its number (Logan's mom has promised her that, if a phone rings, she can answer it).
Logan is entirely engrossed in dancing her way in a circle in front of her mom when the phone rings. In complete patronization of her daughter, the young mother (who is wearing heels and has bleach-white hair topped with a glintzy silver beany) rushes over to the phone with her daughter and picks her up to answer it.
"Hello?!" Logan says.
"Hello," it's the Marine, one of Logan's new friends, as he does a clumsy James Bond wannabe move to hide himself behind the chairs.
"Who is this?" she squeals.
"Why, it's Santa Clause!"
"Santa Clause!"
"Yes Logan, this is Santa Clause. And I have written here that you've been a VERY good girl!"
"Mommy, it's Santa Clause!" Logan's eyes get rounder and bigger than they were when she discovered she could sit in the suitcase-measurer-basket.
"Tell him what you want for Christmas," Mom prompts.
"I want toys and a drum set and - what else, mom?" Mom suggests tools and clothes and shoes too. "And tools and clothes and shoes too!"
"Ho ho ho, well I'll see what I can do! Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Santa!" Logan hangs up the phone and is so excited that she runs over to me and shouts, "I talked to Santa!"
At the risk of getting sentimental, I'd like to point out how misery can bring complete strangers into company that finds charming the potentially irksome antics of a 3-year old whose been stuck in an airport for more hours than she sleeps at night. And what's more - The graciousness of grown men who realize the importance of encouraging the creativity of imagination and indulging in a childhood story to make it real for a rambunctious little girl named Logan.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
'The Waitin' is the Hardest Part...'
T minus 4 days and I will be in the airport in Des Moines, Iowa, waiting for my sister to pick me up. And to say I have mixed feelings about it is a bit of an understatement.
Am I excited to go home? Of course! It's always wonderful to be with my family. But at the same time, things have sort of leveled off here with the roomies and life - I've finally readjusted from my last trip home - and now it's transition time again.
I'm starting to wonder if life is just one tranisition after another. It sure seems that way sometimes.
Regardless of the emotional implications that come from adjusting from one environment to another, I'm glad for the opportunity to experience it all. It's definitely forcing me to grow into a flexible human being!
Work has been completely unstressful, which is amazing! I don't think I've had this low of a level of stress since 4th grade!
But after last week's confirmation class, I think we deserve a little bit of a lull! We had a pretty intense class, which involved blindfolding 70 14-17 year olds and requiring them to be absolutely quiet for 40 minutes. We couldn't have done it without the Holy Spirit's help!
The overall theme for the year is "You have a God who loves you and will be at your side, no matter what". The sub-theme we've been focusing on the last few weeks is the idea of being named - What is our name, and what name does God call us? The first week we had the kids draw comic strips of different situations in which they are called different names - when they're with their friends, what do their parents call them, and what does God call them? - and how what they are called makes them feel.
The meditation last week played off the last question - What does God call you? - by focusing on the auditory sense (hence the blindfolds). The whole thing started off with a dialogue between a person and God - God saying things like "I love you"; "I created you"; "You are mine", and the person saying "But I don't feel loved"; "I wish I'd never been born"; "I'm alone" - things everyoen feels at some point in their life, but emotions that teens most likely encounter on a daily basis.
Then we read part of a story we read the week before about a gang member who was in a juvenile detention center, talking with a priest, and shedding his tough layers, until he gets to the point where he tells the priest what his mom calls him when "she's not pissed at me".
Since last week was the feast day of The Virgen of Guadalupe (she's HUGE in the Latino culture), we also read part of the story of Juan Diego (if you're interested in finding out what it is, look it up! It's a charming story).
Mingled in with these stories and dialogue were a few songs - one being Tupac's 'Dear Momma', which really pulled them in.
Man, I can't tell you how amazing it was to see these kids go from not being fidgety and unable to resist lifting their blindfolds to sitting quietly, mouthing the words to a song they knew by heart and really connecting to what we were saying. They GOT it.
What happened last Tuesday with the kids is one of those events that gives you the energy and inspiration to keep going in spite of the challenges and failures that people in ministry/education/anything having to do with youth face. Praise the Lord for that!
Am I excited to go home? Of course! It's always wonderful to be with my family. But at the same time, things have sort of leveled off here with the roomies and life - I've finally readjusted from my last trip home - and now it's transition time again.
I'm starting to wonder if life is just one tranisition after another. It sure seems that way sometimes.
Regardless of the emotional implications that come from adjusting from one environment to another, I'm glad for the opportunity to experience it all. It's definitely forcing me to grow into a flexible human being!
Work has been completely unstressful, which is amazing! I don't think I've had this low of a level of stress since 4th grade!
But after last week's confirmation class, I think we deserve a little bit of a lull! We had a pretty intense class, which involved blindfolding 70 14-17 year olds and requiring them to be absolutely quiet for 40 minutes. We couldn't have done it without the Holy Spirit's help!
The overall theme for the year is "You have a God who loves you and will be at your side, no matter what". The sub-theme we've been focusing on the last few weeks is the idea of being named - What is our name, and what name does God call us? The first week we had the kids draw comic strips of different situations in which they are called different names - when they're with their friends, what do their parents call them, and what does God call them? - and how what they are called makes them feel.
The meditation last week played off the last question - What does God call you? - by focusing on the auditory sense (hence the blindfolds). The whole thing started off with a dialogue between a person and God - God saying things like "I love you"; "I created you"; "You are mine", and the person saying "But I don't feel loved"; "I wish I'd never been born"; "I'm alone" - things everyoen feels at some point in their life, but emotions that teens most likely encounter on a daily basis.
Then we read part of a story we read the week before about a gang member who was in a juvenile detention center, talking with a priest, and shedding his tough layers, until he gets to the point where he tells the priest what his mom calls him when "she's not pissed at me".
Since last week was the feast day of The Virgen of Guadalupe (she's HUGE in the Latino culture), we also read part of the story of Juan Diego (if you're interested in finding out what it is, look it up! It's a charming story).
Mingled in with these stories and dialogue were a few songs - one being Tupac's 'Dear Momma', which really pulled them in.
Man, I can't tell you how amazing it was to see these kids go from not being fidgety and unable to resist lifting their blindfolds to sitting quietly, mouthing the words to a song they knew by heart and really connecting to what we were saying. They GOT it.
What happened last Tuesday with the kids is one of those events that gives you the energy and inspiration to keep going in spite of the challenges and failures that people in ministry/education/anything having to do with youth face. Praise the Lord for that!
Friday, December 5, 2008
At the risk of admitting how behind the times I am:
Thanksgiving is over, and I have fully recovered from a long weekend of travel, socializing, eating, playing and just plain fun-having. It was hard being away from my family for Thanksgiving, but being in Phoenix with 30 or so fellow JV's and playing football under a beautiful blue, sunny sky and 70 degree weather was a great distraction! Oh and let's not forget the spread - TWO banquet tables' worth of food wonderland!
We even got to take a hike (literally!) up Camelback Mountain the next day, which was a great way to work off the pumpkin pie-bread pudding-Irish candy smorgasbord of desserts that graced my pallet the previous evening. The hike up was demanding - we were essentially rock climbing without ropes at one pound - and the hike down was twice as tough. It took us about 3 hours to complete the 3 mile trip. The sore legs and scraped hands were definitely worth the view!
By Saturday most of the JVs had left (they had 14-18 hour trips back up to northern California. Talk about dedication!), but the guy who rode down with us went to the border on Saturday morning to help an organization called "No Mas Muertes" (No More Deaths) in their efforts to provide water for people who have crossed the border and are trying to find their way, so my roommate and I hung around until his return on Sunday.
I had gotten sick on Friday night and so spend most of Saturday laying around, trying to stop the room from spinning. It felt like such a waste of a day - I could have done some serious site-seeing in that time - but not being sick the next day was worth it.
We went to the church that the Phoenix JVs frequent on Sunday morning and (at the risk of sounding ethno- and lingo-centric) I realized how much I miss masses in English and, more specifically, how much I miss Newman. Sometimes it's just easier to connect to God on a "worship" level when you're familiar with what's going on (not to discount the value that struggle and discomfort offer to spirituality, by any means...).
But perhaps comfort is destructive in church too: I was so comfortable that, as a short, 12-year old boy wearing glasses and a green shirt dragged his feet up to the lecturn to read the first reading, I put my own feet up on kneeler in front of me. It was put up and out of the way and looked like the perfect place to put my feet (you can't tell me that you've never taken advantage of these convenient foot rests). The rest of the congregation settled into silence to hear the first proclamation of God's word and as I settled my feet on this combination of wood-and-metal in front of me, a loud "squeakBOOM" echoed through the church. The kneeler had come loose under the weight of my feet and crashed to the tiled floor. I did my best to play it cool, but the young woman next to me (a fellow JV) couldn't help but look at me and laugh - as everyone else looked around to see who had committed this act of vandalism - she might as well have stood up, waved those glowing sticks airtraffic directors use to tell red eye planes where to go after they land at my head and shouted "IT WAS HER!"
Anyway, I guess I was sort of like Jesus in that moment: I walked in and destroyed the temple. Oops. :)
That afternoon we packed the car and headed back to LA. It was smooth sailing for the most part...until we hit traffic so bad that we were going 25 mph for 3 hours! It was a pretty annoying situation, but fortunately I had brought my portable DVD player (living simply?), so we at least had a bit of entertainment.
And with the end of "Being John Malkovich" came the end of our Phoenix Thanksgiving. We dropped off our passenger and headed home, anxious to get out of the car and into our own beds.
Thanksgiving is over, and I have fully recovered from a long weekend of travel, socializing, eating, playing and just plain fun-having. It was hard being away from my family for Thanksgiving, but being in Phoenix with 30 or so fellow JV's and playing football under a beautiful blue, sunny sky and 70 degree weather was a great distraction! Oh and let's not forget the spread - TWO banquet tables' worth of food wonderland!
We even got to take a hike (literally!) up Camelback Mountain the next day, which was a great way to work off the pumpkin pie-bread pudding-Irish candy smorgasbord of desserts that graced my pallet the previous evening. The hike up was demanding - we were essentially rock climbing without ropes at one pound - and the hike down was twice as tough. It took us about 3 hours to complete the 3 mile trip. The sore legs and scraped hands were definitely worth the view!
By Saturday most of the JVs had left (they had 14-18 hour trips back up to northern California. Talk about dedication!), but the guy who rode down with us went to the border on Saturday morning to help an organization called "No Mas Muertes" (No More Deaths) in their efforts to provide water for people who have crossed the border and are trying to find their way, so my roommate and I hung around until his return on Sunday.
I had gotten sick on Friday night and so spend most of Saturday laying around, trying to stop the room from spinning. It felt like such a waste of a day - I could have done some serious site-seeing in that time - but not being sick the next day was worth it.
We went to the church that the Phoenix JVs frequent on Sunday morning and (at the risk of sounding ethno- and lingo-centric) I realized how much I miss masses in English and, more specifically, how much I miss Newman. Sometimes it's just easier to connect to God on a "worship" level when you're familiar with what's going on (not to discount the value that struggle and discomfort offer to spirituality, by any means...).
But perhaps comfort is destructive in church too: I was so comfortable that, as a short, 12-year old boy wearing glasses and a green shirt dragged his feet up to the lecturn to read the first reading, I put my own feet up on kneeler in front of me. It was put up and out of the way and looked like the perfect place to put my feet (you can't tell me that you've never taken advantage of these convenient foot rests). The rest of the congregation settled into silence to hear the first proclamation of God's word and as I settled my feet on this combination of wood-and-metal in front of me, a loud "squeakBOOM" echoed through the church. The kneeler had come loose under the weight of my feet and crashed to the tiled floor. I did my best to play it cool, but the young woman next to me (a fellow JV) couldn't help but look at me and laugh - as everyone else looked around to see who had committed this act of vandalism - she might as well have stood up, waved those glowing sticks airtraffic directors use to tell red eye planes where to go after they land at my head and shouted "IT WAS HER!"
Anyway, I guess I was sort of like Jesus in that moment: I walked in and destroyed the temple. Oops. :)
That afternoon we packed the car and headed back to LA. It was smooth sailing for the most part...until we hit traffic so bad that we were going 25 mph for 3 hours! It was a pretty annoying situation, but fortunately I had brought my portable DVD player (living simply?), so we at least had a bit of entertainment.
And with the end of "Being John Malkovich" came the end of our Phoenix Thanksgiving. We dropped off our passenger and headed home, anxious to get out of the car and into our own beds.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
