Micromanaging Miracles

Yesterday as we were getting ready to leave for church, my spouse commented on my blog piece about Martha, whose feast day was Saturday.  He said, "I really like the way you talked about micromanaging the miracles.  Is that idea original to you?"

I said, "I wouldn't be surprised if someone else has also come up with it, but I didn't get it from anywhere else."

He said, "You should write a book with that title."

"I should figure out if I've already written a book where that title could apply."

I've since been thinking of my long-neglected collection of essays that is part memoir and part devotional meditation.  One of the things that long stymied me was finding a good title.  Perhaps now I have found one!

I went back this morning to make sure that I used the essay about Saint Martha that used that idea, and I did.  I'm trying not to beat myself up for how many years I've been working on this project.

I have so many book-length works, and so little progress towards publication.  I remind myself that it's not for lack of trying--although I do get to a certain point, often after 15-20 unsuccessful submissions, where I am too discouraged to keep going.  And yes, I know all about the works of literature that were submitted so many more times, only to be published to eventual success.  I also know of many more equally worthy works who have never found publication.
 
I don't feel as discouraged about submitting smaller pieces, like the individual poem or short story.  Is it because I am less invested?  No one ever expects to be able to leave their day job after a poem is published.  But most people I know who write have dreams of being able to leave their other work so that they can devote themselves to creative work.

Maybe it's time to start thinking about an alternate approach to submissions.  I tend to make a submission here or there during down times during the day--maybe I should also submit larger works.  I know I don't want to self-publish--I'd like a mainstream publisher who already has some resources, especially in terms of distribution, in place.

As we head into autumn, let me think about my goals, just to make sure that I'm still on trajectories that can serve me well.

Grace Notes in Concrete

Yesterday morning, I had some time to work on my memoir project.  I took several blog posts about Valentine's Day and tried to weave them into one coherent essay.

In the middle of the morning, my words were put to a real-life test.  My spouse has been working on home repairs, and he's at his most unpleasant when repairs aren't going well.

Yesterday, repairs weren't going well.  When I asked if I could help, he snarled, "There's a whole clipboard of projects, all of which need doing."  And he stomped off, slamming the door on the way.

I was tempted to go to work early, to let him stew.  But I know that part of his persona comes out of his feeling of frustration and being overwhelmed at the extent of the project.  And I had my own words in my head:

"I think Martin Luther went too far in deciding that marriage wouldn't be a sacrament in the Lutheran church. Nothing has ever helped me understand the nature of God's love better than my marriage, except, perhaps, the love of my parents for me. Nothing else, except, perhaps Communion, is so much an 'outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible Grace' (as the Anglican Book of Common Prayer describes a sacrament).


I am always amazed and grateful when my husband forgives me for the boneheaded things I do. I'm even more amazed that he's often forgiving me for making the same mistakes again and again.

These are not major mistakes. I don't go out and cheat on him, for example. But I'm often irritated and grumpy, and I lash out, and I realize I've been a jerk, so I apologize and ask for forgiveness. And he kisses me and says, "Don't worry about it." And again and again, I feel blessed with a kind of marital grace.

And of course, I do the same for him. And in this daily practice of love and forgiveness, I come to understand God's love for me--and I am able to carry a similar love out into the world."

And so, I went to help. I am not the best at home repairs, but the work I did was not work that he had to do.  And there is value to companionship, to not feeling alone in the world.  We worked until lunch and enjoyed a picnic by the pool.  And then I went to work.

When I returned home, my husband had written a love note of sorts in the concrete that he had poured:  "Kristin rocks."  I love the permanence of it.  I love knowing that it would probably not exist, had I not had my words in my head, which convinced me to forgive my husband's bad mood, even before he asked for it.

I love this idea of grace.  It's hard for me to imagine being part of a religious community that's not firmly rooted in the idea of grace.  It's one of my favorite aspects of being a Lutheran.

Ten Years of the Create in Me Retreat

We are back from Create in Me, the creativity and spirituality retreat that we go to every year. It's not too early to plan for next year--join a great group the week-end after Easter to explore the intersections of creativity and spirituality.

Ten years ago, I went to a Wild Women retreat with my mom and sister. I found myself wanting to talk about work-life balance in terms of creative work, and found no one who was wrestling with that issue. At the end of the retreat, Pastor Mary Canniff-Kuhn mentioned the Create in Me retreat. I remember thinking, that's the one I should have gone to! And then, I realized I still could, and I did--one of the better decisions I've made.

That first year I went all by myself.  I was a little nervous, but I told myself, "Worst case scenario, I'll have extra time in the mountains.  I'll rock on a porch and read if no one is friendly."  But that year, dinner on the first day was included, and I sat at a table with two women who looked friendly.  Happily they were, and we travelled together through the retreat.  Everyone was fairly new to the retreat, since it was a newer retreat, only in its second or third year.  Everyone was friendly.  I left knowing that I would return.

This retreat has nourished me in all sorts of ways.  Obviously, it has nourished me as both an artist and a Christian.  I have lots of friends who are artists and lots of friends who are Christians, but not many who live in both camps.  It's wonderful to be in a community where I can be out of the closet about my art and my faith.

As an artist, I've discovered many new art forms.  Even if I don't come home and use them routinely, it's great to experiment and play.  My house is now full of interesting things I've made, like the wind chimes on the porch, made at one retreat, and a variety of mosaics, a technique we learned to do a different year.

It's also been great to work in art forms that have always attracted me, and to see what it's really like.  I always thought I would like to have a loom of my own, until I worked on one.  I quickly realized it wouldn't be interesting enough to justify the space it would take up.  I worked on a pottery wheel and again, quickly realized that although I loved doing it, I wouldn't really be able to teach myself; it's a steep learning curve.  And thus, it wouldn't be worth the money and the mess.

In later years, I've been more interested in exploring the intersections between worship and art than I was in earlier years.  As a group, we've always done worship services that have a lot in common with performance art, and in later years, we've done more extreme versions of that.  I probably never would have experienced worship as experiential stations without this group--or it would have taken many years.

I've come home feeling both exhausted and renewed.  I find myself yearning for a job where I can plan and present retreats on a regular basis.  Or better yet, a job where I explore and use a variety of liturgical arts--and perhaps train others?

But in the meantime, there's my memoir I'm working on.  I am more convinced than ever that the subject matter is important:  how do we live an authentic life, especially when we're at workplaces that may not always support our authentic expressions?  I come home vowing to have the next draft finished by Labor Day.  And then, perhaps by Christmas, a polished draft!

For Our Reading Pleasure (and Inspiration)

I've been reading Phyllis Tickle's latest book, Emergence Christianity, published in 2012, not to be confused with her earlier book The Great Emergence.  In Emergence Christianity, she covers some of the same ground, but weaves in strands of developments since her earlier work, as well as more speculation about where these developments will take us.

One of the things I find myself thinking about again and again is the idea of online Christian community.  I haven't played Second Life, but I know many people who have.  It never occurred to me that there are churches in Second Life--which leads to all sorts of interesting issues.  Can non-ordained people consecrate elements in cyberspace?  Can bread and wine made of pixels instead of wheat and grapes be sacramental?  Fascinating questions.

She points out that we conduct much of our lives online:  banking, reading, shopping, bill paying.  What does it mean to be church online?

And then there are even larger issues looming:  "For the first time in human history, so far as anyone can ascertain, we do not know what a human being is" ( p. 194).  You may argue that we do, but people who study both biology and computers will tell you that the boundaries are getting blurry very quickly.

In short, this accessible book covers lots of ground in just 200 pages--there's lots to think about here.

I've also been rereading Lauren Winner's Still:  Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis.  I've written about reading this book the first time in this blog post.  In many ways, I liked it better on the second read.  It wasn't as much of a surprise.  I remember feeling a bit of disappointment when I first read it, a wishing that she had answered more questions.  On the second read, I could appreciate what was there.

I plan to spend the coming week-end rediscovering the works of Lauren Winner, Nora Gallagher, and my all-time favorite Kathleen Norris.  I'm beginning serious work on crafting my own memoir, which will explore how a spiritual woman lives an integrated life staying true to her faith in a workplace that isn't always set up to support those ideals.  I admire the work of these 3 women in so many ways.  I plan to model my work on theirs, in that I want to write essays that can be read alone, or as a narrative in one gulp.

I think back to when I first read Norris' Dakota:  A Spiritual Geography.  I was so inspired, but dejected in a way.  I thought, I'll never be able to do what she did.  But blogging has helped immensely. 

I've gotten many a compliment as a writer, along with rejections, of course.  But the one that means the most to me is the one where people say my work reminds them of Norris.

That is my goal:  to be the Kathleen Norris of my generation.  Stay tuned!