& this came of it too

The internship was just that helpful: I'm working on a series of poems about it. I think you might like this one, if you read it aloud, but even moreso if you have ever worn or ever loved someone who has worn clerics.

28"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' 32For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

This Cotton

I am caught on is from
A Fortress: just a phone call away.
I give the orders.
And it arrives and its small brown box, too light,
Belies the misgivings.

Oh carrier of this holy calling,
You are more than a covering;
You tighten around my neck—
A collar: like the rising at the bell
This tintinnabulation tab -
let rangle me—
I choke on each word.

And I am to become
A Friar: fire tucked
below the belt.
Sustained by alms, the scratching of the sack
Cloth, sloth, wrath, pride, lust, envy, gluttony finally wrapped in a showy snowy shroud.
And I am drunk with power
on the spirits that burned my nose and throat, and finally fell into my gut.

You knit this while I was yet in my mother’s womb, weaving past and present,
Bring me back to!
A woman will convert you and I: in an upstairs room with a machine
Darting back and forth this way and that–
my mother tightened the white, in her affinity, her cotton for my skin,
(She is using the same machine to fix it in place
That once quilted scraps of my youth)
Bolting from the bolt:
Lightening—no, not weighing any less—
Rather, striking again and again,
Leaving crass like glass (see how my skin shows through!) where once was
One tiny stone, one Word among words,
atop a million others battered
against the water and roiling in the foam of hope.
And this cotton testifies that I too started from beneath your feet
But you never would have guessed—
I rose too high too fast—it was the busiest of illusions.

And you will know me, if you see me
A Vicar: vicarious curio, proudly displayed
Lined up behind a man, among men
Who fit better into this weave.

But mostly I am still…

A Woman: of the cloth
This (clo(th)ing) that bears buttons
Like batting and battens down, hatches all around me—
The flames of Pentecost
Or Jeremiah’s fire
Burning from the inside
Burying me in the white heat
And all that remains is to speak over you
And I: ashes to ashes,
dust to dust, and cotton enough to catch them.

I will miss you so...

I don't know if you have ever thought of internship as a time to discern vocation. But I really think that a good internship reveals enough of the rigor and joy of a job. And so after a long talk with Pr. Hoffman, and an even longer (but wonderful) internship I came to the conclusion that I have been working under the mistaken belief that somehow I could be superhuman. Instead I would much rather be a regular human--its much healthier that way. So it is after three years of hard and lovely work that I, with an exhausted but hopeful heart, have composed this letter in order to bid farewell to my beloved Phinney Ridge Lutheran Church.

Dear Phinney Family,

This year I have watched you all grow in stature and grace as you allowed me to participate more fully in your lives. You have encouraged me, rejoiced with me, held me in your prayers, and we have imagined together and talked over hopes for the future. I am so grateful for your encouraging words and endless hoping. I think of your stories and rejoice. I smile as I think of running with you on the front lawn, holding you when you cried or singing along with you during the liturgy. You sang, “All Are Welcome,” and you meant it! I hear your words of encouragement echoing deep down, where they have taken root in my heart. You genuinely desire to care for every life you touch.
The evidence of your ministry to one another is in the long list of committed Sunday school teachers for which we have such sincere gratitude, and in the hearts of folks so excited to help out with Vacation Bible School that they would take vacation time from work to participate. I see the Angel Choir growing in number and ability, the Cherubs and Choristers using their gifts in new and inspiring ways. And that is only the beginning…
…Your work within the halls of Phinney is only one aspect of your gift to the larger church, there is still so much you will be and you have shown me this is true for all of us.
With your expressions of faith, hope and love as a guide, I have the courage to look realistically at my last year of Seminary. I have lots of work ahead of me but I find myself dreaming bigger than ever before about how I might prepare to serve the larger church. I have finally found the strength to wonder what God might teach me about finishing the race I began when I took up postgraduate work.
It is with great hopes for the future that I tender my resignation from my position as your Children and Family Minister. I am taking my leave from you at this time in order to spend the next year bringing closure to this chapter in my life. My family life will require more of me over the summer months, and in the fall I will be working on a master’s thesis, finishing course work at Mars Hill Graduate School and looking into the possibility of doctoral work. You will be in my heart and mind every step of the way.
I had not planned to leave you so soon; it has been a joy to watch you grow. And so our parting so soon is bittersweet but it is better for us to say goodbye before the summer disperses us. If there is one thing you have taught me, it is that there is much to be thankful for—especially in the unexpected. Though this may seem sudden, God’s timing has been perfect in the past and I have every reason to believe it will be in this situation also. We are entering Ordinary Time in our liturgical calendar; may it be, as ever, the Great Green Growing Season we have come to know, need and love. As we reflect on what my absence will mean, may we be mindful of God’s provision for our every need.

I trust God will use these warm days and a season of rest to bring peace to your home and mine,

hahahahahhahahahhhahhhha...