Terrorizing the Body

Saturday night I had such unbelievable pain in my stomach that Tim almost took me to the ER. We had a normal day and evening, I'd eaten nothing weird, but for some reason I had an attack that night of epic proportions.

I laid on the bathroom floor, writhing, hearing myself groaning and occasionally screaming. It came in waves. Seeing Tim's worried face confirmed that this was worse than what I have experienced in the past with tummy troubles. After about two hours, the pain started subsiding and the waves came less severely and less frequently. I fell asleep and woke the next morning tired, sore and traumatized.

A few things have been hanging over me and infiltrating my mind while I'm trying to work, so I thought I'd write them down.

It's a strange thing to feel scared of your own body--not knowing what hurt it or why. I was nervous about eating food, yet felt so weak from the previous night.

Remembering pain is also an odd phenomenon. Even though I remembered the agony I felt and still felt afraid of feeling it again, it seemed so distant somehow. I can't physically remember how it felt I can only remember that it was physically painful. I wonder if this is somehow akin to childbirth, only then you're at least rewarded with a baby. Although the pain is excruciating in the moment, we only remember intellectually the pain we experienced. Somehow this helps us move on? Cope with our pain?

I've found myself stroking my arms, petting my stomach, caressing my cheeks without really thinking about it. Maybe it sounds strange to us Westerners, but it's almost like my body needs comforting for how it was terrorized, even as my mind shrugs at the past memory. My arms and legs want to know they're going to be okay, that Julie will be okay.

Eucharist Please!!!

For one of my classes this semester we are writing blogs each week that reflect on the readings, our perspectives, opinions, concerns or worries, and other things. I'm finding it such a wonderful and insightful way to relate and engage the class! This week's prompt was When was the first time you remember knowing you were a Christian? This is the blog I wrote about it--I thought I'd share! 

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Well, I don't have an incredibly moving or inspirational story about how I "became a Christian" (honestly, I think that phrase is a little ambiguous and doesn't really account for the journey of relationships with God, but that soapbox is for another blog). My father was the pastor of a small Christian & Missionary Alliance church in Maple Valley, Washington. You will be shocked to learn that we only served communion once per month (yes, some churches don't do it every Sunday).

When I was about 4 or 5, I began to notice that the grownups were enjoying snack time in the middle of church every so often, and yet I was not allowed to partake! The silver plates with velvet bottoms with delicious looking bread and juice were passed right by me! When I inquired as to why I was not allowed to participate, my mother responded that it was only for those who "had accepted Jesus into their hearts." I was not about to let a little prayer stand in between me and snack time in the middle of church! So a few days later, I knelt with my mother and father in their bedroom and prayed. My mom cried. My dad might have too. 

I've always thought it a little sad that the beginning of my relationship with God began so obviously because I wanted to eat during church, but perhaps that is quite fitting that there was a carnal need, a selfish plan. Perhaps my story only highlights what is present in all of our lives as we relate to God. I've actually never really thought about it that way until now. As much as we might like to be honorable, full of integrity and belief, perhaps we're more like the little girl anxiously hungering for snack time during church.

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I find it interesting that one of my first gestures toward Christianity centers around the Eucharist. As much as I have been challenging Church and services lately, I can't seem to reason away or ignore my hunger for the Eucharist. I smiled this morning as I wrote the above blog; I guess my hunger for snack time never went away. It doesn't really make sense to me and I don't think I can explain it, but I do crave communion; it is a part of church that is often (almost always) completely satisfying and fulfilling. One of my professors from my undergraduate confided to me recently that the Eucharist is what draws him to Church each Sunday, gets him out of bed in the morning. Maybe that will become my story too...

Questions

   Today was one of those days. My alarm went off at the proper time; the only problem was it decided not to make any noise. On my frenzied way out the door, the only thing I managed to grab for breakfast slipped out of my hands and bruised its little pear body all across my basement floor. "This is going to be a great day." On and on it went, just barely missing the most important part of a lecture because I was late for class, feeling directionless over a potentially fantastic opportunity to do a directed study, feeling totally indecisive about classes to choose for this fall, being told I should probably retake the GRE because my scores just aren't quite strong enough and finally, after having a pathetic but much needed little cry in a bathroom stall going to treat myself to a TWIX bar only to have the vending machine clog, only to finally get it only for it to be melted and rehardened and gross. YES. awesome day. Felt like it was straight out of a movie. "Martini s'il vous plait!"

Sometimes at Duke it feels like I am the only one questioning the validity and acceptability of denominations, the purpose of the church, it's current role in America, the institutionalization of the Church, the fact that we are paying our spiritual leaders. My classmates seem to walk around me nodding their heads and funneling toward the same common goal: protect and further the Kingdom, serve the Church and others. I certainly don't wish to patronize what they are doing or imply that any of them do it light heartedly or without thought--they are at Duke for fuck's sake. BUT. Why aren't these questions even being hinted at? Am I in all the wrong classes? Am I behind the learning curve or ahead of it? Have I become a crazy? Well, I suppose anything is possible, but here's the honest truth (please be kind): 2ish years ago Tim and I left the church we were attending (left is putting it kindly). We have not been regular attenders since. And do you know what? I DON'T MISS IT. I do NOT find that that is the only place to find meaningful relationships. I do NOT find that it is the only place to be instructed about the Word and about God. I do NOT accept that it is naturally indicative of my relationship with God or my belief in God. (And why is it at so many churches when they say they've missed you or ask how you've been there is this implied opinion about your attendance? How many people do or do not attend because of this guilt?) The only thing I can't seem to shake is the Eucharist. Somehow and for some reason I cannot explain this moves me. I find affirmation here. And I hope you will be gentle with me as I journey through this. Perhaps I will find my way back to a Church in the future. Perhaps I will come to a deeper understanding and appreciation of its role and importance. But for now, I'm really struggling with it. But perhaps also you might find some solidarity with my raw questions. Please don't hear me challenging your experience or your particular church--these are questions from my own journey. So I guess, take it as you will. (Sorry for the huge disclaimer). So I'm not sure what to do with this as a Christian, as an aspiring theologian and as a teacher.

A wise and compassionate friend rescued me from some of these thoughts today and took me for a walk in Duke gardens (which can I just say is one of my very favorite things about this school. Amazing landscaping, interesting plants, intimate walkways and hidden benches just steps away from me). I opened up, risked all and told her all of my anguish, questionings, feeling crazy. She listened oh so supportively and said, "You know Julie, the professors that were mentors to me and impressed me most did not have it all figured out. They did not have neat little quaint faiths. They were kind of cynical, challenging, and messy. One of the things I've realized as I get older is that my faith used to be a 100 piece jigsaw puzzle. Now maybe it's a 1000 piece puzzle. There are lots of little pieces. It's confusing how it all fits together, it doesn't always make sense and it's messy. But you are engaging it." It just consoled me a bit and also reminded me that I don't do much in life half-heartedly. I wrestle with things. I need to figure them out for myself. WHY does 5 times 5 equal 25? Why am I supposed to love God? Who says that Christians know the best way to live? Who says that God has an opinion on my life sheerly because one way is "right" and the other is "wrong"? Maybe God only cares because God experiences life with us and what affects us God allows to affect God's self?

I'm sorry if my questions offend, scare you or cause you to fear for  my salvation. I guess the only assurance I will make is that I do not wrestle lightly or without a prayer that God will save my soul someday...prevent me from harming others with my own life thoughts. But if you don't live honestly, if you don't engage your own fears and raw questions, what kind of life is that anyway? Definitely not one I will have. For now, I think God cares about me, I think there is some longevity there. I think God likes love. I think life should be lived on a trajectory towards love...toward life--things and people that bring us to life and are life-enriching. For now, I think it's a lot less about the little things and more about ... love. Sounds so trite and simple. But I think it's quite big.

That's all for now. Cheers

I'm Addicted

    I think I'm addicted to learning. I love trying new foods, cooking new things. I love hearing how someone else thinks. I seeing things from a different perspective. I love the tingle my brain gets when I finally catch on to something brilliant someone is saying. And not to be smooshy, but I love learning new ways to love my husband. I love listening to new music. I could go on. I don't have any brilliant insights or points about that, I guess. I have been loving that about Duke. Being exposed to crazy students, brilliant students, professors who are brilliant but chill and reading a shit ton of things inevitably means you learn something I guess. (I'm listening to my husband play and sing right now...ah, glass of wine, cream cheese stuffed baked chicken, playful dogs...tonight is euphoric).
   Not to change the subject too abruptly, but the last few weeks have actually been a little tough for me. In the odd moments I wonder, what the hell am I doing here? Is it worth thousands of dollars for me to be in this class? How are the financial decisions I'm making now going to affect our future plans? What about kids? What about leaving the country? What about ... What if I get my Masters and realize I don't want to teach? Does it matter that I don't always feel "spiritual" or moved by what I'm learning??? Is it bad that sometimes I'm just objectively interested? I'm curious about how people piece together what they believe. What if I don't have enough of the "Jesus relationship" to support a lifelong career in theology? What if at some point I just don't care and don't want to talk about all the heady spiritual things anymore?
   I have no idea how it came up, but the other night as we were drifting off to sleep Tim said, "You know, even if you don't do a career with this, just that fact that you have "mastered" something is remarkable." Apparently, it was quite a relief because I burst into tears. Geez louise, I have a fantastic husband. (Seriously, moving across the country, supporting us by working 50+ hours/week, and going a bazillion dollars into debt and he says, it's just impressive that you're doing this. Wow.)
   SO I married up for sure, but I guess the point I'm getting at is sometimes I think we just need permission to change our minds, to change period. Maybe I won't be a teaching theologian, maybe I'll teach drama or P.E. or maybe I'll just be a mom. It's just nice not to be pressured. It's nice to be at Duke because I like it and I like what I'm learning and not because I have to do something afterward. I think it released me from pressuring myself into not enjoying being here. Or pressuring myself into being in a profession I don't want to be in. Not saying that I don't want to teach, but what if? You get the idea.
   More stream of consciousness? okay. Today in class we talked about the history of sexuality and how much of how we interpret sexuality is really a product of our period of history (i.e. the term "heterosexual" did not exist until the 1900s). Before that sexuality was not a way that people "defined" themselves. I suppose it's way too much to sum up in a paragraph, but it was a way I had never thought about how we identify ourselves. Anywhoo... if you're curious send me an email.
   Sometimes I think some of the things we expend so much effort on really won't matter in the long run. I think we're just supposed to love each other.


 PS I looked up what the top 10 songs of my birth year were... and I totally kicked 1985's ass (Tim's birth year). I got Cindy Lauper "Time after Time," Madonna "Like a Virgin" WHAM! "Careless Whisper" U2 "In the name of love," Dan Hartman "I can Dream About You" oh yeah. Good year. :)

My Dream

I had one of those dreams last night that hangs with you throughout the day. It's mostly random and non-sensical, but some parts I found interesting.

I woke up late for class (ironic for a dream to begin with waking up, no?) and my big paper was due. I was so rushed and late and panicked. My paper wasn't printed out yet and class was already starting. I rushed around and jumped on my motorcycle to ride to school. I was watching myself ride, careening down the freeway and the brakes weren't working. Finally, I figured out that I had to push the down arrow key on the laptop do get the brakes to work. But too late! The bike fell over and the rider (me) flew off and skidded across the gravel. At this point I was the rider in person again. I lay on the ground looking out dimly at the gravel so close to my face and the freeway blurry in the background. Blackness started crowding in around the edges and I knew I was losing consciousness. I wondered if I would wake up again. I wondered if I did wake up again if it would be in this life or in some kind of afterlife. I hoped I would wake up at all. What was scary was oblivion.

A moment later I heard a stream of running water. Relief poured through me. I was not non-existent. I opened my eyes and there was a Native American Indian standing over me smiling. He was busy cooking. I guess he was God in my dream. He said his name was Hasmopeet, and when I asked what his name meant he told me cheerily that he had already told me that he won't tell me what his name means. And that it was only fair because I wouldn't tell him what my name meant.

The storyline of the dream here got a little confusing so I'll be brief. I'm not sure any more if it was still the afterlife or if I was really alive again. My friends, Rachel & Jeff were there cooking lunch for us. And suddenly I just knew I needed to mourn. Overwhelming grief consumed me and I burst out "I just need to cry! May I please have one of the dishes of coleslaw?" I took a small dish of coleslaw and began to weep and weep (while holding it). It was such mourning, such wrenching sorrow over something...past.

That was about the end of my dream as I remember it. That grief hung around me a lot today. Not sure what it was even about.

I dream so often. Tim never remembers his dreams. I find them fascinating. I guess I was hoping that in sharing the dream with all of you that I would, in some way, be released from it a bit.

I'm Angry at Time Today

I'm angry at time today
Why won't it just slow down?
Give me a second to catch up?
Why can't I just be peacefully sick without all the world pressing around me and on me
Can I just have a moment, to gather my thoughts
I'm feeling left behind, caught up, whipped around
I'm angry at time today
I wish it would just go away and leave me alone.

Tired of New

Tim and I have been living in Durham, North Carolina for just over a month now. We are settling in fine; I managed to put in a small garden before school started, and Tim started a new job this last week! My classes are amazing and extraordinarily intimidating. I think, albeit nervously, I am keeping my head above water thus far. Our new home is charming and full of old world charm (and old world rundown-ness in some parts). The backyard is amazing! We have put up a hammock and had a bonfire already. Big trees lean over the property and the wind ruffles the leaves so that it sounds a bit like running water. All of North Carolina, in fact, is amazingly green! In a lot of ways, it reminds me of Washington. All that green, the changing weather, the mix of deciduous and coniferous. The only thing missing is that fresh air. Ah, the air that sears into your lungs so deep you had almost forgotten you could breathe that deeply. But I digress, all in all, we're doing great here.

There is a however, however. I miss feeling comfortable. Not in the sense that I am continuously agitated. I miss feeling continuously comfortable. I miss knowing exactly where all the grocery stores are. I miss my friends who could understand and love me in every mood because that is one of the gifts time can bestow on relationship. I am tired of new.

I think time will cure that also, but for now I am just giving myself the space to say, I want everything to be known for a day. (Not to be God mind you, just known in the sense of familiar). Familiar in the sense that even if it's unexpected, it's unexpected in a familiar way.

Cheers

(On an unrelated note, I started a new blog-ironic no? It's mostly observations and papers from my experience at Duke. But if your curious it's here)