The Important Thing

"The important thing is this--to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become." Charles DuBois

This is one of my favorite quotes. I have had it written in my daily planner for three years. It's been my mantra for this week as I continue my post-Easter venture to rise above usual ways and let go of habits (in the form of actions and relationships) that have recently been a part of my life.

Needless to say this hasn't been an easy week. I've been second-guessing. I've thought about changing my mind. To give up what we are, what is comfortable, what is known; for what we could become (something unknown.) I'm not sure about the alternatives. I don't know if I'm thinking of choosing between paths that are right or wrong, but I am choosing between paths that are different.

In the past I've juggled decisions about moving to a new city, taking a different job, choosing a new lifestyle. The uncertainty and emotional challenge of the situation is no easier this time.

What I know is that I have lived through these times with a lot of faith, a healthy dose of optimism, and a calm assurance in "the important thing."

Do I Do Myself Justice?

I remember hearing the phrase "this doesn't give it justice" used to describe an inadequate or somehow lacking description of a favorite restaurant or vacation spot. "The advertisement doesn't do the bistro justice." "These photographs of Bermuda don't give it justice."

I try to "give justice" to what I write. Whether it's sharing a memory or telling a story about a moving experience. I think I do a decent job of "giving justice" when I write.

I consider myself a socially conscience person. I consider myself someone who does a lot of justice. I officially work with a program that states as one of its principles "faith in action." I give my faith justice by what I do for a living, and also how I live the rest of my life. I choose to do justice.

This afternoon I'm wrestling with the question: "Do I do myself justice?" This relates to self-care, to nurturing my spirit, and caring for my soul. Following a recent break-up I have been wrestling with the balance of myself and himself. I struggled with it when we were together. Now in the recovery and reclaiming of myself I'm asking: "Do I do myself justice?"

I can honestly say that I have been more challenged with "doing myself justice" than with doing justice for others. I hesitate less to volunteer in an after school tutoring program than I hesitate to take the time to reflect and recover after a difficult week. I give emotional care and don't insure that I receive it myself. I am coming to terms with some of these personal injustices as I become increasingly tired in relationships and emotional moments.

Through self-care, through patience and nurturing I can do myself justice, rise above my usual ways, and probably do a better job of living life.

Let Me Tell You a Story

Let me tell you a story. Sometimes that phrase is the prelude to a fable, of sorts. The kind of "let me teach you a lesson" kind of story. Other times it's a bit of history: "Let me tell you about when I was a child. We would walk to school in the snow--uphill both ways." I remember my father telling countless stories about family and friends that I had never met or had limited contact with, but characters who lived in his stories.

Let me tell you a story. I didn't move too far outside of my comfort zone until I took the step toward a call to serve, and became a young adult missionary. I was part of a group of seventeen young adults. At the very beginning of our training together we were each asked to participate in an ice breaker activity of sorts. Our instructions were to share our stories. We were invited to use and create props for our presentation and we would have twenty minutes or so to share. Wow. I had met a few of the others at our interviews, and knew a little bit about them. Everyone else was a stranger except for a similar call to serve. I was going to share my story (however I edited it) with a group of strangers. Wow.

Let me tell you a story. This blog is a story of sorts. It's my story (however I edit it). One of the reasons I so enjoy writing is that it's a vehicle for sharing stories. The stories of our lives illustrate what we believe. The stories of our lives share our thoughts and feelings and responses to other people's thoughts and feelings and responses. We practice them in different venues and perfect our retellings. The stories of our lives can reveal more about us than we know or might be comfortable with. Stories unite and sometimes divide. Many times our stories are the best way to communicate.

Let me tell you a story.

Center for Urban Contemplation

This blog title is not original. My work supervisor in Jackson, Miss. had a dream for a "Center for Urban Contemplation" named in her honor that would serve as a place for education and growth related to urban and faith issues. I worked at a faith-based nonprofit organization and we faced urban issues of homelessness, poverty, drug abuse, prostitution, inadequate housing and violence on a daily basis. We also contemplated issues of faith in our context: hope, trust, truth, spirituality, security, love, and one could make the case that the urban issues are faith issues as well. I would make that argument.

As I was sitting in a meeting earlier this month and I remembered the Center for Urban Contemplation. I googled the name, and it's still original. I was thinking about the center for urban contemplation that I am living in and worshiping in. I contemplate a lot on my futon/couch, and I'm doing so as I write. At my church we've been contemplating the issue of homelessness in New York City and responses that our community of faith will have to an issue that affects so many of our brothers and sisters.

Where is your center for contemplation? I've had many...Aside from the couch and the church. I remember sitting quietly in quietly in various cathedrals in Italy and thinking about God, and the men and women who built such magnificent spaces. I have contemplated outdoors, which is probably my favorite place to think. A favorite spot from my past was our front yard, usually in a lawn chair.

Contemplation...Thinking, feeling, and being. In the midst of a busy schedule and fast-paced city I'm grateful for moments of contemplation, wherever and whenever I encounter them.

In Search of Something to Find

I am the first one to admit that I am a searcher. I will search for a bargain in a sales rack. I have been on the search for a fulfilling job since graduating from college. I search for purpose and meaning to what I do with my time and who I spend time with. Along those same lines I've been thinking about what it is I will find.

The premise of the search is to find something, right? Sometimes I'm lost in the journey and don't know what to find. I live moment to moment without too much care for the next moment, or six months or five years. (Sometimes this lifestyle is more satisfying than others.) When I was a child my dad would attach a magnet to a string and I would drag it through the grass and dirt outside of our barn and tractor sheds to find stray nails and bolts. I have found some things recently, though: a ring on a crowded dance floor, time to write this blog, a workout class that fits my busy schedule, joy in long phone calls to old friends.

Along with all I've found, I am still looking. The band U2 sings about the search in "I still haven't found what I'm lookin' for": "I have run, I have crawled; I have scaled these city walls; These city walls; Only to be with you; But I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

It's hard to look when you don't know what you are searching for. Sometimes I'm not sure I will ever know. Or maybe that's part of the mystery of life. One of my favorite quotes about this journey is from T.S. Eliot: "The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."

One more thought on the journey: home. The concept of home or a resting place is important in the search. There is a distinct sense of arrival in T.S. Eliot's quote, and to arrive in our "home" or starting point is very significant. Sometimes the "home" is really a home or a place. For me home is a feeling. Like most things in my life (relationships, traveling, writing) I know when they are going well because they feel well. I feel well when I'm engaged in relationships, or riding the train to visit family, or brainstorming ideas for an article. And the feeling of knowing something for the first time engages my senses of wonder and anticipation for what lies ahead in the journey.

What's in a Name?

BARBARA GRACE

I am named after two important women in my family. "Barbara" was my paternal grandmother. She died before I was born and I only know her through photographs and stories. She was a teacher, a mother, an aunt and a friend in the stories I have heard. Barbara was kind, loving, strict and had PERFECT handwriting (I've seen it). She attended my alma mater when it was a Pennsylvania State Normal School (teacher's college). Her nickname (and sometimes mine) was Barb.

My middle name, Grace, belongs to my mother's great aunt. Aunt Grace has endured the loss of her husband and untimely death of her only son. Grace is a picture of courage and determination. One might call her stubborn.

I have always loved my name. My mother called my Barbara, and my father called me Barb. My best friend in kindergarten called (and still calls) me Barbie. In fact at some point in college, some friends called my both my first and middle names: "Barbara Grace". Growing up, I knew few (I can think of only two) "Barbaras". There are of course the famous, however, they were "Barbra", not "BarbAra". When I moved to Mississippi, I met several! They were all over the age of 60, however, they were fellow Barbaras.

So what's in a name? Well, I could quote some origins and "definitions" of my name. Shockingly, the "definitions" that I have found linked to my name are not too far from my reality: "Your name has given you an appreciation for many beautiful and refined aspects of life, music, and art, nature, drama and the outdoors where you find much peace and relaxation."

What's in my name? I would say tradition is in my name. And purpose. I was given this name for a reason. My parents were purposeful in naming me after close family. I am purposeful in claiming the name and the heritage of kindness, sensitivity and determination that comes with it. Barbara went to college when many young women did not: a symbol of ambition. Grace live through the Great Depression on a farm in rural Pennsylvania: a symbol of endurance.