sacred spaces

The memorial service was Saturday at 3pm in a small office building off of Koenig, over near where Bart lives. He went with me, knowing I would need someone to lean on, knowing I shouldn't go alone. I had been alone a lot-- though not literally. I was in my head most of last week, unaware of my surroundings or my condition (much less the condition of others). It's strange how much time you can spend in your head, even during a conversation with someone. But Bart being there next to me helped to bring me back into my body, and into the small room meant to hold far more people than it was capable.

I was surrounded by faculty and staff, Melanie's friends and co-workers-- my co-workers-- everyone looking around awkwardly and no one knowing what to do. Once most of us were more or less seated, and after securing my own place in the back, the service began. There was a man who spoke about Buddhist beliefs and what happens after death. The only thing I can remember (and probably because it scared me to death) was when he spoke of thousands of Buddhas coming to greet Melanie. Tell me the thought of a thousand fat men in diapers running at you doesn't freak you out. Then there was chanting and gonging, and more gonging and chanting. The people in the front had their eyes closed and kept rubbing beads together as they chanted. The harmonies were beautiful at times, haunting at others, and in continual motion as people went forward to offer incense to Melanie.

I think I was asked by one lady 3 separate times if I wanted to offer incense up to Melanie. This was supposed to wish her a speedy journey to her next life, so that she could reunite with her family. No-- I didn't want to offer incense up. I didn't want to the first time, and I very much didn't the third time. All I really wanted was to grab that lady's shoulders and shake her, yelling, "She isn't passing to a new life here on earth-- she isn't reuniting with her family-- incense isn't going to get her there any faster!" But feeling this might be inappropriate, I just squeezed poor Bart's hand even tighter.

I was angry-- and that inexplicable anger welled up in my throat where my tears should have been. I was angry for Melanie. I felt that we had wronged her. I felt like if we had loved her the way we were made to love, if people had been living with her, walking along-side her in a transparent state, if we had shared hope and love and joy with her-- that she would still be here and we wouldn't be crammed in this room, choking on anger and incense. My broken heart was angry too-- thinking of her in those final hours-- hopeless and alone-- and all I could think of was that if she called on those thousand Buddhas waiting for her-- they would never answer BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT THE ONE TO CALL OUT TO. Her faith was empty. If she cried out to them-- no one would answer her. You can not know true hope or joy without God-- the two are inseparable. True hope and joy (and love, for that matter) are of God, and do not exist apart from Him.

So I tried to pray. I tried to pray amidst the crowded heads, the overwhelming heat of the room, the sickening smell of too much incense and too many bodies, the chanting that grew louder and louder-- the chanting so intense that the mere thought of thinking was painful. I wish I had a better description for what happened next, but you will have to bare with my somewhat sci-fi description, in that I felt that, as I prayed, my prayers were being sucked from me by the room. It embarrasses me to write this, but "swirling vortex" is the only term that seems to fit the feeling of offering my prayers up to God, only to have some force in the room pull them from me before they could enter His ears.

Confused and startled, I looked around the room for whatever it was that was keeping me from praying for the people around me. The thing that caught my eye was the door to my left, about 20 feet from me, which stood slightly ajar due to the constant flow of people in and out of the sweltering room. The light falling through the door and onto the floor seemed speak to my heart. This is a literal statement. I wasn't to know at that time what was keeping me from praying inside of this place, but I knew in my heart that the second I walked out that door I would be able to pray, shout, scream to Him... just not in here. When the service was over, I grabbed Bart and we bolted.

In a conversation that I had with Jan on Monday, I stated that sometimes I feel the same swirling vortex when I pray in another specific location. Before this conversation, I had never realized it before. It is as if, in these locations, I am unable to commune with God. It isn't that He did not want to hear me, but that I needed to go outside of these places in order to be able to speak to Him. I'm still working through all of this, as it caught me by extreme surprise, and I have yet to truly understand what is going on inside of these places where the swirling-vortexes-of-prayer-sucking exist. But I don't think the origin of the problem is the what He is currently teaching me, but rather, pointing out the significance of something else.

(Dang-- sometimes she really takes a while to get to the point...)

In my history seminar on Monday, called "Faith in the Fifties," we were discussing a debate we read about structural architecture of church buildings. You would not believe the things they fought about or the arguments that were made. And I learned that-- apparently-- you can not worship God in a building with Gothic architecture. Go figure. So we're discussing architecture and going off on how stupid these people are that the location of the pulpit and steeple and foyer are so important to them, when our professor leads us back to their actual concern. To those people these things WERE important, because they saw the sanctuary as the place where God was. Their focus (in some semi-twisted way) was that God would be there. This was strange to many of us in the class, as we focus on the congregation being there, and once they are there-- God will be there, no matter the building. My church meets in a high school auditorium-- I can't imagine how those architecturally consumed men would have felt about that!

But the point of our discussion came down to "sacred space." Sacred space to the people from our readings meant that God would be there in that space. This got me to thinking about these places that I felt like God wasn't there (or chose not to be), and where I choose to meet Him. I guess I've just begun to see the importance of finding that sacred space-- whatever it looks like to you. For some, it may be a sanctuary or an alter, or maybe even a prayer room. For others, maybe it is a spot by a lake, a cliff over the city, a sunset or sunrise, or even a storm. There are places in which our communication with God is stronger, places where we better commune with Him, hear Him, worship Him. I'm trying to find my place, I guess.

I'm so prone to distraction, I'm so prone to watching the clock. My mind races 24/7, it feels, and all I want is a place to slow down to meet with Him. I'm looking for a place to withdraw from life and enter into Him. That isn't to say I don't commune with Him daily and don't encounter Him throughout my life. It's just that there were specifics places at certain times where I felt Him in a very powerful way. At one point, it was in walking around Austin. I felt alive and in Him as I walked and prayed. At one point, it was in a church body, when all voices praised Him with one voice and one passion. And at another point, I felt Him so strongly in my sorority house and when I was loving on my sisters and praying for them.

I think, right now, I'm still looking. But I guess that is part of my journey-- discovering the sacred spaces in my life.

all you get is me

I'm okay. Thanks for all of your kind words of encouragement, and especially for all of the prayers. I am okay. I promise. Or I will be. I guess... I'm on the path to okay-ness. Something like that.

I had a lot going on in my head and in my life before last week's events unfolded, and now I feel like I can no longer deny them they're place in the forefront of my mind, i.e. I must now deal with them. That's a good thing. I need to keep telling myself that.

I have some amazing friends, and I don't love on them enough. Bart-- thanks for listening... and listening... and listening. You deserve a medal. But all you get is me... sucker... And hold me to what I said. I need accountability. To Nicole and Julie-- thank you for hugs and for living with me. I know I'm not fun right now and I know I seem like I'm up in my head a lot. I am. But thank for hanging out with me even in those times. (And thanks for the work-out today. I feel great tonight-- but I'll hate you tomorrow...)

I lie a lot. Mostly to myself. I'm gullible-- especially when I'm the one lying. I had two very honest conversations today, and one naked one last night. They were difficult, but necessary.

This post is strange, but I felt like I needed to update and explain-- especially since people are apparently reading again-- and welcome back :) They'll get better as I do. But for now, all you get is me... suckers....

bilmiyorum

In Turkish, "bilmiyorum" means "I don't know." That's where I am right now... I don't know. I feel like reality has been weighty since I returned to school. There was the murder across the street from me, my Gran getting very ill and going into the hospital, the hurricane victims, and then Melanie. In college, it is pretty easy to detach from the outside world, but occasionally reality breaks through and takes over. That's where I am right now... in reality. Strange, but true.

Last night Bart (www.bartemeo-negro.blogspot.com) cancelled his plans and took me to the movies. 'The Constant Gardener' was definitely another dose of reality, but a good one. I highly recommend it. But Bart and I got to talk quite a bit (which is what we usually do), and he let me ramble. I told him about how I shared my faith with her this summer, and how she didn't believe-- that's the part that's eating me up inside.

I just don't know how to feel or what to do. Bilmiyorum.


(Bart wrote a little about our chat on his blog, too, if you want to check it out (Sept. 8th post). His blog is one of my favorites-- if you happen to like reading blogs. He is also an amazing photographer, poet, and a very dear friend.)


PS- This is completely unrealated, but it made me smile today, so I figured I would share it:

"Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities."
C. S. Lewis

for melanie

I wanted to write something eloquent, something beautiful, in her honor. I tried. It started out okay, I guess, but then I realized that I was trying to paint a veneer over something very flat, and the luster was inappropriate. Her life had a shine, her death did not. She took her own. I don't know details, just that it was yesterday, and that I'll never see her again.

I don't think I'll ever understand it. I sit alone in the office now, just 2 hours after getting the news, and as I type, the phone on her desk is ringing. I wonder if they realize that she is gone. I wonder if they will leave a message.

I've often wondered if we get messages when we die-- little FYI's that we never got throughout life. I wonder if wives find out husbands cheated, or if misunderstandings come to light-- if we find out that the reason someone was the way they were because they were molested as a child, or because they were beaten every night by their boyfriend. I wonder if when we die, we get these messages that explain life, explain things we never understood about actions and characters and personalities and repercussions. I wonder if I'll find out how many open doorways I was too busy to walk through. I wonder if that understanding would even matter. I mean-- we're dead-- what good would it do? But I would want to know. I would desire transparency even in death. And I truly believe that if more of us were more transparent in life, less things like this would happen. If we trusted and confided and leaned on and supported, if we invested and nurtured-- growing and living life together-- more of us would survive. More of us would thrive.

If I could leave a message for her now, it would be this:

I prayed for you all summer. I loved talking to you. Thank you for being so interested in my life and for sharing part of yours with me. I couldn't wait to tell you today that I got Dalai Lama tickets, and to see if you got yours. I'm sorry you were in so much pain. I had no idea. I wish you wouldn't have done that. I wish you would've cried out. I wish I would have heard you. The orchid on your desk can't even stand up anymore, now that you are gone. I wish that you weren't. I will miss you. Goodbye.

I ask that you pray for her husband and for her close co-worker, Cynthia.

catch me if you can

Updating this blog is kinda like when you you write in a diary for a while, and then leave it, and then when you come back you feel like you have to update before you can write what you really want to write, but by the time you update-- you're so exhausted that you don't write what you really want to write. Aware of this phenomena, I decided to give you the summer on fast forward-- sort of a "summer in brief" with the aid of some pictures. After tonight, I'll write. Hmmm... that sounds nice. Yes, I'll write.

Hokay. So. I spent a lot of time with my family this summer in Dripping Springs... aren't they adorable?!

I got 3 of these, "these" being flat tires. Two of them were in one day. Sadly, It is NOT the first time I've gotten two flats in one day. Mom always said I was gifted. Anyways-- I'm killer at changing tires now-- but don't call me because I'm sick of it :)

Then, Bethie got married. No surprise, but still so weird. She and Warren are very happy together. But it's still a little weird. She's younger than me, and did I mention that it's still a little weird? Eh... I'll get over it.

Moving on... I tried my hand at painting something with emotion, but no one got it. One person actually thought it looked like a girl with intense cramps. I'll stick to painting words on posters from now on.

Julie came home! She and I literally talked almost everyday this summer. She was in DC, working at the State Department. I am now the proud owner of a shot glass from said State Department.

And finally, Nicole came home from Oxford! We missed her a bit... can you tell?

Then there was work week... where we worked. (For those who are not familiar with this barbaric ritual, work week is the intense period of preparation before recruitment. It typically includes yelling til your voice abandons you, sharing a cold with all of your sister until they all sound like men and chain-suck cough drops, and going crazy from too many hours spent inside the house. And yet, we continue to do it year after year...)

And then the end of Recruitment! These are a few shots from the final day of Recruitment, known as Bid Day. I have some incredible new sisters!

And then school started. I survived the first three days, then took off to Ft. Worth for a conference, came back and saw my family, did a ton of laundry, followed by a ton of homework, and then it is off to school again. We're waking up extra early tomorrow to try to get Dalai Lama tickets-- oh dang-- that's like 5 hours from now. Ahh... back into the swing of things...