Monthly Archive for January, 2009

Thursday(s)

The other side of the fenceEvery Wednesday the fellows get together for a study or… a study, and we all come with a smile on our face and a spring in a step, singing, TGIW: Thank God It’s Wednesday! Yes, TGIW because we are only part-time interns, and on Thursday and Friday we take classes. Generally, I leave work on Wednesdays in a mostly exhausted stupor, leading me to consider such vague generalities as would cause even the most stalwart philosopher to despair. Last night, for instance, after hearing someone mention a picture like this one, I began to muse about how often I’ve listened to gentle caveats about wishing you were somewhere other than where you currently are. The grass, they say, really isn’t any greener once you’re on the other side of the fence. Since I’ve been handed the cynic cap in our group, so I promptly went to work on this “life lesson.” If everyone on one side thinks that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, and the people on the other side of the fence feel opposite, then maybe all grass just sucks. So ended my musings of the work week!

Still MeadowsThursdays are great, if only for the movement out of theoretical into the practical. We begin class promptly at 9:30. This semester we are taking “Cultural Engagement” with Wade Bradshaw. This lasts until 12:30 (my lifelong dream of a 3 hour morning class, finally!), after which I generally find myself racing to keep ahead of the clock as I run, eat lunch, cook dinner, and/or hang out with fellows until 3:15. For the last two weeks, God has smiled upon Thursdays to make them sunny and warm, compelling me to go for a run in the meadow. The combination of winter grass and sun turns the field positively golden, which really makes for a delightful time, hay bale sitting included.

Sometimes, I will cook dinner for the Phillips on Thursday. This generally leads to schedule panics, as I haven’t gathered enough time to squeeze planning, shopping and cooking into my week. However, to date the (sadly, only) several times I have actually cooked did turn out edible. Tonight made for a bit of a challenge as I attempted a gluten free Chicken Devan. It turned out… as a mostly tasteless chicken/broccoli combo–somewhat lacking. But I skip ahead.

The highlight of Thursday is tutoring with Abundant Life. Each fellow is paired with a student for the duration of the program (barring unfortunate circumstances like moving, etc. Sorry, Hayley). Let’s call my tutee Kevin; he is both a pain and a joy, but mostly a joy. Our times together involve math and reading, laughter and tears, secret handshakes and fists. I have been amazed and blessed to watch our frustrating weekly encounter turn into a friendship that seems to mean a lot to both of us. I pray it will bear much fruit in the years to come.

Post tutoring, I will rush home through gobs of traffic, sometimes cook and sometimes not, and then begin an evening of RRR: rest, reading, and reflection. These seldom happen, especially not in that order, but it’s a nice thought nonetheless. This is where I leave you tonight, on the verge of exhaustion as I sit in the Phillips den, soaking up the warmth from the fire as the ice-melted-to-water turns back to ice outside.

Year of the Tortoise

I’ve realized recently that in spite of all the many gadgets I own which promise to make me smarter, freer, more efficient and happy in every way, I am none of these things. Instead of being calm, cool and collected, I frenetically run from place to place and task to task, being everywhere and nowhere at once.

This is no way to live, but we fall from the mold with such habits already shaped:

On pretty weekends in the summer, this riverbank is the very verge of the modern world. It is a seat in the front row, you might say. On those weekends, the river is disquieted from morning to night by people resting from their work

This resting involves traveling at great speed, first on the road and then on the river. The people are in an emergency to relax. They long for the peace and quiet of the great outdoors. Their eyes are hungry for the scenes of nature. They go very fast in their boats. They stir the river like a spoon in a cup of coffee. They play their radios loud enough to hear above the noise of their motors. They look neither left nor right. They don’t slow down for–or maybe even see– an old man in a rowboat raising his lines.

((Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow, 331))

I would like to reclaim my life. This is the year of the tortoise– of deliberation, intentionallity, simplicity.