Dear Inquisitive Trader Joe's Cashier,
You might have just been asking me about my day, as is the usual routine as you scan my groceries, but your questions only furthered my current existential angst. You asked me a question that echos what I have been hearing from many a stranger and close friend and which, I thought, wasn't a question I would ever have to face.
It started out so innocently. "So, what's next for you?"
I apologize for seeming aloof. At this stage in life, what's next usually refers to vital relationship or career moves, not my plans for 4:30 on Wednesday evening.
"Home to write a paper that's due tomorrow," I replied with trepidation.
"On what?"
I paused and looked into the distance for a while. In general, I try to avoid letting people know I'm a theology student. I like to let strangers have a chance to view me as a "normal" person rather than the crazy girl who studies theology and clearly must protest with the Westboro Baptists.
"Come on, just tell me."
As if he could read the shame that I usually try to deny having about my field of study.
"A theology of women.... in leadership."
The checkout, which seemed to last forever, had enough time to identify my graduate school and current program, as well as my doctoral hopes and my vocational plans to move into the academy once I (finally) finish all my schooling. And then he asked me the question that I thought only pastors asked, "Teaching? Why not go into the field, go into ministry?"
Why not go into ministry?
If you only knew, inquisitive cashier, if you only knew how many times I ask that same question. If you only knew that I struggle to write my statement of purpose because they want to know my post-doctoral vocation plans and I have no idea of what to say. If only you knew that I spent Sunday evening at a dinner for pastor-theologians asking the men who run the program what space there was for women like me in ministry. If you only knew how many times I've said, "If I were a man, I'd know my place." If only you knew.
So I apologize for my blank stares as you asked me the question that is reverberating in my brain. I apologize for leaving the store without a good bye or a thank you, just a receipt and a bag of groceries. I walked into the store thinking it was a safe space to ignore the questions that overwhelm me, and ironically, you, dear stranger, reminded me of the worlds that I am torn between.
So to answer the question I left lingering at the register: Why not ministry? Simply, because I'm not ready to accept that option yet.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Funeral Flowers
Westminster Larger Catechism: Question 84. Should all men die?
Answer: Death being threatened as the wages of sin, it has been appointed unto all men once to die; for that all have sinned.
A man asked one of my pastors if Presbyterians believed in funerals. He had been at Covenant for a few months, and had yet to hear us mention a death or funeral. With this void, he assumed that Presbyterians had a faux pas about death, and simply ignored the subject matter.
If that man would have waited a month, he would have heard his answer.
"Pray for the Wierenga family as they mourn the loss of their daughter, Alaina."
"Pray for Sherri and Phil Brendenberg as they mourn the loss of their son, Kirk in their fifth month of pregnancy."
"Pray for Kevin, Eve, Megan and Collin as they mourn the loss of their son and brother, Aidan."
Three funerals. Six weeks. All children.
With the first death, I cried uncontrollably. I called friends for advice on insignificant details on the death announcement as to avoid actually thinking about two week old Alaina's death. I spent 4 hours picking out the right flower arrangement for the funeral, settling on a bouquet of lilies.
By the second, I grew calloused. I bought 5 kinds of gray card stock for the memorial service. I sent flowers to the couple's home, vibrant yellow and orange ones, fitting what I knew of their design aesthetic.
By the third, I simply asked questions. I grew weary. I knew not what to say. I order an arrangement of white flowers.
I went to Aidan's funeral. I may not have known him, but I knew that being present for my church body was important. I sat in the back, with my purse full of tissues. I accepted the closure that the funeral brought and moved on.
Shortly after Aidan's funeral, Ryan started coming by the church office to play the piano. Ryan was undergoing chemo treatments for cancer. The pain was so intense that he had left his job. On his good days, he stop by to practice his favorite piano pieces. Some weeks, I'd see him every afternoon. Other weeks, his absence would be noticeable. Near the end of December, he sent me a playlist of his favorite piano pieces. It took me several weeks to get around to playing it, but when I returned to Chicago from Christmas, I was excited to share with my him my favorites, to ask him to play me "A Song of Simplicity" by Elijah Boseenbroek.
I returned to the announcement of his death. In my absence, he had moved home into hospice care and soon died. I sent the family a plant.
Westminster Shorter Catechism: Question 37.What benefits do men receive from Christ at death?
Answer: The souls of believers are at their death made perfect in holiness and do immediately pass into glory; and their bodies, being still united in Christ, do rest in their graves, till the resurrection.
Answer: Death being threatened as the wages of sin, it has been appointed unto all men once to die; for that all have sinned.
A man asked one of my pastors if Presbyterians believed in funerals. He had been at Covenant for a few months, and had yet to hear us mention a death or funeral. With this void, he assumed that Presbyterians had a faux pas about death, and simply ignored the subject matter.
If that man would have waited a month, he would have heard his answer.
"Pray for the Wierenga family as they mourn the loss of their daughter, Alaina."
"Pray for Sherri and Phil Brendenberg as they mourn the loss of their son, Kirk in their fifth month of pregnancy."
"Pray for Kevin, Eve, Megan and Collin as they mourn the loss of their son and brother, Aidan."
Three funerals. Six weeks. All children.
With the first death, I cried uncontrollably. I called friends for advice on insignificant details on the death announcement as to avoid actually thinking about two week old Alaina's death. I spent 4 hours picking out the right flower arrangement for the funeral, settling on a bouquet of lilies.
By the second, I grew calloused. I bought 5 kinds of gray card stock for the memorial service. I sent flowers to the couple's home, vibrant yellow and orange ones, fitting what I knew of their design aesthetic.
By the third, I simply asked questions. I grew weary. I knew not what to say. I order an arrangement of white flowers.
I went to Aidan's funeral. I may not have known him, but I knew that being present for my church body was important. I sat in the back, with my purse full of tissues. I accepted the closure that the funeral brought and moved on.
Shortly after Aidan's funeral, Ryan started coming by the church office to play the piano. Ryan was undergoing chemo treatments for cancer. The pain was so intense that he had left his job. On his good days, he stop by to practice his favorite piano pieces. Some weeks, I'd see him every afternoon. Other weeks, his absence would be noticeable. Near the end of December, he sent me a playlist of his favorite piano pieces. It took me several weeks to get around to playing it, but when I returned to Chicago from Christmas, I was excited to share with my him my favorites, to ask him to play me "A Song of Simplicity" by Elijah Boseenbroek.
I returned to the announcement of his death. In my absence, he had moved home into hospice care and soon died. I sent the family a plant.
Westminster Shorter Catechism: Question 37.What benefits do men receive from Christ at death?
Answer: The souls of believers are at their death made perfect in holiness and do immediately pass into glory; and their bodies, being still united in Christ, do rest in their graves, till the resurrection.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Cutting My Losses: Mid-semester Thoughts on Graduate Education
I wanted to be a professor since before I knew the word for it. As a child, I wanted to teach and the older I got, the more certain I was that full-time academics were for me. I wanted a PhD and while my field of choice changed the ambition never did. I was determined to be a doctor, determined to publish profound articles and shape young minds.
On the first day of graduate orientation, I told a peer that I wanted to get my Ph.D in theology or teach third grade. I told her that the verdict was still out, that I wasn't sure which age range God had gifted me to serve.
The verdict is still out. Although I wear the hat of a professor on Monday nights, teaching 19 year olds about philosophy, I refuse to sign my emails as "Professor Atkinson" and instead simply maintain my student identity as "Larissa Atkinson." I refuse to look at schools for doctoral research, despite the fact applications are due in 8 short months. I refuse to write for publication, quit my part time job, pick a research topic. Despite the myriad opportunities to fulfill my lifelong dream, I refuse to move forward in fear that the dream was a mirage, that if I keep going, I will only find myself stranded in the desert with no option but to stay in the desert, letting academia slowly drain the life from me.
Most days, I'm left wondering what happens if my dream is no longer my dream. What becomes of the ambitious child who read encyclopedias for fun when she discovers that the vision of her future life is not a life worth pursuing? If the dream which has defined me is no longer my dream, then what am I aiming for? Where do I turn?
In the midst of this existential angst, I talked with one of my favorite classmates and we commiserated about the difficult material in our class and the rejections he recently received from his second doctoral application process. I said to him, "At some point, doesn't it just feel like academia is a gamble? In the end, the house always wins. A few lucky souls win a large pot and retreat to their high roller suites, but at what point do you realize that won't be you? How many hands do you play before you cut your losses and go home? How many more years of my life do I give before I duck my head in shame and return to where I was before this began?"
That question still remains: When is it time to cut the losses and go home? Do I wait out a good hand, bluff my way through the process, and take each won hand as an indicator of a larger pattern, or do I see a scam when I see one and retreat from the table, never knowing what could have been?
On the first day of graduate orientation, I told a peer that I wanted to get my Ph.D in theology or teach third grade. I told her that the verdict was still out, that I wasn't sure which age range God had gifted me to serve.
The verdict is still out. Although I wear the hat of a professor on Monday nights, teaching 19 year olds about philosophy, I refuse to sign my emails as "Professor Atkinson" and instead simply maintain my student identity as "Larissa Atkinson." I refuse to look at schools for doctoral research, despite the fact applications are due in 8 short months. I refuse to write for publication, quit my part time job, pick a research topic. Despite the myriad opportunities to fulfill my lifelong dream, I refuse to move forward in fear that the dream was a mirage, that if I keep going, I will only find myself stranded in the desert with no option but to stay in the desert, letting academia slowly drain the life from me.
Most days, I'm left wondering what happens if my dream is no longer my dream. What becomes of the ambitious child who read encyclopedias for fun when she discovers that the vision of her future life is not a life worth pursuing? If the dream which has defined me is no longer my dream, then what am I aiming for? Where do I turn?
In the midst of this existential angst, I talked with one of my favorite classmates and we commiserated about the difficult material in our class and the rejections he recently received from his second doctoral application process. I said to him, "At some point, doesn't it just feel like academia is a gamble? In the end, the house always wins. A few lucky souls win a large pot and retreat to their high roller suites, but at what point do you realize that won't be you? How many hands do you play before you cut your losses and go home? How many more years of my life do I give before I duck my head in shame and return to where I was before this began?"
That question still remains: When is it time to cut the losses and go home? Do I wait out a good hand, bluff my way through the process, and take each won hand as an indicator of a larger pattern, or do I see a scam when I see one and retreat from the table, never knowing what could have been?
Monday, February 25, 2013
Sabbath
I like the idea of Sabbath keeping. I've taught about it, encouraged those I mentor to embrace the practices, written it on my to-do list.
My body knows it needs it. I invariably need a day off -- my body grows weak, my brain cannot keep up and in order to violate the Sabbath, I must try far too hard with limited results.
Last year, I vowed to take a Sabbath on Friday evenings. I started out well. I went home, grabbed a book, and read for the fun of it. I took time to make a nice dinner that I enjoyed, and to spend time in prayer and Scripture. After 3 hours, I was bored. I made art for my wall. I reorganized my closet. I did laundry. I went to bed with my next day's to-do list completed and felt accomplished.
I talked to my boyfriend the next day, sharing with him all the things I was able to do on my Sabbath. He pointed out that "my Sabbath" failed in one crucial area -- it wasn't a Sabbath.
I still venture these attempts every now and then. I either end up reading school work, of course, for enjoyment's sake, or doing household chores for the good of my roommates. The idea of rest, of doing nothing, is not in my DNA.
This semester, I am teaching at Moody. Part of my agreement is to use this opportunity to grow spiritually, not just improve my teaching ability. I made one of my goals to keep Sabbath, to rest and maintain my focus on God.
The last two Sundays, my computer has simply failed to work when I came home from church. Both weeks, after hours on the phone with tech support, no solution was found and they told me to send it in for repairs. Both weeks, I had fully intended to spend my Sunday writing my lecture for Monday. No computer means no lecture.
Yesterday, I decided to work until the battery completely depleted. It was still running, albeit denying its charge, and I concluded that I would take advantage of the terrific battery life of the machine and use it for the next 4 hours.
As I sat writing about Aristotle and Augustine, prepping illustrations and powerpoints, my roommate, Linsey, stopped by to chat. When I explained my computer frustrations, she jokingly said, "Maybe it's just taking Sabbaths. Maybe it will work tomorrow."It was funny and I brushed it off continuing to work on the Sabbath.
This morning, after letting my battery drain last night, decided to see if my computer would start. It did. Fully charged, fully functioning,no remnants of yesterday's failures.
My computer insisted on a Sabbath. It wanted a day of rest, a moment away from the fast-paced life I put it through. The irony did not move past me. My computer is better at Sabbath keeping than I am.
My body knows it needs it. I invariably need a day off -- my body grows weak, my brain cannot keep up and in order to violate the Sabbath, I must try far too hard with limited results.
Last year, I vowed to take a Sabbath on Friday evenings. I started out well. I went home, grabbed a book, and read for the fun of it. I took time to make a nice dinner that I enjoyed, and to spend time in prayer and Scripture. After 3 hours, I was bored. I made art for my wall. I reorganized my closet. I did laundry. I went to bed with my next day's to-do list completed and felt accomplished.
I talked to my boyfriend the next day, sharing with him all the things I was able to do on my Sabbath. He pointed out that "my Sabbath" failed in one crucial area -- it wasn't a Sabbath.
I still venture these attempts every now and then. I either end up reading school work, of course, for enjoyment's sake, or doing household chores for the good of my roommates. The idea of rest, of doing nothing, is not in my DNA.
This semester, I am teaching at Moody. Part of my agreement is to use this opportunity to grow spiritually, not just improve my teaching ability. I made one of my goals to keep Sabbath, to rest and maintain my focus on God.
The last two Sundays, my computer has simply failed to work when I came home from church. Both weeks, after hours on the phone with tech support, no solution was found and they told me to send it in for repairs. Both weeks, I had fully intended to spend my Sunday writing my lecture for Monday. No computer means no lecture.
Yesterday, I decided to work until the battery completely depleted. It was still running, albeit denying its charge, and I concluded that I would take advantage of the terrific battery life of the machine and use it for the next 4 hours.
As I sat writing about Aristotle and Augustine, prepping illustrations and powerpoints, my roommate, Linsey, stopped by to chat. When I explained my computer frustrations, she jokingly said, "Maybe it's just taking Sabbaths. Maybe it will work tomorrow."It was funny and I brushed it off continuing to work on the Sabbath.
This morning, after letting my battery drain last night, decided to see if my computer would start. It did. Fully charged, fully functioning,no remnants of yesterday's failures.
My computer insisted on a Sabbath. It wanted a day of rest, a moment away from the fast-paced life I put it through. The irony did not move past me. My computer is better at Sabbath keeping than I am.
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