On being appropriately sticky

I think the biggest regret I'll have about not having children is that I won't get to be an old grandma. Not the kind that bounces small children off of my knee and has a magic way of stopping them from crying. That ain't gonna happen. Ever. But I do love having my family around. That goes for the blood kind and the "family by choice" variety.

I'm a little too anti-social for the fantasy of some (such as my spouse) that we own a ginormous house in which every member of our extended family has a room and we meet up frequently for family meals, but if it's been too long in-between visits from my beloved cousins and their families, I feel like a little piece of me is dying. Same goes for my parents, siblings and close friends.

When the Creator was putting together the components for humanity, I believe there was some realization that everything that was needed to make us human could not be held in one container. The solution: Have those who are closest to the person hold onto some of the needed elements.

So we have parents, siblings, cousins, friends and even pets who hold part of the best of who we are ... and sometimes the worst of who we are. That means sometimes we have to reach out to others to get those good bits back. Sometimes we may be faced with leaving some of broken of unsavory bits behind. Whether it's for a moment or a lifetime, it's hard to say. It's hard to walk away from a part of who we are, but that happens in this less-than-perfect world, too. That's something we have to be aware of, but today, I want to recognize those who have made my being a little richer and have brought me to myself in ways that I could never get to on my own.

I know I carry a whole basket of interesting bits for others. I hope that I have more shiny sequins, funky shaped pieces of sea glass and construction paper in my assortment than I do razor blades and rotten apples. The key for humanity is helping to hand back to cool things and help dispose of the unhelpful pieces before they're handed off for someone else to deal with. There's no need to hold onto those for the next generation.

While I may never be anyone's grandma, I hope along with my collection of odds and ends, I can carry a paste jar to help affix some of the good things the people I love tote around for other people I love. I can think of no finer compliment than to be called sticky.

@ trad clrgy: OMG keep up or u r toast

Today is Pentecost. Some folks call it the "birthday of the church" which I find to be pushing it a might, but it is one of my favorite days, despite the silly labels that people try to place on it. There's a reading from Acts that's typically done that even those who aren't all that familiar with the Bible but still attend a church now and again kinda recall.

The reading is an English major's wacky bag of mixed metaphors: We've got a rush of a violent wind, fire-like tongues, people who don't speak the same language, the notion of public drunkenness, and a Spirit that pours out among the people. There's a little something for everyone. Some years it's the wind that gets to me; other years it's the fire or the thought of the spirit sloshing about and getting everyone a little wet. This year, I think because I'm trying to understand myself in relation to the world, it's the speaking the same language that got my attention. How cool it would be if I could get through this whole seminary thing and still be able to speak authentically in my own tongue and yet be understood by others. Even cooler, if there was some sort of a spiritual translator who would fill me in on what's going on in the strange world of other's minds.

And here I'm only talking about the ones who speak English. The thought of having this instant translation service extend to the far reaches of the globe is mind-blowing, but given the way technology has made the world a smaller place that communicates across borders, in one sense, Pentecost moments happen all the time. The global exchanges couldn't happen without a great intermediary (in this case a bank of supercomputers) running trades and calculating exchange rates for individuals from Tuscany to Tuscaloosa to Tanzania. And that's just the foreign financial markets. Social media has made breaking down international barriers much easier for the individual. Ironically, sometimes I find it much easier to communicate with a person on the other hemisphere than I do the person sitting next to me on the bus. The distance to reach out to my seat mate at times is far too great to traverse.

One generation out and the "gee whiz" factor of the Pentecost story is going to be totally lost on the younger American audience (don't balk at the word "audience" we've long ago made worship entertainment, so let's face facts and call a spade a spade). How relevant will it be to them to hear about something that can happen in real-time from their telephones or whatever new technological device that can do the same thing, without all the wind and fire?

Reconciling tradition with technology is a challenge that is going to take down many a preacher in the future. I already see it in times when clergy diminish the relevance of tools like Facebook, Twitter, Caring Bridge and texting. For entire populations, these are the communication methods of choice. The people who choose to use them don't do so to isolate themselves from others; they use them to stay connected with people they care about in ways that those who don't even try to understand the technology can scarcely fathom.

All I can say is God help us if we don't allow the Spirit to run through fiber optic lines or wifi or satellite. Let our daughters and sons prophesy and see visions. God help us if we try to muzzle the still-speaking voice that is emerging on the waves of the Spirit poured out among us. I fear if we get in the way, there will be hell to pay.

Playing the field

I come from a long line of schmoozers. There are people in my realm who can chat up a rock and probably coerce an intelligible answer from it. My Grandpa Joe made a point of looking for connections and casting about until he found one. And he always found some common ground - someone they both knew, attended the same school, worked for the same company. He was not satisfied until there was an intersection of his life with the other person's. There are many in my family who have this knack for connection. I'm not one of them.

When it comes to networking, fellowship or the 1950s style cocktail party, you're apt to find me in a corner, hallway or kitchen, not in the center of the room working the crowd. While others feed off of the energy in the group, it drains me to the point of exhaustion. It's not that I'm afraid of gatherings, I can hold my own ... if I have to. But, while some seek these situations out, I'm calling my dentist office to see if there's a last-minute cancellation so I can go in for an elective root canal. Seriously, give me a room with a thousand people and a podium and I'm good, but give me 10 - 100 people in an enclosed space with no structure and you'll see me break into a sweat.

This can be a bit of a handicap in the line of work I'm pouring a lot of my time and financial resources to achieve. Maybe because I'm an inherently practical person, I identified my discomfort with small talk/small crowds as something to work on with my counselor. I'd hate to get a few years down the line and discover the time and energy was wasted because this small group thing was a deal breaker.

I've been doing some talking with people who seem to do a better job of working a room. Turns out a lot of what they're after are the same things I seek to do in more intimate settings; they're just more efficient or something at doing it on a bigger scale. What I mean is that I'll find the one person with whom I can connect, and assuming they're cool with me, I could spend the rest of the time with that one person. I guess I'm sort of a monogamous schmoozer, while others tend to like to play the field a little more. While I don't need to be a promiscuous mixer, it might be helpful if I didn't marry the first person that comes along, either.

I came up with a watch phrase for when I find myself getting impatient: Carrots and celery. I guess for the next little while, as I'm getting used to the idea of working a small crowd, I'll need to repeat, "You don't have to get hitched." Come to think of it, I'm sure my unintended spouse would appreciate a more open relationship, as well.

Not going to confuse me with a saint

"She's got the patience of a saint." Nope. That's not something you're ever going to hear about me. I'm just not a patient person.

What gives me eye tics more than anything else is dealing with things that DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE. People who cut me off in traffic when there's a mile of open road behind me. Tic. People who tell long stories that seemingly have no end in sight, or a beginning for that matter. Tic. Office bureaucracy. TIC.

I could try to blow some smoke here and say that even Jesus had his moments of melting down, but try as I might, I'm thinking I can't say I've had a money-changer moment just because I drew the short stick and ended up sitting next to the chatterbox on the morning bus...in really slow traffic. My reaction to a woman who doesn't get that the six rows of people around her don't want to hear the details of her family dinner, complete with cooking instructions, doesn't quite measure up to the anger Jesus is said to have felt when God's house has been turned into a den of thieves.

My spouse is quick to point out that I don't suffer fools gladly. It's sort of a point of pride. But, I also know it can be a handicap. When my initial reaction is to help speed a person along to the conclusion of a story, finish a small child's task, or force a process, I know I could be missing out on something really good. I've heard some people re-frame situations like these and look for the opportunities in the midst of frustration. I don't think I'll ever joyfully embrace long lines, pointless meetings, or long sessions of small talk, but there might be something to those moments.

Maybe it's sort of along the lines of my last posting about the troubles I have with prayer. Maybe I'm spending too much time trying to define it in terms of others. I KNOW I'll never have the patience of a saint. I know I'm not going to suddenly sprout a halo during a trigger situation. Maybe what I'll need to do as a first step is play a little game with myself.

In a class I took about a year ago in which we did "mini-internships" in a number of locations, we were frequently asked where we had seen God in the situation. I was assigned to a church, something I dreaded because of bad experiences I've had in congregational settings in the past. However, because of this annoying question, I knew I needed to look for moments where I had seen God, so I'd be prepared whenever the pop quiz came about. I found that the harder I looked, the more stressed I got and the less able I was to really be present with the people I encountered on the job. However, when I was distracted with busywork, like getting a meal ready for a community dinner, my brain could chill a little and I'd have surprisingly meaningful conversations with the woman who had a traumatic brain injury from a tumor that would eventually kill her.

At one point in the semester, the woman's health declined and she was gone for several weeks. I missed her. Terribly. When she returned, I told her how glad I was to see her. She told me she didn't remember who I was or anything about me. The funny thing is that I didn't care. It was enough that we were together, cutting vegetables and placing them in very neat rows on a tray. Being that anal with the arrangement of vegetables is something that would typically drive me batty, but in the calmness of the moment, I realized it was one thing this woman could control. By rushing the process, I would have robbed her of the gift she brought to the community. The only thing my impatience would have served in that situation would have been myself. And really, what was I in a rush to complete? Scrubbing potatoes? There were plenty of hands available. I didn't NEED to be in a rush.

This week I will play a game with myself. Every time I want to implode with frustration, I will mentally line up carrot and celery sticks, slowly and deliberately, and in solidarity with those whose carrots might be family dinners, or getting into the next lane on the road, or telling a musty old joke whose punchline is at the tip of my tongue. For a week, I'll try to make sure there's an abundance of carrots and celery, all in their places. Someone else can get to the potatoes. I'm the carrots and celery girl with whomever I'm with.

Is the week over yet?