I Used to Rule the World . . .

My goodness. Have you guys seen this? It is the PS22 Chorus, a group of 60 fifth graders in an underprivileged district of the New York public school system, performing Coldplay's song "Viva la Vida."

I happened upon this clip last night and have probably watched it at least ten times already. The song gets stuck in a loop in my head, and I hum it as I'm walking around the house and sitting at my desk and hanging out with Kirk. I can see the individual kids pop into my mind's eye as I do this, and I can't help but pray for them, wondering about their stories, their futures, what they may be facing in their lives outside this music room. I'm moved by their fire, their full involvement, their voices, their laughter, their innocence, their body language. I feel like I'm watching a church service of sorts, or listening to an angelic choir singing over all of us.

I can't help but give thanks for this kind of music program that is empowering these impressionable young kids, building up their confidence, giving them a place to belong, and drawing out their natural talent and ability. Mr. B. started this chorus to promote the value of music and the arts in the public school system, and, just through this one clip, he's made a believer out of me.

Here are the lyrics to the song they're singing . . . which, by the way, I've heard lots of churches are singing these days. I find this interesting, that Coldplay has made it into the halls of churches, but then I keep thinking about the line, "I used to rule the world . . . " and I think, "Yeah. I know about that. I used to rule the world, too, in my own small way. The way of Christ is teaching me to let my aggrandizement go."

Viva la Vida

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sweep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own
I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"
One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt, pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once, you know, there was never,
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become
Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh, who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once, you know, there was never,
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once, you know, there was never,
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Spending Time with Her

The main reason Kirk and I went to New England this month was to spend time with Diana. This female warrior in Kirk's life is facing stage 4, metastatic breast cancer. This isn't her first time with breast cancer. Twenty years ago she braved and conquered it into remission. But the cancer recurred last year, and it has now advanced to stage 4, spreading into other regions of her body despite the many treatments she has sought.

Prior to this visit, I had only met Diana once. She came last year with the majority of her family tribe to visit Florida, and we were able to spend one evening with her and the rest of the family at a gathering that Kirk's sister arranged. At the time, I was struck by her sincerity and presence. When Diana sits with you, she asks questions you know she really cares to hear you answer. She laughs a lot and joshes her brother (Kirk's dad) around. She makes you feel so at ease.

One afternoon during our visit with her in New York, she took us on one of her favorite hikes to a place called Huckleberry Point. Snow had reached the region that week, and it was starting to thaw. This made the trail quite mushy with mud and water. There were places we had to step delicately and others that required advance strategy. At one point we even forded a river, the three of us cheering and hooting as, one by one, we crossed several thin and slippery logs, hoping to goodness we didn't fall in.

What amazed me most about Diana was her hardiness. Here is a 70-year-old woman in advanced stages of cancer who could trot through several miles of uneven climbing trails as though breezily riding a bike. Many times, especially on the return hike back, she left Kirk and I in the dust. We were huffing and puffing along, our poorly shod feet very wet and very cold and very sore, yet she was dozens of yards ahead of us, loping along with a hiking stick and rarely stopping for breath.

But the trip to the top was different. On the trip to the top, we walked and talked in tandem. What emerged was a conversation I will never forget.

Soon into the hike, Diana and I discovered we had both struggled in our lives with perfectionism. We talked about the root of this, what this says about our lack of trust in ourselves and other people for grace and room to learn. We talked about how rules and regulations and following what other people tell us to do ultimately prevents us from being responsible for the results of our own lives, and how sometimes there's an uneasy comfort to be found in this kind of escape artistry.

We ventured pretty easily into the corridors of faith and religion. Diana wanted to know what caused the Protestant Reformation and why Christians believe Jesus is the only way to God. She shared her respect for different faith traditions, and how one specific Buddhist teaching has been helpful for her, teaching her that fear and hope are more alike than different: both keep us locked in the potential future while preventing us from living in the actual present. We moved across narcissism several times and discussed the capacity for choosing good or evil that lies inside each one of us. Somehow, we also managed to cover evolution, abortion, and stem cell research before reaching the top of the mountain.

What I loved about this conversation was how easily it flowed between us. I didn't feel any pressure to have answers for every subject she raised, and it was easy for me to say, "You know what? I'm not sure what I think about that." There were times when I could say, "Because of my faith, I believe such and such to be true. But I'd love for you to help me understand the view that differs from mine." Both of us bumped up against the limits of our knowledge and belief in different ways, but there was an easiness that allowed us to acknowledge to the other when this happened and even laugh about it when it did.

It meant so much to me that Diana and I could penetrate such depths with vulnerability, care, and openness so quickly. I think this has a lot to do with the kind of person she is. She is a safe person. She is intellectually curious but intensely caring, which is what I believe enables her to carry a complex conversation with someone who believes different things than she does without it becoming threatening for either person. She has a noble spirit, and she draws out the noble spirit in others.

Diana is precious to me. The time we spent with her is precious to me. The chance to inhabit her home, get to know her family, and talk about things that matter to us both is precious to me.

Last week I was talking with K., my spiritual director, about why Diana moves me. I shared that it's because she is fully herself, at home in her own skin, fully alive to life and people and questions and joy, and that she creates safe space for others. "Perhaps in Diana," K. said, "you see the hope of your own future, the person you're poised to become, the kind of life you want to embody yourself."

She's right. I hope that at age 70, I too will be a person who makes a 29-year-old girl feel right at home, an equal and a peer, and also like a sister.

Aftermath

There were so many times throughout the campaign season that I tried to set down into words all the reasons I was voting for Barack Obama. I made lists, started typing, and eventually tossed all those lists and words away. I couldn't find a way to share that comprehended all that mattered.

Yesterday I read an article that expressed another conservative Christian's perspective on voting for Barack Obama. I typed up a short little post that said, "Here. Read this. It pretty much encapsulates my view." Except it didn't. It fell short in many ways. Some of my views overlapped with his, but they didn't equate completely. I couldn't let his view represent or replace my own. I deleted the post shortly after I published it.

In the end, it still feels too personal. Not that my reasons are too personal to share, but that it is yet too close to distill into words. And I think this is because my journey to supporting Barack Obama is tied to deep-seated values that have developed in me slowly, subtly, incrementally over the past several years. How do I connect all the dots in a way that makes sense to someone outside my own head? The journey itself is still too large.

I feel disappointed that I couldn't write the essay I'd hoped to write. I would have liked to have it all laid out, a keepsake of sorts for my soul that also shared a greater glimpse into my take on the subject with you. But for now I have to be content with where I am, unable to articulate all that I think, intuit, feel, believe, and value on this subject, knowing that eventually, as I articulate all that I think, intuit, feel, believe, and value on a grander scale in the scope of life and faith, it will all come together, all together much easier to share.

Perhaps someday a fitting reason for writing that essay will present itself. Perhaps it won't, and I'll content myself with carrying it inside, unexpressed to all but me.

But for now, I celebrate. What millions had hoped for and worked for and voted for came to pass. A truly historic moment came to meet us on the road, swifter than most had expected, more declarative than many dared hope. Like so many, I screeched with elation when the announcement came and then immediately began crying tears. Kirk and I held each other with eyes glued to the screen, elated with the millions in the streets that were crying and dancing and hugging and laughing.

A new era has dawned. This fact is inescapable. We will pray for him as we go.

My friend Clayton has written a beautiful short piece on what this has personally meant to him to experience. I invite you to read it here.

Be Mine, New Hampshire

After a day spent driving along Lake George and the Adirondack mountains in upstate New York, we made our way into Burlington, Vermont, where we stayed for the night. It's a college town and, as one would expect, cozy and cute. The next morning, as we drove into the surrounding countryside to make our way across the state, I told Kirk that Vermont looked exactly as I'd always imagined it would. "This is a place I've always wanted to visit, ever since I first heard about it. Like, since I was a little kid," I told him. It was fun to see it looked exactly as I'd imagined it.

Except I'd spoken too soon.

It turns out Burlington and its immediate vicinity are likely the most cute and cozy parts of the entire state. The rest of the state that we saw was more rural than I expected. Yes, there are mountains. Yes, there is likely a beautiful ski scene in the winter. And yes, there are likely parts that are amazing that we didn't see and which may also be very different at a different time of year than right now. But much of what we saw in Vermont, both along the major highway and the more rural country routes, fell squarely in the category of what Kirk and I have come to call "Wiggyville." Unfortunately.

But oh, New Hampshire.

New Hampshire stole my heart. It feels open and hardy. The trees sprout everywhere. They line the streets and cluster all over the hills and mountainsides. There are some gorgeous lakes, namely Squam Lake and Lake Winnipesaukee. The people are friendly and strong. And even though we missed the bountiful turning of the leaves by a couple weeks, we still managed, along our entire route from upstate New York down the central cut of Vermont and across central New Hampshire, to follow the last of the colored leaves that had hung onto the trees. It was almost like they hung on just for us until we got to New Hampshire and stayed for a couple more days, as the crowds had come and gone, many of the tourist trappings had closed for the winter season, and it was mostly us and the road and the remaining glorious color.

Hey, we'll take it. In fact, that is our preference! The less crowds, the better. Just us and some trees, some good roads and some great conversation.

We stayed in a cute bed and breakfast for two nights. The first night we sustained a massive rainstorm, fully expecting to wake to trees that had been shaken bare of their remaining leaves. But, no. Like I said, those leaves seemed hardy for the benefit of our enjoyment. We spent that next day taking a circuitous route along the two major lakes, stopping in the quaint villages along the way, taking lunch and browsing bookshops and even snacking on some local Ben and Jerry's despite the cold. Oh, and stopping at the scenic lookouts.

Unfortunately, the wi-fi access that our bed and breakfast advertised when we booked the room didn't take too kindly to our Mac laptops, and we got booted off the system every time we tried logging on. Then the rest stops that advertised free wi-fi access weren't working, either. And the monastery in New York where we're staying now? You guessed it; those monks aren't too hip on hooking up the residents.

For a vacation, I've kept trying to let this be okay. It's tough, though, especially in the week before such a historic election, one in which I'm deeply invested. And especially because we hadn't planned for this trip to be one intentionally for unplugging. With both of us in online programs right now, internet access is an essential part of our life, and part of the fun of taking online programs is the freedom to take off and go places while keeping up with school anytime and anyplace. We were looking forward to testing this part of the online education experience firsthand with this trip! (Maybe we've learned that though there's the freedom to do this, it needs to be undertaken with greater preparation and contingency plans.)

Now we're back in New York, concurrently working on the new online classes that started this week for both of us and visiting with Diana. More on the specific goings-on of this part of the trip in my next installment!

Hello, New York

Yesterday, Kirk and I headed north for a 10-day visit to the land of ultimate fall foliage. We've come to New York to visit his aunt Diana, who demonstrates what it means to be a true warrior in her fight against breast cancer. I've gotten to meet her once before, and she brings so much light and sincerity everywhere she goes. We're looking forward to seeing her in this upcoming week -- and we've already been warned that she wants to go hiking!

In the meantime, we've been heading north. We flew into Albany, picked up our rental car, and started heading toward Lake George and then the Vermont border. (The photographs in this post were taken at the south tip of Lake George, right where it begins. Kirk's grandpop, one of the foremost influences in his life, spent a lot of time in this very place.)

The drive was gorgeous, and that is an understatement. All of the leaves on the trees have been turning, and the trees are everywhere. There are lots of wooded areas, and the Adirondack mountains are just to the left of the highway we've been climbing along. Today we'll be crossing the width of Vermont (which in such a small, modest state should only take about two hours), and then we'll spend the next two days near Squam Lake in New Hampshire before heading back to New York to visit with Diana.

I've been absent from blogging for a few weeks, and the time away has been good. I've been able to focus on school and finishing my first full class at Spring Arbor. (Wow! I can hardly believe I've already finished one full class!) Kirk and I took a weekend trip to visit his mom up in Georgia. And I've been working on a new secret project.

Through all this time, I've been thinking a lot about what feels like a very new season of life I'm stepping into. I recently wrote about this on the Also Only/Even If blog, describing it as a gentle nudge toward change that feels impending, natural, but also scary. You can read my thoughts and experience of this change here.

Blogging Break

Hey, everybody.

I've decided to take a little hiatus on blogging here. A lot is swirling around in my heart and brain these days, but I haven't found the ability to put these things into words yet. I'm going to take a little breather from this blog so that my insides can have greater freedom to roam around and sort things out.

Most of this has to do with school and how I'm growing professionally. There's a lot to think on and share about there, but I can't find the words to express that here.

In the meantime, I'm still part of the beautiful collaboration over at Also Only / Even If. I'll still be reading and commenting on your blogs as usual. And you'll still find me playing around over on Facebook, my latest indulgence. (If I haven't found you over there yet, feel free to look me up!)

Thanks for your patience with me as I mull things around over here.

Love,

Christianne

Photo Plunge

Hi, friends. We've been busy over here in Florida-land, wading through massive rainstorms and enjoying breezes with the windows down, taking naps after the Winter Park boat tour lulled us into a drowsy doze, and catching movies and playing cards. Oh, yes -- and Disney.

At the Magic Kingdom, we traversed every land, hopped on all the major rides, watched the night parade and fireworks show, and met one massive challenge: to eat at least one item in every land in the park. At final count, we ate Pineapple Dole Whip, churros, hot dogs, fish and chips, popcorn, funnel cake, chicken strips, grapes, swirl soft-serve, french fries, chili, corn dog nuggets, and ice cream bars. (Yeah, don't say it. It's making us ill, too, just thinking about it. But please note: these items were mostly shared, not individually consumed -- and note the inclusion of grapes! At least one of us -- ahem, Ana -- was healthy to some degree that day.)

This week, the lovely McCabe from Dancing Mermaid has issued a 7-day photo challenge that I've decided to try. I'll be documenting my days with photos for 7 days straight, starting tomorrow. But to get us started, here are a few photos from this past week with Bobby and Ana. (Sorry for the absence of Kirkum -- he had several commitments, including a jaunt up to Atlanta for a social justice & film conference, that pulled him away for some of the week.) Enjoy!

Bobby is definitely too cool for school.

The sweet and happy couple getting married next September!

Mmmm . . . afternoon naps are the best!

Bobby was addicted to his spy thriller novel in the quiet hours.

Hmmm . . . where do we want to go first?

Loving my bro-ham.

Bro-Ham in the House

My bro-ham Bobby and his fiancee Ana fly into town today to stay with us this week. I can't wait to show them Winter Park, Kirk-and-Christianne-style! I'm pretty sure there will be lots of big-brother razzing of the little sister, because that's just how our family rolls, plus lots of laughter and silliness. My bro-ham is someone with whom silliness abounds. But I'm also pretty sure it will just be darn cool to hang out with them for a week, whether at Disney, around town, or at home. Especially if I can beat everyone handily at Skip-Bo. (What, me? Competitive?)

Tempering Politics

If there's one thing I've learned from this, my first real foray into American politics in this campaign year, it is how truly polarizing the election process can be. When I wrote my first-ever political post back in early January, I was encouraged by the healthy, robust dialogue that emerged on this site. Through the course of 55 comments (the most I've ever racked up on one post), we asked questions, shared thoughts and impressions, and openly acknowledged how we'd historically involved ourselves in these dealings. It was honest, and it was respectful, and I felt proud to name myself a member of this thoughtful, authentic community.

But the more involved I've become in this election season, the more I've seen the other side that can creep out. Feelings can run high, and feelings can get hurt. In the heartfelt zeal that grows as we align ourselves on either side of the fence, we see how easy it is to run roughshod over someone else. We forget that the freedom we personally enjoy to think through the issues, apprehend and evaluate the candidates, and integrate the different policies with our faith convictions . . . is the same freedom other people enjoy to form a different opinion and cast a different vote.

I am all too familiar with how easily impassioned we can become for a cause we believe in, because I experience that passion myself. Sometimes it keeps me up at night. Sometimes it addicts me to the newsfeeds and video clips. Sometimes it makes me want to scream. And sometimes, honestly, it depresses me.

But at this point, I've come to believe that the remaining 7 weeks are not meant to benefit those of us who've already decided how we will vote on November 4. I don't believe there is one ardent McCain-Palin fan who will cross to the other side in the remaining weeks. I don't believe one Obama-Biden supporter will ever reconsider the way they've chosen to cast their vote. No. These 7 weeks are meant for the undecided, for those still weighing their options and still determining what factors are indeed most important to them.

I try to remember this when the chaos of the crazy-making media get me all stirred up, and when I encounter people I care about who have chosen a different vote to cast than I have. I try to remember that it's not my job to convince someone else my way, and it's certainly not my job to castigate, insult, or inflame another human being. Rather, it's to respect, and to let go.

And then to watch a video like this one, which reminds me how great, wide, and diverse is this country, and how much more united we are than divided. (Warning: this is a video produced by the Obama campaign.)

I See Feathers on Your Lips

Real conversation between me and Kirk this afternoon, after a few days spent maxing my brain on some pretty rock-awesome books . . .

Me: Sometimes I think I'm getting dumber as I get older. I feel myself trying to integrate all that I'm learning, trying to hold on to the different thoughts in my head going different directions, and I feel like I can barely contain them all.

Kirk: Well, you've got a lot on your mind these days.

Me: I know. But this used to be so easy for me. I just feel like I'm getting dumber.

[Pause.]

Me: Maybe this has to do with a shift in values, though.

Kirk: Yeah? How so?

Me: Like, I used to be all about integrating ideas, drawing connections between things, putting together arguments that made sense of how things work. That's who I was. Now just the thought of that makes me tired. It's not what I'm about anymore.

Kirk: Yeah. That's true.

Me: But I'm still afraid I'm going to miss something, or drop some important piece on the ground and not even realize it because I'm not working my brain on overtime. I'm afraid that will be detrimental to my process somehow. I mean, I want to fully harvest this season, and I want to serve the subject well. I'm just afraid of missing or forgetting something I'm not supposed to miss.

Long pause, both of us thinking.

Kirk: I think you're growing in wisdom.

Me: You do?

Kirk: [Nods.] It's a bigger picture for you now. It's not just about information. There's more involved in the process.

Me: Huh. I guess that's true . . .

Kirk: Besides, you know how I know?

Me: No. How?

Kirk: I see feathers on your lips.

To understand the sweetness of this comment, find the context here.

Myers-Briggs and Our Four-Legged Friends

I spent most of Tuesday working on a reflection assignment for my Intro to Christian Spirituality class. It was a five-part assignment, with the first part being an exploration of my personality preference type and how that impacts the way I relate to God and express my faith. I thought a lot about being an INTJ for just over 20 years of my life but having transmorphed into an INFP over the past several years, due to growth in some pretty foundational areas.

Did you know you could change personality profiles? That's pretty amazing to me. I noticed the text I was reading referred to them as personality preference types, which helped me make sense of how this could happen (and did happen for me), since your preferences can change as your values change . . . and my values have certainly changed in a slow process over the past ten years.

So, since I spent most of Tuesday thinking in terms of Myers-Briggs, it seemed only natural that I begin psychoanalyzing Diva when I came to bed that night.

What's that you say? You've never heard of Myers-Briggs? Oh. Well, let me give you a short primer. Determine your personality preference type in four easy steps.

E-I: Extroversion or Introversion. If you're a people person, thrive in group settings, and find yourself gaining energy when around other people, you're likely an extrovert. If you protect your alone time carefully and find you need it to recharge and regain your center, you're likely an introvert.

S-N: Sensing or iNtuitive. How do you take in data when you're interacting in the world? If you rely heavily on your sensing organs and gravitate toward tactile, kinesthetic experiences, you're probably a sensing being. If you've learned you can trust inner promptings, have a discerning spirit, or often feel the pulse of what lies beneath or behind the surface of reality, you can bet you're an intuitive.

T-F: Thinking or Feeling. This one's pretty straightforward. Do you rely on analysis and objectivity to process and make decisions, or do you find yourself more often delving into the subjective realm of feelings when you're making sense of things?

J-P: Judging or Perceiving. Do you like to bring order, discipline, and resolution to the world around you? If so, you're likely a J. Are you more comfortable with spontaneity, messiness, and the open-ended, ambiguous side of life? In this case, you're probably a P.

Now back to our regularly scheduled program. On Tuesday night, I got only so far as proclaiming Diva an introvert before she scuttled from the room to take up residence on the farthest corner of the couch in our least-used room. Go figure.

So the next day, I resumed the conversation, this time involving Kirk as Diva nestled between us in a cavern of blankets. What personality type, I mused aloud, is Diva?

Definitely an introvert. She runs from other people and only really trusts one person implicitly: me. I got stuck trying to decide between sensing or intuitive; her incessant paw-pawing of blankets and her obsequious need for my physical touch would seem to make her a sensor, but whenever I'm feeling down, she seems to have a sixth sense about snuggling into my side and offering comfort. We decided that last part qualified her as a feeler for the third category, which freed us up to declare her a sensor in the second category. And finally, since she cleans herself obsessively, keeping her paws daintily pink and her white fur spots like snow, and she also likes to sit at windows for hours at a time, presiding over the rest of the creation under her purview, we decided she must fall into the orderly judging category.

Final score: Diva = ISFJ

This was fun. Kirk decided to issue a challenge. Name me any animal, he said, and I'll determine their personality profile.

Sure. How about Christian the Lion?

This lion, as the video demonstrates, loves people. He's practically giddy whenever he's with his favorite humans. Extrovert, for sure. Sensor, too, given the way he loves to play soccer and lope all over the African terrain as the head of his pride. And he's definitely a feeler; what else but love could overtake his natural lion instincts to eat humans when he stumbled upon his former owners in the lonely desert? He also must be a perceiver. Give him a London flat, a church courtyard, an African plain, or a human reunion tour . . . he'll roll with any of those punches.

Final score: Christian the Lion = ESFP

Okay, another. Curious George?

Totally an ESTP. He loves going on adventures and meeting new people with the Man in the Yellow Hat, which makes him an extrovert. He's always exploring new things in the world around him, which makes him a sensor. He's into figuring stuff out when he discovers it, so he's a thinker. And he gets himself in lots of scrapes, which only make him smile harder; that's the mark of a perceiver. (For the record, I know Curious George is not a four-legged friend, but let's just roll with it. It's a fun game, isn't it?)

Final score: Curious George = ESTP

But what about Solomon?

That's easy, Kirk said. F-A-T-Z.

Aww. Poor Sollie.

For the record, we decided he's an ESFP. He positively comes alive when Kirk enters the room, and he gets lazy, sleepy, and mopey when he's left alone for too long, all of which indicate he's an extrovert. He's all about eating plastic bags, graham crackers, fortune cookies, cheetos, and cheese, and all those textures on his palette must indicate he's into the sensory side of life. Our Sollie's a little . . . slow, so we're giving him the benefit of being strong on feelings. And since he often lolls onto his back when we walk into the room, letting his belly hang out with no shame, and regularly clambers onto our chests with pine dust from the litter box powdered all over his face, we're gonna have to say that indicates a little more absent-mindedness and a little more messiness went into that boy's makeup. That's right; our boy is a perceiver.

Final score: King Solomon = ESFP.

But there's still one final question: What personality type are you, and why?

Reflections on Spring Arbor: Week One

I've just finished my first full week of school in the spiritual formation program at Spring Arbor and thought it would be worthwhile to share some of my thoughts and impressions at the outset of this new experience.

First, I am struck by the journey it took to get here. I hadn't thought much about this until one of my classmates posted on the discussion board about his own long journey to this program, a journey that included application and even entrance into several programs over the course of many long years, always to have the journey into each of those places interrupted for some reason or another.

I can really relate to the heartache of that reality. I worked hard to get accepted into the University of Missouri's graduate English program in 2003 and then had to turn the acceptance down. I researched several other English programs in 2004, even flying to visit some of them, and finally narrowed it down to a school that ended up phasing out its master's program in favor of the straight-PhD track (which I hadn't applied for). And in this past year, you've all watched Kirk and I anticipate and take steps toward a huge move to California as we applied for a spiritual formation program there, only to find God nudging us to stay here in Florida. It's heartbreaking, the physical and emotional work that goes into a grad-school decision that ends up fizzling out.

It's pretty much a huge, precious gift to my heart to be finally here, studying a subject that feels like home to my heart.

And speaking of the subject matter, it is hands-down amazingness. Yesterday, I read three chapters in Robert Mulholland's Invitation to a Journey that talked about how our personality preferences impact the ways we approach and relate to God and how important it is to develop a holistic spirituality beyond the one-sidedness of our instinctive preferences. Today I learned from Henri Nouwen in his book Out of Solitude about the importance of making quiet and sacred space in the journey toward serving others. Specifically, I was struck by the idea that Jesus received the work of His ministry through the time He spent in solitude with the Father, so that He was truly able to say, "The words that I speak to you I do not speak on My own authority; but the Father who dwells in Me does the works" (John 14:10).

This has been a really powerful and helpful notion to think about, as this week I've been struggling with the fog. For me, the fog represents a period of active waiting on the Lord for the work He has for me to do. I feel restless and impatient to receive it, and even somewhat ashamed that all I am doing right now is going to school. I feel a strength rising up in me to do something with my life, and yet I have no clear directive to get started now. I am in a greater hurry than God is. But then, how great an encouragement this message from Nouwen's book then is. It teaches me to see this time as a time set apart in a solitude of sorts, speaking to the Father and learning to listen to Him, carrying a conversation from which I can receive His mantle, His ministry, His work, His hands, and His heart, instead of just offering my own.

It's definitely an adjustment learning in an online environment. It took a few days to learn how to find everything I needed and get comfortable navigating inside the portal. But my classmates have made it all so worthwhile. They are a group of such diverse persons, yet a gracious spirit exudes from each one of them. Everyone is learning how to do this together, so there's a real feeling of togetherness and camaraderie about it, despite the difficulties. Above all, it's a beautiful thing to behold the genuine desire each person has to explore the deep waters of our faith at the formative, heart level. I can't help but feel great anticipation for what we will learn together in the three years ahead of us. What's more, I get to meet each one of them in January when we all fly north for a 5-day residency. (Rumor has it we'll be studying with Tony Campolo at Shane Claiborne's ministry, The Simple Way, in Philadelphia. Can it get any cooler than that?!)

And since we're interacting in a flat interface until January, some of us decided to post videos of introduction to share. It makes each person come more alive than their name on a screen with some brief facts about them allows them to be. Just for fun, I thought I would share mine with you. It will give you a sense of how I'm learning to learn in this process.

Um, This Is My Pastor

Several months ago, my pastor returned from Washington, DC, to say he'd just had a meeting with Howard Dean. Kirk and I turned to each other and raised our eyebrows. Although Dr. Hunter has been interviewed on CNN, MSNBC, and Nightline, been invited to world forums on climate change, got invited to pose a question to Hillary Clinton during a compassion forum for the Democratic candidates earlier this year, and participates regularly in interfaith dialogues around the world, sitting on the couch with Howard Dean was a new one. I mean, what pastor does that? Apparently, ours does.

He didn't say much about what the meeting entailed at the time, but Kirk and I think we have figured it out. Look at what we found on the docket for this evening's big event at the Democratic National Convention . . .

I'll say for the record that our pastor does not endorse Barack Obama and even told the New Yorker magazine that he hasn't yet decided who he'll vote for in the general election. But he is part of the growing movement of evangelicals who are extending the conversation about politics into new territories. You can read his reasons for agreeing to give the benediction at tonight's major event here.

I personally think it's pretty darn cool that he's stepping onto the podium after Barack formally accepts the nomination tonight. But then, you guys already knew I'd feel that way, right?

PS: One of my classmates shared a video of Donald Miller being interviewed before he gave the closing prayer at the DNC several nights ago. I found his perspective and winsomeness thoroughly encouraging. Take a look.

These Friends of Mine

What an incredible time.

That pretty much sums up my sentiments on the five days I just spent with Kirsten, Christin, and Sarah in Kirsten's hometown of Bellingham, Washington. I will share more on this rich experience soon (I'm still recovering from the two days it took me to get home!), but for now you can join us vicariously through the following photo montage, set to the aptly named Rosie Thomas song, "These Friends of Mine."

I love you, girls. Miss you so much already.

Get some additional glimpses of our retreat time here, and catch a first look at the new collaborative project emerging as fruit from the time we spent together.

God Beyond Us

I talk often here about our beautiful humanness. I talk about the heartbreaking beauty of vulnerability, of simply being ourselves, of meeting each other in quiet, broken places. I talk about not having to hold all things together and not having to perform perfectly, of allowing ourselves to be merely human. I fight fiercely for these things because I believe they bring us to the life we were created to live: human life.

But as much as I fight for this, I find that I still strive for superhuman status in ways that just look different than they looked before. Whereas before, being superhuman meant never having a flaw or a need, now it means being a savior. Sometimes I now find myself hanging my significance not so much on being what I think people want but on being able to offer what I think people need.

The problem is not in wanting to offer something people need. The problem is in wanting to be the source of that offering, and in wanting to be that source perfectly.

These days, I'm being reminded that God is the source of what people need. I'm also being reminded that He's the only one who can do it perfectly.

For instance, last Monday I sat in Starbucks for a couple hours and started reading a book on the practice of spiritual direction. It's pretty revealing to flip back through the first chapter and look at all the segments I underlined . . . almost all of them have to do with the work of spiritual direction being the facilitation of an active conversation between the directee and God Himself. The director becomes almost invisible because the focus is on God and the other person, and because the director trusts that God is indeed going to dialogue directly with that person. It requires trust that God is present and active and will indeed show up. It requires a willingness to let the two of them have the relationship they already have, separate from your part in it.

This humbled me. It means my work is less about what I have to offer from my own journey and the overflow of my own heart and more about what God wants to do Himself in the life and heart of that person.

Then at church that night, my pastor shared something that seemed to further these thoughts. At the very end of his sermon, he talked about how often we don't know how to pray for what is best because we don't know the mind of God. We pray with the best intentions we have, but God's purposes transcend our understanding and what we would choose for those we love. Our minds and our hearts are finite. They can only contain and conceive and purpose so much.

I found his words here particularly compelling:

Can you imagine Deborah's mother? You know Deborah, the warrior judge in Judges, the one who defeated the army? Can you hear her mom when she was growing up: "Oh God, she's so masculine. She's always beating up the boys. Why can't you make her feminine? I pray, God, make her feminine."

Can you imagine Esther's mom, or the ones who raised Esther? Esther, beautiful Esther. Can you imagine the prayers: "Oh God, don't let people look on her as just beautiful. Just give her a normal life. Don't let her get all caught up in her looks." When it was that particular beauty that put her in a position to save an entire nation.

Can you imagine Joseph's mom? "Oh God, he's so different from his brothers. Protect him from his brothers." What if his brothers hadn't thrown him into the pit, sold him into slavery? He would never have become the second most powerful man in the world. If that mother's prayer had been answered, if he had been protected, if he had been safe, he never would have been great.

Can you imagine the prayer of Moses's mother? When all of the male Hebrew children were being killed, can you imagine the prayers: "Oh God, give me a way out of here. Let me take my baby and run. Let me escape." Can you imagine when she finally put him into the river and let him go, and then she was called to nurse him? Can you imagine the temptation and the prayer: "Oh God, can you find a way that he doesn't need to be raised in the palace, and I can keep him to myself?" If that prayer had been answered, he would not have been the one to deliver Israel.

I've been reading through Genesis and Exodus for the past month or so, and some of these stories he shared are so vivid in my mind right now. I could certainly imagine Joseph with his brothers, and Moses with his mother. I could see how limited our vision really is when we are living on the horizontal plane of this earth. Out of the overflow of our human love and experience, we pray for things we do not understand. We are so limited, but God is more than what we are.

Just after my pastor spoke these words, a woman sang a song that brought tears cascading down my cheeks in ceaseless streams. Although I am not a mother and the song is the prayer of a mother for her child, I wept. I wept for the way our understanding is limited by our humanity, but how much greater is our God. I wept for the way my mother and father loved me the best way they could, out of their own humanity. I wept for the forgiveness that comes from recognizing that their two eyes, their two hands, and their humanity was paired with God's all knowing, all being, and all seeing. I wept in the admission that I, too, only have two eyes and two hands. I am merely human . . . but God is more, and He works with me, through me, and beyond me. Today, I am thankful for this and am learning how to live more fully from this place.

Below is the song that moved me so much. It's an arrangement of a Sara Groves song, called "Prayer for This Child."

My Heart, On Screen and Up Ahead

So I logged on to the Spring Arbor portal today to purchase books for my first class term, which starts in a week a half. (Yeah, can you believe it?!) Once I selected my program, the term dates, and the appropriate course, up popped a screen listing the above six books.

Um, hello. I already own five of these books.

Beyond my amazement at having to spend a grand total of just $7.55 on books for my first class, there was this confirming sense of truly being headed in the right direction. How else could it feel to see several key books in my life staring back at me from the screen that lists books for the foundational, introductory course of this new program? I can't wait to discover what's ahead, not just as I delve deeper into the profound material of these texts with my new classmates, but over the course of the next three years of my life.

Breathe deep, Christianne. Breathe deep. Here you step into the pool of your heart's deepest longings. Fully embrace. Fully love.

Object Lesson

Hello, friends.

In the last few weeks, I have felt a change happening. A shift from floor-level prostration to eye-to-eye gaze. I feel God asking me to stand up, and to stand up tall. To look him in the eyes. To look other people in the eyes. To fully embody my life.

This is not something that comes easy for me. However, I do feel the past two months have been like training wheels for this.

In the past two months, I have felt like a woman who woke up one day to discover she'd regressed into a preschooler. So many of the concepts I have been embracing for several years now -- convictions about grace, about the beauty of our collective humanness, about allowing ourselves to breathe in the knowledge that we do not, in our own strength, have to hold all things together -- seemed to have vanished. It was as though I was learning them afresh from the beginning.

Although, really, it was a relearning. I was relearning core precepts from a new place, this time with different, and what often felt like higher, stakes. And as much as I'd like to fight against this thought, I think part of life's journey is going to be more of the same: learning something, then relearning it in a new context. Feeling like a three-year-old all over again. Gaining strength, then regressing to regrow our limbs, or perhaps just grow them stronger than they grew the first (or second, or third, or fourth) time around.

In the last two months, while I have been working on projects that testify to what I say I believe, I have had to test whether I truly believe them by applying them back to myself. As I worked and reworked a business plan rooted in my conviction that each person's life is worth knowing, cultivating, celebrating, and embracing . . . as I stood before a group of business professionals and testified to the value of this idea . . . as I wrote a mini-book that describes what I have so far learned is the essence of grace . . . as I did all these things, I had to receive and walk in the grace I preached. I had to accept the limits of my own humanity and believe such limits didn't devalue me. I had to believe I carry a beauty that goes beyond my performance each day.

Today is yet another object lesson in this direction.

At noon today I'll be processing through a graduation ceremony at which I've been asked to give a speech. I've never given a speech before, and, in preparation, the thought of bringing something of value to a roomful of strangers completely flabbergasted me. What could I say that would even matter in a few short minutes? Why would they want to listen to me, anyway? Who the heck am I?

But then I started to wonder about each of those people. What might they need to hear? Given the life I've lived, what can I uniquely offer? Couched in those terms, the intention for this speech became quickly clear. And while I'm scared to do it, while I fear boring those receiving it, while I have no idea what difference, if any, it will make . . . I'm doing it anyway. Offering the words of this speech in public is a chance to embody what it says.

In a few short hours, this will be my offering.

In thinking about what to share with you today, I found myself wondering what I could possibly say to a room full of mostly strangers. And I realized all I could hope to do was speak to you from the one experience each of us collectively share: that of being human.

What does it mean to live human lives? This is not an easy question to answer, nor do I presume to fully know its answer. But experience and reflection have taught me some aspects of what it does and does not mean to be human, which I would like to share with you today.

Eight years ago, on a hot day very much like this one, in a ceremony very much like this one, I graduated in Southern California with my bachelor’s degree. Sitting in that graduation ceremony on that day, I had every expectation that the world was opening its doors for me to enter in, to participate, and to leave my mark. Perhaps you, graduates, are feeling that way today.

With all of the energy, education, ambition, and talent I could muster, I felt ready—ready to make an impression on the landscape of this life, ready for my life to mean something.

So here is what I did. I took two jobs. I worked during the day as the staff editor for a non-profit that carried both a domestic and international presence, and I worked in the evenings as the writing director for a university honors program. During the day I was cranking out editorial project after editorial project, while at night I was meeting with student after student and grading paper after paper.

Needless to say, I became utterly exhausted very quickly. But I felt I was doing the right and good thing. I wanted to make my mark and offer my contribution, and this was how I could do it: by finding what I did well, and by exploiting it to the fullest measure.

The only trouble was, I soon found myself equating what I did with who I was. My identity had become bound up in my work. How I performed had become a measure of my worth. If I finished projects ahead of deadline, I gained praise and sometimes a merit increase in pay. If I lacerated a student paper, my colleagues admired my aptitude and students came to fear my pen. My stellar performances made me feel powerful.

But I was totally missing the point. I thought I was serving my talents well and helping to make a contribution, but my actions were really rooted in selfishness—wanting to show how fast I could complete projects, wanting my colleagues to think I was invaluable, proving to students what I knew so they could follow suit. It was selfish and alienating, but it took me a while to see that.

And you know what?

At the root of all that striving, at the root of all that self-preservation, was a lingering question that haunted me every day.

Am I valuable, just as I am?

Are you valuable, just as you are?

The answer is yes.

I want to share something with you, graduates—something that, as we go out from this place to begin the next chapter of our stories, it will often be easy to forget.

What I want to share is this.

Your worth is not dependent on your work. It does not take multiple jobs, long hours, superior performance, or movement up the ladder to determine your true worth as a human being. You are more than what you do. Yes, you are a human being who does things, but you are also a human being with a heartbeat . . . with a personality . . . with experiences and memories. You have likes and dislikes . . . and opinions. You have feelings.

All of these things make you human, part of the human experience, worth more than what you produce.

It will be easy to forget this in the days ahead. The pace of the world and the pressure to succeed will compete wholeheartedly with this view.

But today, I am inviting you into the human conversation. It’s a conversation that values who you are, not what you do. It’s a conversation that helps you value other people for their humanness, too, for being more than what they produce. It’s a conversation that’s countercultural but essential for the survival of what it means to be truly human.

I hope you’ll join me in this human conversation, wherever life takes you in the days and years ahead, with all the courage and bravery it requires to embrace yourself and other people for being more than what you—or they—produce. I hope you’ll embrace being fully human.

Thank you.

free as a bird

well, i did it. last night i turned in my final thesis for my graduate degree. when i walked out the door of that building and looked up at the early evening sky, i breathed deeply and felt a huge sense of release. a smile crept onto my face and i laughed. i was actually finished!

it has always been difficult for me to truly enjoy my own celebrations, to fully enter into the happiness of the moment and allow others to celebrate me. but last night as i drove home, i decided i wanted to feel all the joy of this occasion. i wanted to experience elation and allow others to experience it with me.

when i came home, then, it was a gift to sit across from kirk at the farm table as he became the first person to read the first book i've ever written. with the warm light of a table lamp casting a small glow between us and a yummy thai dish filling my belly, i sat quietly and simply enjoyed the moment. it was a gift to snuggle with him afterward and hear him share how the book moved him.

my mom called shortly afterward and wanted to hear everything, so i told it all: what the book looks like, how i planned the chapters, what i named each one of them, and how this came together to fulfill the specific requirements asked of me. i even took the time to read the introduction of the book to her over the phone. it made her cry.

of course, there was some dancing around the house that i had to do, and a celebratory call to kirsten to collectively squeal on the phone. and then kirk and i settled down to watch some harry potter. (very excited for the new movie to release in november!)

this morning, it felt strange to receive my newfound freedom. i felt my body tense and release several times as i lay in bed. i could feel anxiety, an urgency to get up and get going on all the work still left to do, until i remembered that all the work was done. it kept taking a few moments to convince my body that this was true, that it could indeed relax.

it seems relaxation is going to take a little bit of effort. hard problem to have, i know.

guest blogger on storychange and how it went

um, i hardly know what to say to the following words written by my hub, kirkum. he honors me and humbles me. i'm so thankful for his love, his friendship, and his partnership in this life. i love you, sweets.

The Obvious Leader of Storychange

I have to remove my "husband" hat and speak from an objective business voice in this. I would like to think I will succeed in doing so by offering the following:

I had the privilege of attending Christianne's business plan thesis final presentation today. This is the culmination of an entire year's worth of graduate studies. Thus, she was understandably a little nervous. The presentation is designed to simulate a group of investors looking at her business model in consideration of funding it. Since the faculty who comprise the simulated board of investors are actual business professionals, there is a considerable standard to meet. The pressure is on to perform well on many levels.

I personally saw Christianne wrestle through many restless days and sleepless nights in preparing for this. Not only did she care about making a strong statement with her presentation to finish off her year (this is the last time she has to present in front of faculty before her graduation on August 8th), but she wanted to honor the business concept God has given her.

She did not disappoint.

I went to the presentation to show my support of her and her education. I was expecting to see a star graduate student (who sells herself short most frequently) deliver a pristine and compelling final project. Instead, I witnessed something I hadn't expected.

About 60 seconds into her presentation I saw Christianne transform from a graduate student into a presiding professional figure: the leader of Storychange. She embodied the message with an elegance, passion, and delivery that made it vibrantly clear that this task has been appointed to her. She spoke with clarity, gracious boldness, and an authority that could have easily been delivered in a keynote address to thousands of women.

Women need Storychange. It became apparent that some of the faculty present saw the remarkable potential of this idea. Two actually said that this is an idea that Oprah would be excited about.

There were some questions from the faculty that challenged the concept - as there should be. That is their job . . . to poke holes in a business plan. However, the faculty also offered many suggestions which only reflects their excitement.

I am sure Christianne will receive strong marks for her performance.

However, that is insignificant compared to what I witnessed today: a move of God to reach the hearts of women across this landscape and beyond . . . and a servant-leader that has been anointed and chosen for this task.

Please pray for wisdom and discernment as to when Christianne is to pursue Storychange. It might be in a year, or five years . . . whenever the "kairos" timing is right.

I am exceptionally proud of her and the weight of who she is. Regardless of the future of Storychange, God obviously showed up today through Christianne's preparation and obedience to develop this idea.

Kirk (husband, fan, and business partner)

here we go

well, today's the day of the big presentation. (remember when kirkum rocked the room with his?) it's safe to say i'm feeling nervous. i have given whole fistfuls of presentations over the course of this past year, but it is quite a different experience to prepare for an audience of your peers than to prepare for an audience of all faculty. thankfully, kirk will be there to cheer me on.

besides the regular nerves, there's also a lot to cover in the strict 20 minutes they give you, and if you do not finish in that timeframe, they cut you off. i practiced several times last night but am still quite a ways from perfecting it. and since i have yet to nail down each slide, i don't have a good sense of whether all my information fits within the time limit.

thankfully, i still have several hours to practice this morning. i go live at 2pm.

ps: internet, meet storychange. this is the baby i left full-time work to birth into the world. while i still do not know if it will ever see the light of day, it has been quite a journey to watch it grow, move, and change over this past year. just creating the plan for its eventual arrival into the world has been a birth in and of itself, and that is one accomplishment i will now carry with me with great pride.