Existence

Many of the folks I know from the native village Angoon have two first names. Family surnames include George, Fred, and Jim. I kind of knew the reason why, but I had to ask some friends and they confirmed my suspicion.

White people could not pronounce the Tlingit names so in our amazing sensitivity we made life easier for us. I apologized to my friends, not to take on the guilt of ancestors, but because I know myself well enough to know I'm probably lazy enough to take a shortcut on some of the tricky Tlingit sounds.

I also apologize to my Norwegian friends Joar and Lars Erling whom we called Hans and Frans. And to my friend in Tanzania whose real name I do not recall, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't LL Cool J.

I'm really not that sorry for Hans and Frans because I am from a family of teasers and it is in my DNA to appreciate thick skin. My name has often been slaughtered and it doesn't help that I was raised during the time of Atari. Spell check still fixes my name to Atari, but that is better than Kirt who gets fixed to "skirt".

Our dear friends Godson and Haika.
Also pictured is my favorite Dostoevsky t-shirt
that mysteriously disappeared. Not obviously related,
but has existential implications.

But, I do recognize the arrogance of renaming people to make it easier for those in power. And I recognize the importance of learning names.

There are several mantras in the Stage-Harvey house:

1. Choices have consequences
2. I'm not your personal servant so pick-up after yourself
3. No, you may not have the bear, goat, lizard, bunny, etc. even if you do promise to take care of it.
4. Be respectful
5. Always acknowledge someone's existence

There are lots more, but learning names and how to pronounce them is closely linked to acknowledging existence. An easy way to insult someone in Tanzania (I'd argue our culture too) is to say, "I can't remember his/her name." It was a way of saying someone was too insignificant to remember.

I try to be good with names. When I meet someone, I use their name three times to make it stick in my brain. I do forget and bribe other people to ask for a name when I'm too embarrassed, but I try.

Regardless, even if I don't know a name, I acknowledge people and the fact they exist. People often live to our expectations so when we give identity and dignity, people tend to live into that.

Pastor Sue at Resurrection Lutheran talked about a teenager who welcomed everyone with a cheery "hello" at the Suicide Prevention Conference. When asked about it later, he responded that being acknowledged saved his life.

Learn names and say "hello." Too many people feel invisible or minimized and I'm not too lazy to change that.

Stealing Souls

My tongue was black the other night (short story involving licorice ice cream). I had to show my husband on the video chat because it's rare to have a black tongue and Hannah's explanation to him was,

"She's been eating the souls of innocent children."

My warping of our children is a wonderful and terrifying thing, but it did get me thinking about stealing souls. Well, it was her statement and the tourists taking pictures of my kids swimming at the glacier. I wouldn't think that much about it, except I allow my girls to wear bikinis and I don't want to see those showing up on Facebook.

So, I wanted them to start screaming in agony, "You've stolen my soul," when each tourist stopped with a smartphone. And I kind of believe people have. There is something about pictures that steals a bit of our essence and makes it hard to dwell in that unselfconscious place where ecstasy and joy can exist.

There is also a part of me that wonders if we will raise the most narcissistic generation ever because of the photo glut. It's just too easy to take a million pictures all starring those we love.  We encourage the illusion, "I am the center of the universe."

I can't help but think of my lemon lady in Tanzania. I always bought lemons and hot peppers from her because she didn't cheat me and I was strangely fascinated by her elongated ear lobes. On my last day, she tried to talk me into marrying her son and I asked if I could take her picture. I declined on the marriage offer, but I did take a picture and sent a copy to her through a friend.

My friend said the lemon lady was astounded. She had never before seen an image of herself. No mirrors nor photos existed in her village. It's such a wild thought and I would lean heavily towards adopting this lifestyle just for the bathroom wait time to shorten in our house.

Imagine if the only image you had of yourself was what was reflected in others. Imagine your vision always focused on seeing others and the world around you. I think it would make it easier to see yourself not as the center of the universe, but a string in a huge interconnected web.

Maybe that's what it means to have a soul. It is an awareness of our selves primarily through our relationships with others. It is a sense of our beautiful uniqueness held in tension with our infinitesimal existence and reliance on others and God.  Our soul is what binds our individuality with the eternal.

I must confess that Lutherans aren't real strong on the whole "soul" theology anyway so I can make up whatever I want.  I'm also kind of regretting not taking a picture of my black tongue.

Slightly Evil

Sunny days in May are slightly evil.

I might just be speaking for myself, but I struggle with these brilliant, perfect days of summer filled with final exams, concerts, and work. Whose idea was it to have so much work to do in May? We run from one activity to another in May more than any month and all I want to do is hike, camp, and sip cold beverages on my porch with a nice fire.

Evil may seem harsh. But sunny days in May remind me of a line from some mystery book that wasn't very good and I've forgotten the title but I remember this line, "People thought he was evil because he filled them with impossible desires."

A sunny day in a busy May fills me with impossible desires. Desire isn't evil. Longing for things or relationships motivates us to bathe regularly and get up off the couch, but desiring something we cannot have pulls us apart.

Impossible desires can make us nearly crazy or for me really crabby. Impossible desires move us into coveting, obsessions, and addictions. Longing for that which cannot be ours or that which destroys us is evil in that it pulls us away from the life happening right now.

I love the etymology for coveting. It comes from cupidity, which is related to the Sanskrit for bubbles up or agitated. That's me these past couple of days. I get myself so wound up with all the yard work that needs done, the fun I want to have, the kids getting a year supply of Vitamin D and I end up ruining it for everyone, myself included.

A sunny day sets the bar too high; it stirs in me this need to suck all I can out of the day, and a bitterness at anything or anyone who gets in the way. I know I'm not alone. People assume everyone is happier in Juneau when the sun is out, but if you look at folks in the store or around town after a couple sunny days, they have locked their jaws. People tend to be much more agitated and they totally forget how to drive, but I'm not sure that's related.

I'm trying to talk myself out of impossible desires. I cannot shirk all responsibility and run to the beach. I try to face this longing with prayer and patience. I'm normally so disciplined; it's humbling for me to get so agitated. I won't lie and say I'm succeeding. I'm lucky enough to live in a rainforest so I know I'll relax soon enough and I can catch up on house work and being thoughtful to the folks around me.

I don't say this lightly, but this agitated longing has made me admire those who live with addictions even more. I think people who live with those destructive desires and instead manage to find life in pursuing attainable joys are the bravest people I know.

Oh my, that's long and random. See, sunny days scatter my mind and heart because I want to be in so many places. So I'll give myself one of my standard pep talks, "Shut up Tari and just be where you are and do what needs to be done."

Amazing Grace

I try not to embarrass Sophia. I love to embarrass Hannah. She is so steady for a fourteen year old that it's just fun to mess with her. And she bribes me not to embarrass her.

I've gotten a couple of extra chores our of her for not wearing my robe when I do jazz band car pool. If it weren't at some horrifying hour of the morning, I would get dressed willingly. I failed at the last bribe to not mention any bodily functions in front of her fourteen year old friends. Not my fault. Haeden said something to make me start singing the "Diarrhea Song", to which I have now learned a new verse and can't wait to teach him.

But for Sophia I try to be cool. She is so sensitive to everything. Tonight I failed. Tonight I had a moment of amazing grace.

Sometimes I commit such great feats of coordination I stun even myself. I was the parent volunteer at jump rope so I had the responsibility of sweeping the gym with one of those awesome janitor broom things that are huge.

So, I'm sweeping while the jumpers are warming up and somehow the broom and my feet got all tangled up and I ended up doing a flip/fall move none of them have ever attempted in their fancy routines. They all looked. And laughed. Poor Sophie just shook her head.

It's good for her so I don't feel bad and I didn't get hurt so that makes me even happier. Naming that moment of flailing appendages, laughter, and embarrassment as amazing grace made me smile. My family simply called me grace growing up, no amazing to it, but they noticed I could fall over just by thinking too hard.

Amazing grace. I'm familiar with the tune and idea. We fail and get lost; God forgives and finds us. It's a great hymn with a fabulous story behind. It just seems to me like more is going on with grace.

I'm not sure when the meanings of grace got split into "God's unmerited forgiveness" and "elegance and ease of movement", but it's kind of fun to think about amazing grace ironically in moments of debacle. That probably doesn't make it into any definitions, but it works in my twisted mind.

Maybe grace isn't just about fixing or forgiving mistakes, but living so confidently in love and acceptance that we are free to mess up, claim it and move on. We are free to look foolish, to not know what we are doing or all the answers and actually be open to learning and growing.

Maybe grace isn't always about being found, but having the freedom to get lost. I've perfected the art of getting lost. There are not only fabulous trees, beaches, and ponds to find when I veer off the regular path but also all the dams and since I am in sixth grade I can get myself laughing for quite some time with dam jokes.

Maybe grace is my daughter telling me how much she loves me even when I embarrass her.
 

Cribbage

Meetings often feel like a waste to me. I'm not a big group person so unless a gathering builds relationships, establishes vision, or determines specific steps of actions, I tune out. I'm glad there are folks who love agendas, ideas and voting, but I'm too aware of my mortality to let a sunny day pass.

I have two great coping skills for surviving meetings: cribbage and hiking. I embrace these not as avoidance tactics, but so something feels real in an environment where I tend to numb. I learn more about people and what is truly going on in the church during a walk in the woods than I ever have sitting around a fluorescent lit room in a circle.

As fabulous as hiking is, I want to hold up cribbage as a great gift to large group gatherings. We only got thirteen games of cribbage in during this last assembly. I know our games seem exclusive since Keith and I often only play each other, but two introverts playing cribbage provide a safe place for others to be who they need to be.

Two people playing cribbage in a corner, cry room, or sunny deck provide a space for relationship that's hard to find in big groups.  Bars and coffee shops are too loud for vibrant conversation. Silence is too intimidating, but cribbage provides a lovely space for sharing.

The sharing doesn't happen between Keith and I - we normally only talk smack with each other - but those who come alongside. The spotlight doesn't shine on them, the environment has neither the sacredness of silence nor the distraction of noise, and folks begin to relax and talk.

So I consider my obsessive cribbage playing a gift to the community. It is the gift of making space in business for life to happen. We were good kids and kept the window cracked so we could vote if need be. I probably could have fit my arm and green card through the crack so I didn't even have to get up. But sitting on the deck in the sunshine was in many ways an act of grace and making space.

I'm also an ornery turd so I'm sure some defiance is mixed in there. The fact that recalcitrant* was my word of the day on Saturday was foreshadowing, but I do appreciate order and guidelines.  Without them there couldn't be any defiance; there wouldn't be little escapes where people could let down their guard and
be the messes we often are.

*Recalcitrant is having an obstinately uncooperative attitude toward authority or discipline. 

Ebony and Ivory

I miss dancing in the kitchen with my husband.

We don't dance or cook well together. We have some leadership issues. But I long for those times when he walks into our one-butt kitchen, wraps his arms around me and we sway to the sweet lulling rhythm of NPR. Then I press my lips to his ear and begin singing,

Ebony and Ivory, live together in perfect harmony

Side by side on my piano keyboard, O Lord, why don't we?

I can ruin the mood faster than a fart. He will jump away and say, 

"That's not our song."

"It's totally our song - all about living together closely and getting along."

 "No, the song is about race relations, black and white people living in harmony."

"Well, it got played at my mostly segregated middle school at every dance and when I stage managed For colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf  they told me my hair was so nappy I had to have black blood in me somewhere. See it is about us."

At this point, he normally kisses me so I stop talking. 

I have no idea why this song pops into my head or why I know every word. I do know that perfect harmony is a lot to ask out of any relationships, let alone relationships that cross racial, cultural, or economic boundaries.

One of my professors in seminary once said, "If you don't have a friend who is a person of color, then you are a failure as a pastor." I thought that was the most ridiculous thing. I still think friendship can't be forced, but I do think being in relationship with folks who experience and see the world differently is essential to our life of faith. I also think walking with someone and experiencing how the world views him or her can be stunning. 

I've been the only person with pasty skin in a room many times. There are times that I've taken some pretty wicked teasing and felt uncomfortably outside, but I still often hold more power and resources than anyone else in the room. The color of my skin, my education, upbringing, and connections open doors for me where others have to walk through suspicious glares and unmarked obstacles to get to them.

I don't know how to fix anything, but I do know how to have lively conversation with pretty much anyone I meet. So I do. I try to get as many eyes on the world as I can because the center of my faith is a table where all those boundaries are broken and we all gather to eat.

I also appreciate something Elijah has taught me. He talks about a person with darker skin or lighter skin, a person who is in the wheelchair, or a person who can't see. I don't know where identifying the person first and then the other mark came from, but it's very Grundtvigian. 

Nikolai Grundtvig was the Danish theologian in the 1800s who argued, "“Human first; then Christian.Our common humanity is the basis for freedom, equality and dignity. Christ is found in the living community rather than in any book." Many trace the Danish resistance to the Nazi regime to his "Human first" motto. 

I don't know how I got to Grundtvig from dancing in the kitchen with my husband. All I know is:

There is good and bad in everyone, but you learn to live, and you learn to give each other what you need to survive together alive.

12421

12421 is my favorite address in all of Juneau. Every time I drive by it, I giggle and start quivering in excitement.

When I was a kid, I loved addresses. Since my father regularly felt the need to cruise through neighborhoods in his big white whale of a car to see how the city was doing, I had plenty of time to slouch in my seat and look at addresses. I would play the ultimate nerd game of seeing how many different equations and patterns I could make with the numbers.

Hence why 12421 is a fabulous address. Not only are there wonderful patterns and equations, but it is a palindrome. Palindromes run a close second to apple pie in making me smile. Hannah should thank her father everyday that she is not named "race car".

I love addresses for the same reason I love doing my taxes. Bringing order out of chaos, finding patterns in what looks like disarray, looking for shortcuts in what appears to be overwhelming tedium is joy in pure form. This is my love.

Details always caught me up in math. I get so wrapped up in process, I miss the little things. I remember doing a multi-page problem that I ultimately got wrong. I got the process right, but missed multiplying 6x7 correctly.

My math advisor laughed at me when I left a math major to double major in world religions and theater. Luckily, I realized early I was a big picture person and my crazy double major fit my weird way of thinking, even if it did open me up to tele-evangelist jokes for the rest of my life.

But, I will always be thankful for my little math voice telling me to pay attention to details. I try to keep this in mind when I start skimming through the boring parts of the Bible for the great schemes and patterns. I'm happy to have the dimensions of the ark and the temple so there is something to read at an engineer's funeral, but they kind of kill me to slog through.

Except the details matter. Life is not always patterns and ordering. Sometimes all order, reason, and shortcuts get thrown into complete confusion and you are left with the details and long slog. No sense can be made, no shortcuts through; you have to get up, make coffee, and put one foot in front of the other.

As much as I love seeking order and connections, sometimes the cruelty, unfairness and randomness of life trumps and all I can see is the next step.  It's my least favorite place in the world to be (unless there is apple pie), but that's how it goes. You have to pass a lot of addresses before you get to 12421.

P.S. I told Hannah I was writing about 12421 and she literally gasped and said how much she loved that address.