A good church.

I recently moved to Cleveland, and for a girl whose known very little other than Syracuse,NY and Grove City, PA, it's been an interesting transition to say the least. I don't mind living alone, though I do bake more and I am slowly learning to master the omelet, but living in a big city can get you down. And Cleveland is just the right size to be a total downer. See, there's not so much going on like NY, LA, Boston or Chi-town that a single girl could distract herself with. And there's not as much hiking, skiing or green grass around to satisfy the hipster country girl in my soul. (Cleveland doesn't have parks downtown like other cities, at least not ones with grass...that I've found yet) And so one gets lonely here, in fact, I think Cleveland has a better chance of crushing your soul than any other city. It doesn't swallow you whole like NY or LA, it chews you up and spits you out.

That said, it's not all bad, I like my job, I can see both buildings from my apartment, we apparently have a great art museum, theater district, and fresh market which old man winter has deterred me from exploring, and the rock n roll hall of fame and cavs are here too. But if you don't know anyone it's difficult to venture out and enjoy these things.

I miss my friends and I miss my family, and I am having a harder time meeting people than ever before. Mainly I think b/c there's some social stigma about really being friends with the people you work with (you never have this in high school and college) and no one bothers to really help you meet people (sure you have orientation and you're introduced around the office, have happy hours, but lets be honest, this is all done in an effort to get you to cooperate with your peers for the benefit of the company. Just get to know each other enough, but you're not going to find your bf or bff at work) If you have any sort of faith, finding friends can be even harder. Trying to find someone who would rather go to the movies than get wasted on a Saturday night is surprisingly hard to do these days, especially with the "young professionals": we have a lot of money and no one but ourselves to spend it on.

When talking to my friends about this dilemma, especially when I was back at my Alma Mater last weekend, the question inevitability arises: "Have you found a good church yet?" sometimes said in curiosity, but more often than not, as if the affirmative answer holds the key to all my troubles. Oh you haven't met anyone, well have you found a good church? oh you need something to do on weekends, have you found a good church, oh I'm sorry you miss your friends here but have you found a good church?

What these people fail to realize is that I had a good church, a great one, I still do. The problem is I am estranged from it. No I'm not talking about a building or a denomination. I'm talking about the relationships I had while at grove city. Ones I still am trying to maintain through letters, emails and phone calls, but its not the same. I imagine this is how the early church felt with their leaders and friends spread out around the globe. Paul did not cease to encourage his brothers and sisters when he was far from them, and he often longed to be with them. But his place was elsewhere and he needed to be focused there. Lucky for him, he usually had at least one guy with him.

I moved out here alone, and while I must be forward looking, it's hard not to compare the churches I go to, to the one I had. To yearn for the people who already know me intimately. To not have to start over.

It also makes me wonder, what to you makes a good church? What do they mean have I found a good church? Actually I got this great little place where we're having grape kool aid on Sunday? nope. how do we measure a church? is it what's "right for us", are the teachings scriptural? Let me tell you, if they aren't, it is a bad church, get out, get out now. But I wouldn't be going to a church where the teachings aren't biblical, and my friends know that so what do they mean? When catching up with a classmate who was also there last weekend, he asked me that question, and I said, well, I've found a church, (it's not hard to do, look in the yellow pages, talk to anyone you know, go online and search for your cities churches, read an online statement of faith etc) but I'm not sure I wanna plug in yet, it's a little 'seeker friendly' which is great, especially downtown, but I think I want to be around a body that's more mature in their faith (see Hebrews 5:11-14 if you disagree with me). But I'm making sure I'm going to church every Sunday, somewhere, so that I can at least try to meet new people.

But what I also said to this classmate was that I haven't found anything like Grace (a church I went to while at school) and his response was "well it's not about Grace, it's about God" which took me back, and I thought, wow, way to call me out, you're right. It's not...except that it is... the thing I love about Grace is the people, the genuine love they have for each other, worshiping with others who I know would hold me accountable, who truly desire to know how I'm doing, what I'm struggling with and how they can help me. That we break bread together and recite the liturgy (which as an intellectual I love, but as a generally emotional worshiper, am surprised that I would like a church with a liturgical base) and pray with each other, striving to grow more in our Lord. I miss that. and I haven't found that in a church yet...and here's why...I haven't connected with the people in a church yet. Finding a good church is really really hard. It's not something you can do in a month and a half (how long I've been here)because it's not just about the doctrine or the worship or the preaching, those, in some form are in every church. What makes it a good church is how the people interact, how they love each other. And that is something that takes time to experience. With Grace it was easy. I already knew all the people from college, and so to go there and say it was a good church was easy for me. Pastor Ethan's teaching was strong and biblical, I enjoyed the liturgy, and thanks to my brothers and sisters, left feeling uplifted and full of the joy of the Lord (manifested by their love for me).

Now I feel like I'm going to church to go. Because I should, when I could talk to God just as easily at home. I could call up a spiritual mentor and seek their wisdom as easily as I could that of some pastor. This is why it's not easy to find a good church. Because as the pastor at the church I've been attending said this morning. It should not be about the building. The church is not the building. It's the body, and we are called to come together and support each other, which is why I wish when someone asked me in response to my sadness and loneliness, "have you found a good church yet" they would instead say, I'm sorry sister, what can I do, how can I help. Could I call you more, do you like letters, what if I took time to visit, or I have a friend out there I could introduce you to. Why do we think that because we no longer worship together because of distance we must be separated? That it's someone else's job to shepherd that person? It's not.

A good church is a wonderful thing. Don't let it become an excuse for you not intentionally pursuing a relationship with someone. Don't make it the be all end all. Because here's the rub...it's not about a church, it's about God. But when I moved away to Cleveland I didn't move away from God. I moved away from my church. From my friends and believers who strengthened me. I have God, He is always with me. What I need is for his children to come alongside me, and me alongside them. that's the thing...if it's not about *insert churches name* then it's not about finding "a good church" Overall it's about communion with our Lord alongside our brothers and sisters. and in a mediocre church I can do that, but when it comes to needing someone to be with me and pray and just spend time with me, I need a good church. I don't care if some of that church is spread out (technology eliminates that excuse) and I do need a good church here, but it may not come for a while.

So next time someone comes to you with troubles, especially if it's someone distanced from you, don't ask them if they've "found a good church" be that good church for them. Encourage them to worship with believers where they are, but don't think just because you are separated from them by distance you are no longer your brothers keeper. Be a good church.

For Souvenir & Other Women.

When I picked up her picture I couldn't put it back down. I tried to, I tried to make excuses in my head, I don't have the money, I don't have a job, how could I take repsonsibility of a child? I had friends who had sponsored, my friend Mel said she never had to worry about making her payments, God always provided. It hit me then that I was just a vessel, and so I went back to the table. I scanned the faces looking for, I don't know, what do people look at when they scan those? The cutest kid? The kid in the worst country? My eyes fell on Souvenir and I couldn't look away. I knew she was the one. I picked her up, still hestitant if I could commit to taking care of her, even from miles and miles away. I just felt convicted to make her life better. I had just read Devil on the Cross by Ngugi the year before for literary criticism, I think it's technically out of print, but if you can find it, read it. And I felt convicted about the very real hardships women in other countries are still facing.

Today is international women's day,a "global day celebrating the economic, political and social achievements of women past, present and future." Today I'm thinking and praying about little Souvenir, that she would be protected from rape and other male abuse, that she would find drinking water, and food for her family, that she would be kept free from the burden that is HIV, that she could go to school and learn, and love learning as much as I do. That she would grow up to be a strong vibrant woman, the head of her household.

For me, today is not so much about equality, in the workplace, or in my relationships, it's not about, women losing their jobs because they got pregnant, or getting paid less than men. Though I think these things are unfair, what I'm focused on is making sure girls like Souvenir get to grow up in a world that respects them. That she would not be seen as weak or easily manipulated because she is a woman. No matter what your views on today are (and I've heard plenty of ridiculous ones this morning) remember that there are little girls out there who should know that they are beautiful and loved. They should know that they are precious and do not deserve to be abused or in pain. They should know that they can do anything, even if it is "just" staying home and managing their family, because that is not an easy task.

nor is it always enough for us. Some of us are strong intellectual women who crave a family, but also desire to be something, to bring something else of worth into the world, as a woman and a writer I struggle with this tension but I also revel in it. That I was created to be whatever I want to be, and my parents loved me enough and supported me enough to let me be whatever I want to be. I pray that Souvenir feels the same thing.

I hope you understand today that it's not about equality in everything, it is, for me, equality in the important things. Her safety, her understanding, her value of herself as a person and not a lesser creature. I hope you will understand, and maybe even help.

Daughter you wear my name, those are my eyes keep em raised.

Chad Stokes has been haunting my mind since I moved to Cleveland. Since I live downtown now, I walk pretty much everywhere, and everywhere I walk I pass by a homeless man of woman on the street asking me to help them out. The other night Peaches was watching my friend's money exchange hands as hers shook "from the cold." Today I passed a man on a corner selling newspapers. I admire this, and these are the only guys I'll give change to. The newspaper is put out by a local shelter and some of the articles are written by the guys on the street. The sellers wear badges with their names on them and ask for whatever you can spare in exchange for the paper.

To make it easier on my conscience, and force of habit, I rarely care small bills or change, so when I tell them I can't help them out today, I mean it. I don't have change. and When I offer them a homemade cookie as consolation from the container in my hands, they shake their heads and so no thank you miss. I hear the repetition of the phrase "could you help me get somethin to eat" over and over as I walk to and from work each day and inevitably I too try to avoid eye contact as I meet the speaker. Enter Chetro. "he wasn't beggin' he was just keepin' time with his cup. You go on and believe that, and keep your eyes straight up." The lyrics to Gunship Politico haunt my mind, provoking questions.

"do you think if you don't look at him he'll go away?" "Do you think if you pretend to cough, or dial a number on you're phone he won't know you're ignoring him" "Why don't you help him?" "Do you think that just because you spent a week volunteering once you have any idea what HIS life is like?" "Do you really think that just because you don't have spare change, you don't have change to spare?"

The thing is, I know not to give them money, not because I assume they're alla boose hounds or that they wouldn't buy food with it. I know that places like the salvation army and rescue mission can help them more, and that the men who are going to them for help really want it and want what they cna give. Especially since you have to be clean to live at the mission. I have shared meals with these men, and stories. I have heard their testimonies and experienced their rejections and their baptisms. When I pass the men on the street I don't just see a homeless guy, I see Will, and Ace and the other men I shared breakfast lunch and dinner with for a week. I hear their stories in my head and it makes me want to know the stories of these new men in this new city. It makes my heart break that I look away just like everyone else.

It's hard to do anything else. Managers of shelters will tell you not to give the men money, that it's better to donate to the shelter so they can get the men what they need. But how many people do you think walk by these men shaking their heads and justify not reaching out to them because "they would just spend it on alcohol anyways"and never do anything else. I do it every day. I know the stories, I heard the lies first hand, and I adviced my team about them when we volunteered at the mission. But just because they lie to you, they tell you a story that either they think will make you help them, or that they wish were the truth, it doesn't make them any less needy.

So what do I do about the haunting voices of Chad Stokes and Jacob Dylan tormenting my conscience wherever I go? I write a blog post. I pray for the men, and I think that when I'm not living pay check to pay check I'll be able to do more for them. I remember that I've been told by people who work closely with these men everyday that I shouldn't give them money. I cut them off to save their breath and smile apolgetically as they say "thanks anyways sweetheart" and move on to the next pedestrian. and my heart breaks. and I hope that someone who reads this who can reach out, will reach out and buy a paper or give a donation to the mission or the Y or the salvation army. Or even better buy them lunch or dinner or a breakfast sandwhich and a cup of coffee.

Nothing

This is one of those nights when you want nothing more than to write but you sit staring at the blank page unable to commit yourself to anything of substance. Well not you, me. I'm staring it a blank page wondering why I can't think of anything to write and praying that whatever ghost inspired ginsberg would posess me and breathe life into my hands, into the keys. Wondering if I write about nothing long enough, will something come. Wishing I knew where to find inspiration and thinking of everything and nothing at once. craving sleep but yearning to do something more with my life.
The line keeps running through my mind: "I saw the best minds of my generation"... who are the best minds of my generation? where are they hiding, why haven't I met them, why aren't I one of them? could I find them and follow them around.

SEO day 3

Hullo Dad, and anyone else who happens to read this. My humblest apologies for the delay in posts, but my life as been rather hectic lately.
For the inspiration on these verses.
On Monday I started a new job as a content writer at Rosetta, an advertising agency in Cleveland. This morning I got my first indepth introduction to exactly what I will be doing. Search Engine Optimization is structuring your webpage, and writing content for said webpage in such away as to increase the visibility within organic search engine results. (aka the ones not sponsored/paid for) I have a much better understanding of what this is, now I just need to figure out how to apply my flowery writing skills in order to dominate this task. It's my job to create a page that will drive search engines and therefore, users to it based on what I write, and how I write it.

This is still a relatively new method in the agency world and very new to me. We write for users first, but then optimize that content for search engines. My skills so far have honed in on writing for professors first and others second with little or no focus on what search engines want to see. If Gertrude Stein wanted Hemingway to quit his job as a journalist to focus on his writing, I shudder to think of her opinion of my chosen career. If Hemingway had spent time and energy writing in form and content appropriate for his paper, we would not have several great ex-patriot American novels. However, If Hemingway had not been a journalist, he would not have developed the sentence style which characterizes said novels.

While Stein felt he could not be a writer while being a journalist, Hemingway, truly, could not have been one without having first been the other. Part of being a writer is learning how to mimic the voices of others, the styles of others, and through this you discover your own voice.

SEO content writers are crafty, intentional, concise, and even, as those who disapprove of the ad industry in general might say, sneaky. Search Engines are not witty, they don't understand puns or double entendre, and they don't care if your English professor would have found your writing profound and insightful. That being said, you, or rather, I, do not need to eliminate these elements from our writing. We must write for the reader first, understanding that they will appreciate our slight witicisms, but prominantly focus our strategic keywords at the top-lefthand side of the page where both reader and search engine begin their scan. Stategically placed keywords will draw the search engine to the site without overloading the reader.

As consumers, you, and my colleagues in the English department, might find this underhanded. However, all we are doing is helping you find what you need, and our clients happen to have it. Without SEO content writers you would scour the internet looking for the right site, with the product you were looking for. We'd much rather do the work for you, it helps us, helps our clients, and we get all warm and fuzzy helping you too! So when you're looking to build your own watch, and you want to know who will let you do that, you go to Google. If you search "buils your own watch" Fossil is the second website that will showup in the search results. This is not just because we manipulated the website design, it's because that's what they do, and that's what you want them to do. It brings a whole new meaning to online matchmaking services.

All that to say, I'm pretty excited about this new job and the ability to do what I love share my gift with others. Who knows, maybe someday it will help me to write the next great American novel.

The mother of us all

If it weren't for this contraption on my lap and the fact that the fireplace is gas and not woodburning I would feel exactly as though I had gone back in time. It's quiet here in the lobby of my old college dormitory. You can see the beams in the ceiling and the detailed woodwork on the cabinets and chairs. I can picture students here years ago chatting about Lewis and Tolstoy as they sat around the fireplace with coffee and tea. Of course you can't do that now, no food or beverages allowed. Earlier it wasn't so quiet. The cleaning ladies were in, polishing furniture, vacuuming and gossiping complaints about their job or social life. It really terrified me as I read Kerouac's Dharma Bums that my first thought was "servants should be seen not heard" (or not even seen) I wanted to read (and later nap) in peace and that was not going to happen. What a snob I am. First, they are not my servants, I'm not rich enough to have servants, and even if I were I probably wouldn't because I like to do the work myself, generally speaking. Second, I don't even live here anymore! Who am I to complain that they are doing their work as they do everyday and I'm interrupting it with my presence. However, I kept my mouth tightly shut, chastised myself for such cruel and silly thoughts and went on to read a lovely chapter in Kerouac and promptly nap when the vacuuming had finished.
Now it's quiet. there are a few of us in here studying, speaking only in hushed tones, and some girls traipsing in and out as they go to and from their dorm rooms. The sounds here echo, something about the construction and the high ceiling in the adjacent room. It's actually a lovely feature if you aren't trying to nap. and I'm not anymore so it's grand.
I do wonder what's gone on in this room over the years, did a literary rebel such as myself sit here and read on a couch like this in front of this fire? How about a time when all the boys came visiting because girls couldn't even go over to their dorm rooms? Just through the doors two rooms away is the old cafeteria where only the girls dined, but the men would come over to serve them. I think that's a lovely concept. I'm all for liberated women, I don't think I could live in a time when it wasn't acceptable for me to wear jeans and a t-shirt out and about. I don't know how Ms. Alcott did it. But there is something to be said for chivalry.
I was thinking the other day, after reading chapter 5, that perhaps we have liberated ourselves too far. In order to be seen as equals, to be taken seriously by men, I believe at times we have devalued ourselves and our sex. Men are free and easy about sex and women have over the course of time come to the belief that they as well should be free, and quite literally easy. Believing, as I think is part of Kerouac's point, (though I hate to be the type to put thoughts to a work which were unintended by it's author) that since a woman cannot be equal to a man physically, mentally, spiritually, we can at least be so sexually. And so we do what men want, thinking it's what we want and we lose our true selves in the process. We wind up naked, curled in a ball on the kitchen floor "just for nothing, just to do it." Kerouac writes over and over how she liked it, she really did, it allowed her to be "the mother of us all" to be on an equal playing field with the men, her sex allowed her to be a "Bodhisattva" (just the way the holy concubines were taken back in the day). I can't be sure if Kerouac wants us to believe this, or wants to demonstrate that his main character Ray is trying to make himself believe it by saying over and over how she really did like it...it seems he's protesting too much. Especially since Ray has doubts about the whole experience because of his belief that lust leads to birth and birth to pain and death.
I find it interesting we still expect so much of men when we are the ones who have lowered the standards. We laugh at the saying, "no man will buy the cow when he can get the milk for free" and yet so many of us live it everyday. and, we or society have convinced ourselves that it's what we want. We just want to be wanted and loved and so we settle, for less than our best and so drive our men to settle for less than their best.
I don't intend for this to be a treatise on the negative effects of the feminist movement (like I said, I love wearing pants) But I also question if we have let "equality of the sexes" go too far and what it's impact will be on the future of our society? I consider myself more of a feminist than many of the women here at a christian conservative college, but I suppose if you stuck me at Berkley I'd be a prude. I wish others of my sex could learn to revel in the strength, power and beauty of being a woman and try to be less like men. Though I suppose I'm the worst to judge on that subject, considering myself a "tom-boy" who would rather watch and play sports than watch a chick flick, or play with dolls. At college I discovered the power and joy of femininity and I wonder if we valued ourselves and our sex more for what it is, than try to be what it is not, if we couldn't make a more powerful impact on the world around us?

Few and Far between

I have been writing. Just not here. There's something about writing in my journal that just feels more true. It's as though when I open up my moleskin to a blank new page I feel connected with Hemingway and other great writers in a way that I just don't feel when typing on the computer. Granted right now I'm reading Dharma Bums for the first time and there is something about typing that makes me feel connected to Kerouac. (even if he had a typewriter, not a computer) There is a free flow to Dharma Bums which is similar to my stream of conscious writing on the computer. A disjointed, poetic drunkenness that is strong and beautiful. Sometimes I wonder what Kerouac would think of our modern interpretations of his works. If he would tell me nicely that I am an idiot (which I doubt since at the beginning of Dharma Bums he's all about kindness) or if he would just smile at my naivete and say nothing, or if he would think I actually got it on some level.
Point being (Dad) I have been writing. I suppose it doesn't do any good to keep it wrapped up in my journal. If you write to change the world you have to risk exposure and failure, something I'm constantly fearful of.

Silver webs shiver in golden shadows,
The fading glory of another day.
Naked bones stretch to the sky
Hungry, yearning to be made new.

The broken bark sticks hard in my back,
A harsh reminder of reality
As the golden orb slowly sinks
the horizon alters its hue

A crisp clear blue, burned off haze,
unhindered by chasing clouds.
I drink deep the cool fall air
sweetened by an early moon

Peace comes easily in Autumn.


Some days I think I'm a terrible poet. probably because I don't try terribly hard to understand all that rhyme and meter and scanning stuff Dr. Potter tries so desperately to teach me. I think I'm just more of a free verse poet, or as I like to say, a lazy poet. But sometimes, I write something that I think just brushes the surface of something beautiful and I'm almost proud. Proud enough at least to expose myself to the world for its caprice.
I will try to write here more often. until then.