Shut the Front Door

Portlandia. "The place where young people go to retire."

Yesterday at Powells, our hipster donning, non-pastel color wearing, monotone speaking, cashier, provided us an experience. He spoke just a decibel above a whisper, just so we could hear that his voice was manly to match his skinny, upper lip styling 'stash'. After turning the book over a few times, in an effort that looked much more like weight lifting, he sighed a deep sigh, and asked what floor I got my book on ... obviously irritated that the bar code would not scan, but hoping not to do any extra work than at all possible. About three minutes later, he determined that the $1.00 Clarence stickers were indeed legit, and not just mine own doings to try to get a them at a lower price. I got my books, and he seemed relieved that I would not, heaven forbid, need a bag to put my books in, because I indeed had my own. Oh dear Mr. Powells man, I am sorry that you were working overtime, and that I caught you on your 11th hour during a normally 10 hour work week. I know that you came to Portland to retire young, to not work too hard, ... congratulations, you have achieved your goal.

And to the customers who come in and out of Posies Cafe of where I sit... how hard is it to close a door behind you? We sit on this couch, glancing through the windows, analyzing your every move, and critizing when you are unable to simply shut a door behind you. Not all doors are auto-shut. I know that you all came to Portland to retire early, and you are already on your days off, you have more of them then you work, but ... for the sake of those sitting on the couch, catching the drafts... please take the time to just shut the door behind you.

Change

I have always loved change... Until recently.

Today, Tuesday, my room mate Chelsea got on an airplane for Japan.
My house mate Holly is moving out on Thursday.
Sarah, Kaylah and Melissa are graduating on Friday.
Saturday enters in the season called summer break, AKA every one in my life now in vacation mode..
One of my best friends Katie is returning to Colorado on Sunday
The leaders of my small group are short notice moving home to California in two weeks.
My parents are changing houses, after 14 years of one place called home.

And I am still here. Four more weeks of school. Change swirling around me like a tornado. The thing is, that each of those changes are good, for the people to whom the change is taking place. And it is exceptionally selfish of me to not be rejoicing with them! In my heart, I am excited about these things, for graduations, and moving home and summer vacations.

Then, I realized, I love change ... when I am the one changing. When I am the one making decisions and in control. But I am not. This time, everyone else's decisions or changes affected me in some way, and I feel slightly insecure in a vulnerable place of not being able to change anything.

The thing is, that I value consistency more than change. And consistency is what I have. I have extremly consistent relationships. The people in those relationships might be moving physical location, but they are consistent in my life. In my efforts to mope about those leaving, I have greatly over looked those who are staying here, and how blessed I am. Angela Joy is returning to the house, to be and live and laugh. I live in a house with 6 other amazing women whom I am so blessed to be surrounded by. Austin is staying in Portland for the summer, living just a block away.

I commonly cope with change by attaching myself to people, to a new person. But this time, I realize that I don't need to do that. I already have people I am attached to, people who are attached to me. I need to process, not cope. I praise the Lord for Heather Linn, my best friend who has stuck with me through every silly and serious change I have ever encountered. Change may be swirling around me, but I am in a weatherproof box, surrounded by walls of friendship so thick that no amount of flying debris can make me fly away.

To those whom change is taking place, know that I support you and am excited with you! Please forgive me; for my attitude lately, for being quiet, for not supporting you. This world is not all about about, and thank goodness for that.

To Cruzer

It was a week ago today, that the Lord took your wife from you, so she could be with Him. You had been married a year. It was unexpected and unexplainable – but isn’t that just like our Lord? His deep mysteries remain that to us, but knowing that that he is mysterious does not ease the pain. Because there is pain. There is deep searing pain in loss. And Andrew? We grieve with you. We hurt and ache and cry out to the Lord for answers. We cry with you.

Tonight, there will be a memorial service for Jennica. And you will be surrounded. By your family. And her family. And your church family. And your school family. She was and is a part of us. Just as you are a part of us.  As a body, Andrew Cruz, we stand up next to you, as your foundation and your shaky arms. We stand close, so that our hearts can beat a little slower with yours.  We are in this with you. Now, and next week, and ten years from now.

I don’t know you well Cruz … but I do want you to know that with you I grieve.

Truth

y name is Heather Ziebart.

I am a 23 year old White Caucasian Female. I was born a female. I will always be a female.

I am a straight heterosexual. I like boys. I believe in opposite sex marriage, with one person, for life.

I am a virgin. I believe that sex is to be saved for marriage. And I believe that children should come from within this marriage.

I am a Christian. I believe that the one and only God made the world and all that is in it. I believe that he made me. And that he has a plan for my life.

These things are who I am. They are the core of my being. And right now, PSU is challenging my being. I am surrounded by feminist propaganda in three of my classes. I was told yesterday that just because I have a vagina, that does not make me a girl. It is my choice. My choice. I am being told that the Bible has good stuff in it… but it is not Feminist friendly. I have been told that white, heterosexual, straight, middle class, Christian, nuclear families are not only rare, but on the failing end of the slope as far as families go. I have been told that if I have not explored my sexuality, or questioned my gender, then I probably need to. I am being told that people who marry and have children are simply “breeders” nothing more. They are just following some stereotype expectation, and not living their lives for themselves. I am reading about how history has forgotten women, but we need to “STAND UP NOW” and make sure they gosh darn don’t forget about us from here on out. I am riled up. My blood boils. But I can turn it off. I want to know what is being said. I don’t want to throw it out. I want to question my theology and not throw out biology.

I like the challenges. I like hearing what others have grown up thinking. And getting a glimpse at what the world is hearing. But some days, like this week, it is just loud noise. The words are packages of lies, all wrapped up in a presentation too alluring to not rip open. It is good to question. To think through. To know. The sheep know the voice of the shepherd. And in this truth I shall rest.

Top of the Morning to You!

 

Grammy, today I called my mom, your daughter. And I told her “Top of the Morning!” When I woke up this morning, I thought of you. I wanted to call you. But I could not. This is my first St. Patrick’s Day without you. I know you always loved this day. The Irishness of it. I remember last year, I came to visit you unexpectedly. And even though Aunt Donna was caring for you, your house still had that familiar scent of caraway seeds from the warm Irish Soda Bread. I remember that we went on about how frustrating it was that the Columbian newspaper failed to even mention the holiday. I promised to tell everyone I knew of the day, of the history, of the legacy.

I remember when I was little. And I would call you on the phone. And you would tell me stories of when you were little. How Cleveland Ohio in the 30’s was Irish Central. How you had the day off school and had a big Irish Celebration. A Celebration of your heritage. You talked about how your dad, Pampa, would pull out his items from home, tucked safely away in an attic trunk the rest of the year. And you talked of how your parents would speak Gaelic to each other, but you never learned a word.  You talked about the celebrations on the street.

I wish I had been there. It is so far removed from this “green” day we have now. The “I’ll pinch you if your not wearing green".” The Leprechauns and four leaf clovers. Those might be the decorations I have in my house, but in my heart, being Irish is deeper. I am glad you are my Grammy. And that you taught me about this day. That even if I can’t explain it, I hold a memory worth more than a pot o’ gold.

Class?

Man in a wheel chair.

Appears maybe homeless.

Enters the Max.

People move away. Turn away. Pretend he is not there.

What is this? A caste system??

He asks over and over if anyone will take him to McDonalds.

I watch from far down, no one responds. I move closer. Ask him to repeat his request.

He is just very tired and would love a push to McDonalds.

I gladly say I will push him. Its on my way to my class. Only two blocks away. People back up as if I am not a caste too.

Its not like touching his handlebars will paralyze me. I want to scream at everyone. For not responding to him. For being Jerks.

His name is Bryan, and he had a joyful, thankful heart. We talked about snow.

He asked to buy me a sausage sandwhich.

I decline.

Sausage Sandwhichs were my Grammys favorite.

A random guy looks at me and says I am amazing.

Why?

Because I pushed a guy in a wheel chair when non one else would.

Bryan… I hope to give you a ride again.

Doubting

I am sitting in my Cafe at PSU. Ease-dropping. I left my headphones at home today. Today that was an accident. But, I am glad that I did.

I am absolutely captivated by the Lord these days. I find myself challenged and doubting and questing, and ultimately, trusting. My faith has always been easy, you hand it to me, feed it to me, I believe it. The end. It has always been mine. I have never had a problem with it. I have never thought much about the fact that people were much different from I. I mean, I have accepted that there are people in the world going to hell, and that it is my job to reach them... but it seems so big, and so far fetched, that the reality of it has never moved me enough to actually partake in action. Yes, I have been on "mission" trips. And they changed my perspective of the world... but it did not challenge my faith.

The group at the table next to me are having this discussion, and I wish I had joined in at the beginning, but now it is awkward because I have been listening, and am now writing about them. They are taking about church, and God, and what they believe. "Did you hear theory that Jesus might be Buddhist? I kind of like that theory." They continued to share their knowledge of church, throwing terms like "evangelical" and "Pentecostalism" . One of the guys responded to the latter word by saying he would love to attend just one service to "see those tongue speakers in action."

One of the girls, her dad is a pastor in Portland, she is part of a different church in Portland. " Its cool, they curse, and we don't really like read the bible, and for sermons, people just kind of talk, and share whatever they want. We meet in a yoga studio, its more like spiritual than christian, we meditate and pray and stuff. But its weird. I like it though. Cause its like a house church, a small group. But we celebrate halloweeen, which is cool." Her parents think she is part of a good church. She won't tell them what it is like. Because her dad would be mad and sh--. The other people in the conversation talked about how dumb that was, that parents get mad when their kids don't follow their ways.

It was so interesting sitting right here, listening. So much of what they said was honest. And they respected each other in their conversation. And I know if I had joined in, they would have been so open to what I had to say. Not because they want to be converted, but because they are open to letting anyone believe whatever they want to believe. I always assumed that non-Christians just hated Christians, and honestly, that Christians hated non-Christians. This was the model that was presented to me... or at least the way I interpreted the model presented to me. Real life is nothing like the cheesy "evangelism" videos we watch in Sunday school classes. Real life is full of peoples pain, and open hearts, and a longing for truth. Real life is open to listening, and is not condemning and hears what people has to say. Real life is a place where God shows up, where he speaks and moves.

I just started a class this term called Feminist Biblical Interpretation. I could write a blog just describing the 19 other people in my class. Yesterday we did introductions. 8 of the students identified as growing up in the church. But the most common thing said was "I am on a spiritual journey." One girl said she knew nothing of the bible, and felt that a feminist approach would be a good place to start.

I am 23 years old. I have a life time of church with me, multiple read overs of the scripture, two years of bible college on my belt, and a very active relationship with the Lord. I am not scared of this class turning me into a Feminist Christian. What I do feel is excitement that we get to read the word of God in school. And I know that the Word of God does not return void. So as I am in this place, full of people on spiritual journeys, I am thankful for real life, and the opportunity to doubt, but to know that in the end, My God is good.