Friday night I helped chaperone a youth lock-in. Sometime around 4 am I fell asleep on a couch, using my coat as a blanket. Around 7 or 8 I half woke up and saw Kyle through my barely opened eyes. He smiled and asked how I was. I sleepily mumbled, "chilly." I drifted back to sleep and when I woke up Kyle had covered me with his big coat, and I felt warm and happy, and so deeply cared for.
Its always the most simple things that remind me how blessed I am.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
snow day.
I love snow. In all my complaining about it getting colder as winter sets in, I had almost forgotten how truly magical winter can be. Snow paints everything in this soft, sparkly white. And suddenly our whole world looks new. It feels like we are getting a blank canvas, a fresh start. Its really amazing.
And something about being out in the snow makes me feel like such a child. It brings back memories of growing up in the snow belt in Ohio, when school would be cancelled due to freezing weather or multiple feet of snow. And it seemed like we'd spend hours upon hours outside no matter how cold it was. We'd layer multiple pairs of socks and gloves and pants, and go out in our thickest winter coats, all to build snow forts, go sledding and throw snow balls. By the time we came inside for hot chocolate we couldn't feel our fingers or toes, but it was so worth it.
As an adult, I spend way too much time inside. Choosing not to go outside either because I'm too busy, or because its too cold, or too hot, or too rainy. It's like at some point in life, we forget how to play and enjoy this magical world.
Well, this week I went on a walk through the snow, and remembered the magic. I hope you are enjoying the magic too. Let yourself play a little. It's good for the world. :)
"I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe in everything." -Anne Sexton
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
a trip to the art museum.
While my friend Nick from out of town was visiting me this week, I took a trip to the Nelson Adkins. I've probably been there a dozen times before, but each visit is different. It's like seeing it with new eyes. Something different always speaks to me, or something the same speaks to me again in a new way.
I know so many people who really don't like art. Modern art especially. They see a Rothko or a Picasso, and they shutter. But I entreat you, please don't say, "Oh please, I could do that! That isn't art!" First of all, you didn't do it. You probably never thought about how color itself is art. Or how obscure, sloppy shapes could say something about ourselves or our society. And even if you thought to try, would you know how to put it on canvas? Painting is difficult. Even to make a solid color or a splattered canvas demands technique for the colors to gain depth and texture. Look closer. It's not as simple as you think. Secondly (and more importantly), the point of art isn't to jump to judging if its good or bad. Let it draw you in. Let it speak. What is it saying, what is it asking? What does it make you feel? You don't have to like it. It may make you feel disgust, or anger, or worst of all, just plain boredom. For all your efforts, you may still come away thinking, "I don't understand what they are trying to do."
I'm not asking everyone to love all art. I don't love all art. But I think each of us should challenge ourselves to be open to that which is different from what we know. We should come to it, and bring our whole selves, opening our eyes and our emotions to it. To converse and dialogue with it, to really look, instead of judging first. There is such opportunity to be changed, to be made into more than what we already were.
Art teaches endlessly, effortlessly. It evokes emotions, thoughts, ideas and passions that I almost forget I am capable of. It causes me to pause, in a life where I don't pause nearly often enough. It humbles me with its beauty and power. I feel small beside it and also large, filled with its beauty and power, all at the same time.
Art it full of such vitality. It isn't just about being on a wall in a gallery or museum; and it certainly isn't about a $5000 price tag. Oldenburg wrote, "I am for art that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum. I am for art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art with the chance of a starting point of zero. I am for an art that embroils itself with the every day crap and still comes out on top. I am for an art that imitates the human, that IS the human. I am for art that takes its form from the lines of life itself. That twists and extends and accumulates and splits and drips and is heavy and course and blunt and old and sweet and stupid as life itself. I am for an art of underwear and taxi-cabs. I am for an art of ice-cream cones dropped on concrete. I am for the majestic art of dog-turds rising like cathedrals."
It seems to me that this isn't only talking about art. Reading this, I think: I am for Christianity that doesn't sit on its ass in church pews. I am for religious people who don't think of their own holiness all day and worry about seeming religious, but who humbly serve with love and power beyond their wildest imaginations. I am for Christianity that embroils itself with the every day people, the dirty and the difficult, and is only more beautiful because of it. I want to see a church in a state of extreme entanglement in the world. I am for seeing the divine not just in a worship service or in a building, but in human faces, human words, human actions. I am for faith that is life changing, that shakes me, that makes me look twice at the ordinary. A Church so active, so entangled with the living, that it can't help but take new shapes, cast new visions, twisting, extending, splitting and connecting in ways never dreamed of. I want a church that finds God everywhere, that builds God's kingdom in the thrown away, that sees beauty in the excrement. That makes the poor, broken, dirty, forgotten places into places of worship.
I am for church that makes me feel the way I do when I see art: startled, vulnerable, new, alive, open to richer possibilities...
I know so many people who really don't like art. Modern art especially. They see a Rothko or a Picasso, and they shutter. But I entreat you, please don't say, "Oh please, I could do that! That isn't art!" First of all, you didn't do it. You probably never thought about how color itself is art. Or how obscure, sloppy shapes could say something about ourselves or our society. And even if you thought to try, would you know how to put it on canvas? Painting is difficult. Even to make a solid color or a splattered canvas demands technique for the colors to gain depth and texture. Look closer. It's not as simple as you think. Secondly (and more importantly), the point of art isn't to jump to judging if its good or bad. Let it draw you in. Let it speak. What is it saying, what is it asking? What does it make you feel? You don't have to like it. It may make you feel disgust, or anger, or worst of all, just plain boredom. For all your efforts, you may still come away thinking, "I don't understand what they are trying to do."
I'm not asking everyone to love all art. I don't love all art. But I think each of us should challenge ourselves to be open to that which is different from what we know. We should come to it, and bring our whole selves, opening our eyes and our emotions to it. To converse and dialogue with it, to really look, instead of judging first. There is such opportunity to be changed, to be made into more than what we already were.
Art teaches endlessly, effortlessly. It evokes emotions, thoughts, ideas and passions that I almost forget I am capable of. It causes me to pause, in a life where I don't pause nearly often enough. It humbles me with its beauty and power. I feel small beside it and also large, filled with its beauty and power, all at the same time.
Art it full of such vitality. It isn't just about being on a wall in a gallery or museum; and it certainly isn't about a $5000 price tag. Oldenburg wrote, "I am for art that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum. I am for art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art with the chance of a starting point of zero. I am for an art that embroils itself with the every day crap and still comes out on top. I am for an art that imitates the human, that IS the human. I am for art that takes its form from the lines of life itself. That twists and extends and accumulates and splits and drips and is heavy and course and blunt and old and sweet and stupid as life itself. I am for an art of underwear and taxi-cabs. I am for an art of ice-cream cones dropped on concrete. I am for the majestic art of dog-turds rising like cathedrals."
It seems to me that this isn't only talking about art. Reading this, I think: I am for Christianity that doesn't sit on its ass in church pews. I am for religious people who don't think of their own holiness all day and worry about seeming religious, but who humbly serve with love and power beyond their wildest imaginations. I am for Christianity that embroils itself with the every day people, the dirty and the difficult, and is only more beautiful because of it. I want to see a church in a state of extreme entanglement in the world. I am for seeing the divine not just in a worship service or in a building, but in human faces, human words, human actions. I am for faith that is life changing, that shakes me, that makes me look twice at the ordinary. A Church so active, so entangled with the living, that it can't help but take new shapes, cast new visions, twisting, extending, splitting and connecting in ways never dreamed of. I want a church that finds God everywhere, that builds God's kingdom in the thrown away, that sees beauty in the excrement. That makes the poor, broken, dirty, forgotten places into places of worship.
I am for church that makes me feel the way I do when I see art: startled, vulnerable, new, alive, open to richer possibilities...
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
being for others.
I was thumbing through a national geographic magazine a few weeks ago, and read about these amazing women and was overwhelmed by the amazing story of what they are doing in the world. These uneducated, unwealthy, discarded women in the lowest classes of India are being trained to be community health workers. For no pay, these women learn to care for others and devote their lives to caring for the health needs of their community. And what is even more amazing is that in the whole process, these women find their own power and identity, and begin to erase class lines and transform society. It's so beautiful, and it can't help but restore some of my faith in the goodness of people. I dream of doing even a fraction of the good these women do in the world.
“If you do a good job for others, you heal yourself at the same time, because a dose of joy is a spiritual cure.” - Bonhoeffer
“If you do a good job for others, you heal yourself at the same time, because a dose of joy is a spiritual cure.” - Bonhoeffer
Monday, December 1, 2008
the mittens of the future.
Like many other people out there, I have an iphone. And I love it... I use it all the time for checking e-mail, listening to music, figuring out where I am going (seriously, google maps is my life line), and, of course, texts and phone calls.
But its getting colder outside, and my fingers need the toasty warmth and comfort of a great pair of gloves. The unfortunate thing is that the touch pad on my phone won't respond to a gloved finger.... well, some wonderful people have already thought of a solution to this problem. Check out these mittens of the future.
If I was Oprah, I would definitely put these on my "favorite things" list this year.
peace, love and techno-mittens,
-katie
But its getting colder outside, and my fingers need the toasty warmth and comfort of a great pair of gloves. The unfortunate thing is that the touch pad on my phone won't respond to a gloved finger.... well, some wonderful people have already thought of a solution to this problem. Check out these mittens of the future.
If I was Oprah, I would definitely put these on my "favorite things" list this year.
peace, love and techno-mittens,
-katie
nolde's sea.
In Emil Nolde's "The sea" the sky looks almost dirty, with its yellow tint, as though it has a muddy brown underside.
But here in this muddy brown-black is the shock of purple and blue. It's these shades of brown, this dirty underbelly, that give the painting its power. Only such a backdrop could cause the sea and the clouds to have such luster. The coloring reveals that beauty here is a miracle -- the dirty lens suggests that it might have been ugly. It might have been nothing as all.
We need new eyes that find such beauty in muddy waters.
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