Aj Schwanz

Yesterday I was scrolling through one of my favorite foodie aggregators and noticed multiple recipes for King Cake, a concoction I hadn’t heard of, which is for celebrating Fat Tuesday.  “Really?”, I thought, “It’s Mardi Gras already?  Which means . . . oh, yes:  Lent.”

I had meant to think ahead about Lent this year.  Just as I do every year.  But instead I find myself committing to some sort of quick resolution to give up something (chocolate, caffeine, mean thoughts about others) that I rarely follow through with because, heck!  I’m a Quaker!  What am I doing practicing Lent anyway?    Yes, yes, poor excuse, especially when my faith gathering is actively participating in this liturgical season.

It takes a village to raise a kid, and it takes a community to participate in Lent is my motto this year.  That’s why I’m so appreciative of the resources I’ve found online, particularly from Mustad Seed Associates.  Christine Sine has organized a synchoblog for people to share their experiences, troubles, joys, and small steady steps as they follow through in living out Lent.  MSA has also put together a most excellent Lenten Reflection Guide complete with thematic concerns, prayers, and activities to give more structure to Lenten expressions.

One thing the Sines note is that this is not meant to be done alone:  it is meant to be lived out in community.  If others are interested, I would love to have a weekly gathering for us to share and discern this experience together – time to strengthen and equip one another as we journey with and adore our Creator who came among us at such great cost.  And for those online, if you don’t want to participate in the synchroblog, I humbly offer my blog as a place for you to comment:  it’s the best online hospitality I can offer at this point. 

Blog silence.  Pretty typical on this little Wordpress blogaroo.  Other blogs seem so prolific:  so much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say (okay, so I’m listening to DMB right now:  make my hubby proud).  When I started blogging, I found myself attracted to two types of posts:  informational and formational.  Informational:  giving terms and naming concepts to my experience of wandering post-college.  Formational:  sharing stories of their own orientation, disorientation, and surprising reorientation in which I could relate or find myself in their journey.

But lately?  So.Much.Information.  Answers:  so many answers.  Or critiques.  Or slams.  Or “I’m in the Emergent/Missional/Converging/Reformata/Baby-Wearing/Attachment Parenting/Babywise/Dave Ramsey/Fox News/CNBC/Obama Hopeful/Obama Critical” bandcamp.  As more and more people connect or input on the internet, the more polarized I see it becoming.  And I get sad.

I don’t feel I have answers:  just my journey.  And lately I’ve been hesitent of sharing that story because of the way people treat me:  “Keep your head up!”, “Boy, it must be tough!”, “You’ll get through this!”  Perhaps that’s the eternal plight of a melancholy who allows folks into the inner sanctum:  I didn’t think I made it sound “that bad” – it’s just the way I see things.  Folks from a different generation would probably say that censoring my thoughts or being more selective in the means of how I share would be prudent.  And it probably would:  but goodness, I don’t think my wiring has anything labeled “prudent” in there – believe me, I’ve looked.

This past weekend I got to participate in a gathering called Kaleo:  both energizing and discouraging.  Energizing in that I realized how much I adore being in situations like that:  with people eager to listen and contribute and discern the presence of God for the betterment of the world and the adoration of Christ.  Discouraging in that the next day while I was having a really rough time of parenting (Jason went snowboarding at the last minute with a friend), I wondered what could possibly be the purpose of going out to a conference, getting excited, and then coming home to fold laundry and put away dishes and deal with fairly crabby children with little to no thanks.

This is where I should input some sort of take away:  “But I realized that Christ was really inconvenienced when he came to earth.  Whatever I do to the least of these, I do unto him.  I realized I should find joy in all circumstances.  I found peace in realizing that these days will pass, and I need to keep my eyes on the future.”

Excuse me while I try to stop rolling my eyes and making my “thooey” face.  I didn’t realize those things.  I realized I needed to dance.  To Really Bad Pop Music.  So I did:  Ipod blasting while the boys were confined to their rooms, I rocked out to boy bands and Brit pop and a little Ms. Spears.  It didn’t provide answers, but it tired out The Furies, and now my butt hurts (getting so old).

Something that stood out to me at Kaleo, or perhaps it was the Recalibrating Church conference, was the idea of takeaways.  Somebody somewhere said that in Olden Church the priests did not exposit on the Scriptures:  no takeaways.  They allowed their congregants to enter into the story, to participate, to be formed and transformed by the Spirit through the Word.

Sometimes I wish I had answers or take-aways.  Maybe that would make my blogging more directed, prolific, marketable.  But then I’d probably skim it just like I do so many other sites.  Our society seems to be moving beyond “just the facts, ma’am” — but to what?  And how do we meet them there?

Maybe the answer, or rather the experience, is simply in the dance.  Which won’t always be bad pop music:  I’ve also been known to blast Mr. Sinatra as well as Mr. Diamond. 

I like to write, I think.  Somedays I’m not so certain, as I stare at a blank page, forgetting all the witty ditties I’ve composed in my head, wishing I could just think and things would pop up on the page rather than having to put pen to paper and physically write.  There’s also the issue of releasing writings Out into the Wild:  letting others in on my thoughts, ponderings, funny moments.  Like my children, I wonder:  will these words be treasured, seen for what they are, appreciated; or will they be seen to be too rambunkous and can’t you get a better handle on those things running amuck?

People ask me to write pieces for them.  So I do.  Often it’s a whirl of energy motivated by procrastination.  I write; I revise; I submit; I rerevise.  And then I forget.  Off to the next activity, which is often evaluating the state of my house after not being supremely attentive to my wards (usually it’s a bit chaotic).  So when I actually see the words in print, I’m a bit surprised:  “I wrote something?”  And then my melancholy response:  “Uh oh, what did I write?  Was it any good?”

Yesterday when I got the mail, I received my Yearly Meeting’s newsletter (The Connection).  I faintly remember writing something for it, thinking it would be a little piece in the middle amongst notes of missionaries coming and going and quiz meets happening and to come.  But, whoops:  it was on the front page.  And my melancholy nature said, “Uh oh.  What did I write again?” followed by “methinks I’d write something different if I knew if was going to be front-page material.”  Probably best I not think about those things, anyway.

Here’s my article.  The online piece is longer than the printed because there wasn’t enough room (or I’m just a wordy, wordy girl).  A snapshot of growing up in Northwest Yearly Meeting.  It’s not perfect, but on that day at that time when I wrote the piece, the words were true:  and I’m choosing to rest in that truth.  (And the belief that if the piece were less-than-ideal, the editor (and friend) would have said so).