Rowan took his first spill tonight where he got a good bump and bruise on his head, plus a good cut with some blood. No fun. He actually didn't freak out very much; I think Shey and I were probably more surprised and worried to see his response than he was himself. But we didn't make any loud or surprising gasps at the sight of blood, and he calmed down in less time than a temper tantrum.
I've spent a good part of the last few months thinking about hope, in both preparing to write and in writing the book on sacred hope for students. It forced me to take a look at some of the bumps and bruises of the last couple of years, and some of the deeper wounds that are still healing from years past. Rowan is going to have a bump for a couple of weeks probably, and will have a little mark for probably months. All from climbing up on his play kitchen, slipping, and then bumping his head on the corner of our buffet.
I am just finally able to start talking about in any meaningful way about some of the traumatic experiences of the last year and a half, and yet we already have some new challenges that have arisen while finishing the book. I keep looking for a pause button somewhere; a place or time where I can catch my breath, slow down, and recharge, but so far we haven't found that place yet.
I suppose it is like advent: the waiting, the anticipation, the longing. Anticipation is a difficult emotion and means of life. It necessitates a hope in the present while also implying a hope in the future. It is really hard to live in those tensions. Not to mention the bumps and bruises along the way. Sometimes the bumps and bruises are actually cuts much deeper though, and take much longer to heal than I want to admit. I know that I haven't wanted to admit the pain still exists and affects me. In some ways, I'm just learning how to speak again.
I hope this means that I will figure out how to be a better husband and dad, to find a rigorous hope that helps me to live into the present with greater awareness of the future. The bumps and bruises are always scary at first, but they heal quickly; it is learning how to gain feeling back into the places where there were deep wounds and gashes that take time, silence, and perseverance.
Showing posts with label Shey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shey. Show all posts
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Monday, July 13, 2009
hope in suffering
I have been thinking about hope a lot lately, for a lot of reasons, namely that my son Rowan just turned one about a month ago, and that I was recently asked to write a book for students on hope in the near future with a cool publishing house out in Kansas City (more on all this when some of the details get worked out, and it becomes official). But mostly because this past year saw some difficult experiences that have taken a long time for me to spend time sitting in, reflecting on, and let change me. I can't begin to describe the amount of hours that Shey and I have spent in conversation, tears, prayer, silence, and even yelling as the pressure that suffering caused erupted into our lives.
When Rowan was born June 10, 2008, Shey had already been in the hospital for over a week with intense back pain that the doctors had been attributing to Rowan pressing on Shey's sciatic nerve, but actually was the fruition of an infection developed in the bone of her spine which was also causing severe inflammation in the muscles near the infection and dramatic pain. Watching and being with Shey as the pain intensified for over a month prior to Rowan's birth, and especially right before and after his birth...all while the doctors tried to figure out just what was actually happening, were some of the most difficult days of my short life. And then, when Rowan was born with pneumonia and air trapped outside of his lungs causing him to breathe poorly along with being premature and a few other issues, the suffering intensified into new heights. Not to mention that for the first four days of Rowan's life, Shey and Rowan were in different hospitals, literally forcing me to choose between the two of them as they took up residence 1 1/2 hours apart. After three weeks in hospitals, both Shey and Rowan would come home: Shey, barely able to move on her own, with months of slow therapy, and a lot of medicinal treatment to go; Rowan, as good as new, and a toughness to complement his easy-going personality.
There were many other hardships during those three weeks at the hospital, and certainly plenty when we made it back home, but I am not writing tonight to try to spell out all of the suffering or to make anyone have pity for me or our situation at that time. In fact, Shey has known plenty of other suffering with her only sister suffering the traumatic effects of a brain injury suffered in a car accident nearing 10 years ago. I've stood at the bedside of a student with her parents as she breathed a final breath after a battle with brain cancer at only 16. We've got close friends whose newborn has already had multiple heart surgeries, and have been greatly encouraged and impressed with their tenacity, hope, and resilience. All this to say: both Shey and I know that everyone has or will experience suffering in their life. We aren't special, we don't have any claim to fame, or even believe that we handle things like this perfectly.
But I process and reflect through writing. And I have been shying away from writing about this for a long time. Not because I haven't wanted to...but because I wanted to let the experience of last year to sink in. To try to desperately to hear the still, quiet voice of God in the suffering and hardships of the past year. To let the silence fill my heart. To let my silence give room to hear the community of people around me, and to spend my time processing things deeply with the close family and friends who gave ears to listen, and wisdom to share. And I wanted to spend this past year with my new family. Shey and I have been together for a long time now, and there was a lot we wanted to process together, and enjoy together with the new addition to our family. Not to mention, for the last three years, I had been going to seminary full time plus working full time at the church, so I wanted to take a year to slow down, enjoy living out in the country, spend time with Shey and Rowan, and heal up a bit.
I'd like to post some thoughts on hope in suffering, and how I've worked through some of the dark periods of my life, not really for any other reason than that it is time, it is time for me to speak about it out loud to others, so as to name the suffering and reflect upon the hope found in suffering. Not hope because of suffering, not hope caused or brought on by suffering, but hope in suffering. Maybe later I will unpack all that theologically. But not right now.
I was reading over an email recently I sent to two close friends at a pinnacle of the hospital stay, as it was one of those emails that just comes out, like when you have to throw-up whether you want to or not...and I can remember a couple of words from the email, and weeping as I wrote. I wept because I had nothing to give, nothing that I was holding back, and I knew these two guys would be there and had already been there to listen. To hear me. To give ears, hearts, hands, and knees to the pain they both were watching me and my family experience, and go through with us too, as they shared in depths of the darkness with us. And the next morning, when I finally talked to and/or saw those guys, I experienced in a new way why Jesus necessarily had to come to earth. Why Jesus had to be a person, a living breathing, blood-in-the-veins, scraped hands, dirty feet, smelly of a person: namely, because hope is always embodied. Hope takes shape. Hope in some distant place isn't the grandest hope to me, hope found in others helps to give life meaning and possibility when suffering seems to be closing every door. And those two guys in numerous ways embodied hope and made it real, being living light in the stormy clouds of life's grey shadows.
And hope took shape when our families surrounded us, or my parents hopped on a plane the moment I called them for help. Or when moms, friends, kind nurses, or family stayed with Shey or with Rowan when I couldn't be with one of them. Hope embodied is the best hope of all. It is the perfect blend of hope that changes the present and the future. Hope embodied in voices singing to my son when I couldn't hold his hand, hope embodied in friends who helped Shey to laugh when tears had been the only words spoken, or friends who let the silence speak...and simply were present with us in that silence that speaks a thousand words without a sound ever being made. Or kind emails, voicemails, hospital visits, flowers, all signs, markers, reminders of a hope made real. This isn't some pie-in-the-sky hope. This isn't some "well one day things will be better hope." This is hope eternal changing the present reality. This is embodied hope that changed me. That gave hope in suffering, because it was embodied in others, when I couldn't find it in myself, or have the eyes to see it.
Does this mean that there isn't hope for the future, or that embodied hope is the only kind of hope? Surely not. But the embodied hope of today, is a marker, a sign, a cosmos-altering way of being in the world that actually makes a difference. As Jesus says so beautifully in teaching us to pray, "May God's will be done on earth as in heaven," amen. Amen. Hope embodied is hope that can illuminate the darkness of suffering. It doesn't remove the pain of suffering, or make anything easy. But it is real. And it is present.
When Rowan was born June 10, 2008, Shey had already been in the hospital for over a week with intense back pain that the doctors had been attributing to Rowan pressing on Shey's sciatic nerve, but actually was the fruition of an infection developed in the bone of her spine which was also causing severe inflammation in the muscles near the infection and dramatic pain. Watching and being with Shey as the pain intensified for over a month prior to Rowan's birth, and especially right before and after his birth...all while the doctors tried to figure out just what was actually happening, were some of the most difficult days of my short life. And then, when Rowan was born with pneumonia and air trapped outside of his lungs causing him to breathe poorly along with being premature and a few other issues, the suffering intensified into new heights. Not to mention that for the first four days of Rowan's life, Shey and Rowan were in different hospitals, literally forcing me to choose between the two of them as they took up residence 1 1/2 hours apart. After three weeks in hospitals, both Shey and Rowan would come home: Shey, barely able to move on her own, with months of slow therapy, and a lot of medicinal treatment to go; Rowan, as good as new, and a toughness to complement his easy-going personality.
There were many other hardships during those three weeks at the hospital, and certainly plenty when we made it back home, but I am not writing tonight to try to spell out all of the suffering or to make anyone have pity for me or our situation at that time. In fact, Shey has known plenty of other suffering with her only sister suffering the traumatic effects of a brain injury suffered in a car accident nearing 10 years ago. I've stood at the bedside of a student with her parents as she breathed a final breath after a battle with brain cancer at only 16. We've got close friends whose newborn has already had multiple heart surgeries, and have been greatly encouraged and impressed with their tenacity, hope, and resilience. All this to say: both Shey and I know that everyone has or will experience suffering in their life. We aren't special, we don't have any claim to fame, or even believe that we handle things like this perfectly.
But I process and reflect through writing. And I have been shying away from writing about this for a long time. Not because I haven't wanted to...but because I wanted to let the experience of last year to sink in. To try to desperately to hear the still, quiet voice of God in the suffering and hardships of the past year. To let the silence fill my heart. To let my silence give room to hear the community of people around me, and to spend my time processing things deeply with the close family and friends who gave ears to listen, and wisdom to share. And I wanted to spend this past year with my new family. Shey and I have been together for a long time now, and there was a lot we wanted to process together, and enjoy together with the new addition to our family. Not to mention, for the last three years, I had been going to seminary full time plus working full time at the church, so I wanted to take a year to slow down, enjoy living out in the country, spend time with Shey and Rowan, and heal up a bit.
I'd like to post some thoughts on hope in suffering, and how I've worked through some of the dark periods of my life, not really for any other reason than that it is time, it is time for me to speak about it out loud to others, so as to name the suffering and reflect upon the hope found in suffering. Not hope because of suffering, not hope caused or brought on by suffering, but hope in suffering. Maybe later I will unpack all that theologically. But not right now.
I was reading over an email recently I sent to two close friends at a pinnacle of the hospital stay, as it was one of those emails that just comes out, like when you have to throw-up whether you want to or not...and I can remember a couple of words from the email, and weeping as I wrote. I wept because I had nothing to give, nothing that I was holding back, and I knew these two guys would be there and had already been there to listen. To hear me. To give ears, hearts, hands, and knees to the pain they both were watching me and my family experience, and go through with us too, as they shared in depths of the darkness with us. And the next morning, when I finally talked to and/or saw those guys, I experienced in a new way why Jesus necessarily had to come to earth. Why Jesus had to be a person, a living breathing, blood-in-the-veins, scraped hands, dirty feet, smelly of a person: namely, because hope is always embodied. Hope takes shape. Hope in some distant place isn't the grandest hope to me, hope found in others helps to give life meaning and possibility when suffering seems to be closing every door. And those two guys in numerous ways embodied hope and made it real, being living light in the stormy clouds of life's grey shadows.
And hope took shape when our families surrounded us, or my parents hopped on a plane the moment I called them for help. Or when moms, friends, kind nurses, or family stayed with Shey or with Rowan when I couldn't be with one of them. Hope embodied is the best hope of all. It is the perfect blend of hope that changes the present and the future. Hope embodied in voices singing to my son when I couldn't hold his hand, hope embodied in friends who helped Shey to laugh when tears had been the only words spoken, or friends who let the silence speak...and simply were present with us in that silence that speaks a thousand words without a sound ever being made. Or kind emails, voicemails, hospital visits, flowers, all signs, markers, reminders of a hope made real. This isn't some pie-in-the-sky hope. This isn't some "well one day things will be better hope." This is hope eternal changing the present reality. This is embodied hope that changed me. That gave hope in suffering, because it was embodied in others, when I couldn't find it in myself, or have the eyes to see it.
Does this mean that there isn't hope for the future, or that embodied hope is the only kind of hope? Surely not. But the embodied hope of today, is a marker, a sign, a cosmos-altering way of being in the world that actually makes a difference. As Jesus says so beautifully in teaching us to pray, "May God's will be done on earth as in heaven," amen. Amen. Hope embodied is hope that can illuminate the darkness of suffering. It doesn't remove the pain of suffering, or make anything easy. But it is real. And it is present.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
performance art
I went to the 9:30 Club last night with a crew of high school students to see The National, a band that Seth introduced me to a couple years ago. If you haven't had a chance to see them play or hear any of their music, chances are you might have heard them last year during the election when Obama's campaign used their song "Fake Empire" for one of his campaign commercials. Hailing from Cincinnati, Ohio, the original 4-man band has expanded to include a wide variety of friends during their recording processes (including none other than Sufjan Stevens, as well as Marla Hansen & Colin Stetson, and numerous others) and many others while on tour, often having a wind ensemble and keyboard/piano/accordian player with them as well.
Last night's show was a powerful cocktail of sad songs, tails of broken relationships, layers upon layers of sound, rising and falling in the story and music, and astounding energy. I was talking with Ben Owsley on the way home about art and the power of live music, when I stumbled upon something that I have forgotten as life has become busy with work, study and new adventures in my career in combination with the joys and upheavals that come in marriage and Rowan, namely: good art can inspire change. Somewhere during "Secret Meeting" and "Baby, We'll Be Fine" I sensed a stirring within my being that I hadn't felt in a while, a sense of something transcendent and yet imminent, hopeful yet doubted, ethereal and yet down deep in my toes. Good art changes the person experiencing it in such a way that we aren't the same person after the experience. Good art, and for me a good live set of music, awakens an often dormant awareness of the world around me, the hope within me, and the power to change the world in which I live for the better.
Last night was one of those experiences when I realized just how important it is to be connected to good performance art, to take the time out for my soul to drink lavishly in the creation, experiences, and insights of another person. Shey has always understood this much better than me, and is so much more sensitive to the importance of fostering spaces for creativity and honest relfection, and recognizes the danger and loss when those spaces shrink or cease to exist. And last night I think I began to understand for the first time in any such way that I could express into words just why I think experiencing performance art is so important.
Because even though so many of the songs are dark twisted stories of doubt, failures, misunderstood relationships, and cultural shortcomings, the music communicated hope in the midst of it all. A hope that believes change is possible, real, and integral. Last night brought about an awareness in me of the importance of regularly experiencing performance art for the good of my whole being. And if you get a chance, check out The National. Alligator and Boxer are two phenomenal albums.
Last night's show was a powerful cocktail of sad songs, tails of broken relationships, layers upon layers of sound, rising and falling in the story and music, and astounding energy. I was talking with Ben Owsley on the way home about art and the power of live music, when I stumbled upon something that I have forgotten as life has become busy with work, study and new adventures in my career in combination with the joys and upheavals that come in marriage and Rowan, namely: good art can inspire change. Somewhere during "Secret Meeting" and "Baby, We'll Be Fine" I sensed a stirring within my being that I hadn't felt in a while, a sense of something transcendent and yet imminent, hopeful yet doubted, ethereal and yet down deep in my toes. Good art changes the person experiencing it in such a way that we aren't the same person after the experience. Good art, and for me a good live set of music, awakens an often dormant awareness of the world around me, the hope within me, and the power to change the world in which I live for the better.
Last night was one of those experiences when I realized just how important it is to be connected to good performance art, to take the time out for my soul to drink lavishly in the creation, experiences, and insights of another person. Shey has always understood this much better than me, and is so much more sensitive to the importance of fostering spaces for creativity and honest relfection, and recognizes the danger and loss when those spaces shrink or cease to exist. And last night I think I began to understand for the first time in any such way that I could express into words just why I think experiencing performance art is so important.
Because even though so many of the songs are dark twisted stories of doubt, failures, misunderstood relationships, and cultural shortcomings, the music communicated hope in the midst of it all. A hope that believes change is possible, real, and integral. Last night brought about an awareness in me of the importance of regularly experiencing performance art for the good of my whole being. And if you get a chance, check out The National. Alligator and Boxer are two phenomenal albums.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
4 years
Happy 4 years of marriage to my wonderful wife and best friend. I love you Shey! Here's to the new adventure of parenthood together. I couldn't imagine doing this without you. Thanks for loving me so well.
Friday, February 29, 2008
a little boy
For those who catch up on the Hayden Family via my blog, and haven't checked our joint blog over at The Family Hayden, (which by the way, Shey is a freakin' awesome blogger, a much better writer than me!, not to mention that she blogs consistently!) we had some exciting news last week:
The above picture is the most recent glimpse of our new son! We are having a baby boy! And isn't that a cool picture, he's sucking his thumb...so amazing. (On a side note, the new 4-D sonogram pictures are so cool.) Everything looked really healthy, Shey is progressing well, the due date is sticking to July 6. For some health stuff based on Shey being a high-risk pregnancy because of a genetic trait that predisposes her to blood clots, they will probably induce her before July 6, but that's the date for now. Here's another picture helping to illustrate that this is a boy:
Some friends and family have already given us some cool stuff for the baby, and now stuff for our new baby boy. My parents gave us a little blue soccer ball, and a UNC t-shirt, along with some funny little "Momisms" and "Dadisms" books. Shey's folks have started storing up some cool baby stuff, gotten some really cute outfits, and animal place mats. Not to mention that Shey's dad is building a nursery for us in the house we are renting.
Things have been slightly crazy of late, but I'm really glad to have such great family and friends around to support us, and help us find our way through. Shey turned 27 this week, and it was so great to spend another birthday with her. We've almost known each other for 10 years now, wow. I love you so much sweet girl...here's to a fun trip over spring break, and here's to hoping that our son gets the creative, artistic, and generous spirit that you radiate and inhabit.
I'll leave you with another picture:
The above picture is the most recent glimpse of our new son! We are having a baby boy! And isn't that a cool picture, he's sucking his thumb...so amazing. (On a side note, the new 4-D sonogram pictures are so cool.) Everything looked really healthy, Shey is progressing well, the due date is sticking to July 6. For some health stuff based on Shey being a high-risk pregnancy because of a genetic trait that predisposes her to blood clots, they will probably induce her before July 6, but that's the date for now. Here's another picture helping to illustrate that this is a boy:
Some friends and family have already given us some cool stuff for the baby, and now stuff for our new baby boy. My parents gave us a little blue soccer ball, and a UNC t-shirt, along with some funny little "Momisms" and "Dadisms" books. Shey's folks have started storing up some cool baby stuff, gotten some really cute outfits, and animal place mats. Not to mention that Shey's dad is building a nursery for us in the house we are renting.Things have been slightly crazy of late, but I'm really glad to have such great family and friends around to support us, and help us find our way through. Shey turned 27 this week, and it was so great to spend another birthday with her. We've almost known each other for 10 years now, wow. I love you so much sweet girl...here's to a fun trip over spring break, and here's to hoping that our son gets the creative, artistic, and generous spirit that you radiate and inhabit.
I'll leave you with another picture:
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
getting back on the saddle
Well a new semester of classes is beginning. I've already started a class over at Catholic University in the last few weeks, but as of yesterday, Leland classes are back in session. I'm taking a full load this semester: Hebrew I & II, What is Salvation?, Biblical Exegesis, along with an intensive, Theology and Film, all over at Leland, along with my Hermeneutics and Religion class over at Catholic. It's a full semester, but it looks like I should be graduating on June 14, 2008. I will need to finish up two classes post-graduation or post-end of the semester which is I believe May 15.
It is so hard to believe that I may be finishing up my master's already. I will have finished my degree in only three years at Leland which may be one of the quickest for an M.Div. I have truly enjoyed my time there, and the education and development has been a really beautiful time in my life...hard, and wrenching at times, but beautiful. I've made some great friends there, and am looking forward to another strong semester of learning and growth.
That all being said, starting a new semester is really tough, I usually begin the semester muttering to myself: "There is no possible way that I'm going to be able to get all of this work done." This semester I'm also muttering: "There is no possible way that I'm going to get all of this work done, along with taking the time to enjoy these months with Shey before we have a child, work a full-time job, prepare to be a dad, and be a friend to others....and figure out how we are going to financially make it through Shey no longer working."
Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to see our child, to hold her/him (we find out on February 20 the sex of the baby), to be a parent with Shey...but I usually fall into a panic at the beginning of every semester that lasts about a week as I get going, and try to figure out how in the world all of the busy things in my life are going to work. You add the usual stress to the fact that our lives are beginning to go through a large transition (which I know is good, but still is scary sometimes!) and you get quiet Josh, the one who doesn't talk much, is slow to respond to anything, and who can't stand the inconsistencies in his life. How church makes me feel empty a lot, how I want to buy locally and organically, and never shop at Wal-Mart again, but I need a notebook for a class and don't know where else to buy one that isn't being sold by a major corporation in our town, and I want to really embrace the growth in the youth group, and the changes that I'm seeing in the kids, but am scared that I will fail them as a leader and friend.
Shey and I had a really great talk last night and we worked through some of this, and she is so wonderful at helping me have perspective and believe that this will all work out when I just want to sit and read Harry Potter and pretend that my classes don't exist. The funk that usually lasts for over a week is clearing already, though I'm still scared, still overwhelmed a bit, it is nice to be on the same page with Shey in the midst of my spinning head and thoughts. So I'm getting back on the saddle, with some new music, some great stories (thank you J.K. Rowling), and the excitement of a new beginning and new life. We heard the heartbeat again yesterday of the little one inside Shey, and I was thinking this morning of the strong steady sound that we heard, and how that rhythm, that strong and steady rhythm can be a song of hope in the midst of feeling overwhelmed. That I can keep taking steps with that rhythm going on in my heart and in my mind, and find strength for this new day.
It is so hard to believe that I may be finishing up my master's already. I will have finished my degree in only three years at Leland which may be one of the quickest for an M.Div. I have truly enjoyed my time there, and the education and development has been a really beautiful time in my life...hard, and wrenching at times, but beautiful. I've made some great friends there, and am looking forward to another strong semester of learning and growth.
That all being said, starting a new semester is really tough, I usually begin the semester muttering to myself: "There is no possible way that I'm going to be able to get all of this work done." This semester I'm also muttering: "There is no possible way that I'm going to get all of this work done, along with taking the time to enjoy these months with Shey before we have a child, work a full-time job, prepare to be a dad, and be a friend to others....and figure out how we are going to financially make it through Shey no longer working."
Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to see our child, to hold her/him (we find out on February 20 the sex of the baby), to be a parent with Shey...but I usually fall into a panic at the beginning of every semester that lasts about a week as I get going, and try to figure out how in the world all of the busy things in my life are going to work. You add the usual stress to the fact that our lives are beginning to go through a large transition (which I know is good, but still is scary sometimes!) and you get quiet Josh, the one who doesn't talk much, is slow to respond to anything, and who can't stand the inconsistencies in his life. How church makes me feel empty a lot, how I want to buy locally and organically, and never shop at Wal-Mart again, but I need a notebook for a class and don't know where else to buy one that isn't being sold by a major corporation in our town, and I want to really embrace the growth in the youth group, and the changes that I'm seeing in the kids, but am scared that I will fail them as a leader and friend.
Shey and I had a really great talk last night and we worked through some of this, and she is so wonderful at helping me have perspective and believe that this will all work out when I just want to sit and read Harry Potter and pretend that my classes don't exist. The funk that usually lasts for over a week is clearing already, though I'm still scared, still overwhelmed a bit, it is nice to be on the same page with Shey in the midst of my spinning head and thoughts. So I'm getting back on the saddle, with some new music, some great stories (thank you J.K. Rowling), and the excitement of a new beginning and new life. We heard the heartbeat again yesterday of the little one inside Shey, and I was thinking this morning of the strong steady sound that we heard, and how that rhythm, that strong and steady rhythm can be a song of hope in the midst of feeling overwhelmed. That I can keep taking steps with that rhythm going on in my heart and in my mind, and find strength for this new day.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
over lunch
on one of our few trips out over the holidays, i had an especially amazing conversation with Shey. i was telling Shey about how i wanted to possibly combine all my Christmas gifts from family to put some money towards a Mac. she proceeded to tell me that i only wanted a Mac because they are cool, and that by getting a Mac, i would think i was cool too. and then Shey said this:
"I transcend cool. Cool passes right through me and keeps on going."
my wife transcends cool. top that.
"I transcend cool. Cool passes right through me and keeps on going."
my wife transcends cool. top that.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
summer life
being about halfway through summer, i can't believe how fast the time is flying by, and how much there seems left to do. i have finally gotten into a good routine of reading. i finished The Kite Runner a couple of days ago and started on another novel called Chasing Francis: A Pilgrim's Tale that has been a quick read so far.
Shey had Lasik today, so i'm trying to get some stuff done while she sleeps after the surgery this afternoon. things went well...and over the next few days she should be healing up before we head out on a missions trip to my old hometown of Appomattox, VA on Sunday.
this summer has had a much different feel than summers past. there has been a lot of nagging pressure to "get things done" or to just "succeed" in some manner, whether work or school. i know a big part of it is that the summer just started off rough, with some hard things happening with friends, with my grandfather's death, and some busy-ness with school and family. the summer just hasn't been as settling as i hoped for...maybe after the trip next week things will feel better?
well, enough complaining. i've really been enjoying Wilco's new album Sky Blue Sky (even though some reviews have been kind of hard on the chillness of the album, it is up there in the top three for me of all Wilco albums). Ryan Adam's new album Easy Tiger is great too. And lest you think that I'm not still watching birds, here is a picture from a farm up the street with a bird that I'd venture to say is not quite native to VA:
Shey had Lasik today, so i'm trying to get some stuff done while she sleeps after the surgery this afternoon. things went well...and over the next few days she should be healing up before we head out on a missions trip to my old hometown of Appomattox, VA on Sunday.
this summer has had a much different feel than summers past. there has been a lot of nagging pressure to "get things done" or to just "succeed" in some manner, whether work or school. i know a big part of it is that the summer just started off rough, with some hard things happening with friends, with my grandfather's death, and some busy-ness with school and family. the summer just hasn't been as settling as i hoped for...maybe after the trip next week things will feel better?
well, enough complaining. i've really been enjoying Wilco's new album Sky Blue Sky (even though some reviews have been kind of hard on the chillness of the album, it is up there in the top three for me of all Wilco albums). Ryan Adam's new album Easy Tiger is great too. And lest you think that I'm not still watching birds, here is a picture from a farm up the street with a bird that I'd venture to say is not quite native to VA:
Thursday, June 21, 2007
midnight gardening
okay, so it wasn't quite midnight...but it was easily11:30 before all was done. i didn't have a chance to water the garden yesterday, and it was quite warm the last couple of days, so i asked the lovely wife and great friend Ben Owsley (who is the son of the Owsley family whose apartment we are renting) to join me in a special activity of which i like to call "midnight gardening." we gathered up some headlamps, pointed the truck lights onto the garden and watered away. we laughed a lot and got some sweet pictures. here's a picture of the three of us doing what we do best:
and in this picture Ben and I are doing our best zombie killer impression:
and lastly a nice picture of Shey and Ben as we gathered our watering buckets in the back of the truck and headed back home:
i'm taking a class this weekend on the theology of the pastor, and then preaching on sunday. the sermon title is "The Kingdom of God: God with Us" and the text will be Luke 4:14-30. i'll be sharing some of the things going on with Shey and I as we've had some hard stuff happening with family, and preaching on the importance of both being in community and including and welcoming people into the community that Jesus talks about from Luke 4.
i've got some rollins stuff i'd like to share, but will probably have to wait until next week. we'll see.
and in this picture Ben and I are doing our best zombie killer impression:
and lastly a nice picture of Shey and Ben as we gathered our watering buckets in the back of the truck and headed back home:
i'm taking a class this weekend on the theology of the pastor, and then preaching on sunday. the sermon title is "The Kingdom of God: God with Us" and the text will be Luke 4:14-30. i'll be sharing some of the things going on with Shey and I as we've had some hard stuff happening with family, and preaching on the importance of both being in community and including and welcoming people into the community that Jesus talks about from Luke 4.
i've got some rollins stuff i'd like to share, but will probably have to wait until next week. we'll see.
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