Let it not be said that Melissa Lynn May is not spontaneous.
Idou gar! This little seminarian is shirking her responsibilities for four days in order to see relatives in Iowa, of all places.
Don't get me wrong: this trip was a long time coming. My great-uncle John's not doing great health-wise, and I desperately need to sort through the junk I left in storage at Wartburg Seminary.
Besides, it will be good to close a chapter of my life there. . .close the door on some decisions I made in that place that I am way past now. I am no longer the person who took such violently self-destructive paths, but am rather a breaking bud, breathing fresh air and experiencing a bit of birthing pain.
In the meantime, hours and hours in a Toyota Camry towards the Midwest, finding old friends, making new ones, and keeping the metaphorical pastries warm in the oven, here I come!
Monday, October 09, 2006
Friday, October 06, 2006
By Grace Through Faith
Well, I've experienced quite a few challenges in the past few weeks, most of which were intellectual and emotional.
As for the emotional bit, I'll just say that I need to work on my self-confidence issues. I need to feel better about being just me, the me that has friends and may not ever make it to a history book, but is loved and appreciated for her uniqueness all the same.
School is rough. Greek-- oh, participles and contract verbs and third declension! Lutheran Confessions. . .I'm gonna have the fourth article of the Augsburg Confession hammered into my brain before long! And SO much reading! I'd forgotten that little detail since last time.
Oh, but I've had a lot of fun, too. Went on a trip to Virginia this past weekend with six seminary friends for our friend the Monsignor's church homecoming (he's nicknamed such because he's VERY high-church, and he lives about 20 minutes from my parents). During that time, we had to excavate my car from a ditch (no matter what anyone says, do NOT go off-roading in a Honda Civic), we broke into two churches, we got fed like royalty, and played much keepaway with stuffed animals and brownies. A good weekend, I'd say. :)
So much to do now. I must apply for a position for CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education, which is pretty much a required hospital chaplaincy for about ten weeks during the summer), must make travel arrangements for December-January, and in the meantime, schoolwork looms alarmingly.
But I feel hopeful. . .for the most part anyway. On Iona, I felt so very CALLED to do God's work, and here. . .well, it's easy to sometimes feel discouraged and lost in the crowd of people called to ministry. It's great to be among these people, but when a call to ministry is a given, the bar is set high. I just hope that through God's help, what I can be will be good enough.
As for the emotional bit, I'll just say that I need to work on my self-confidence issues. I need to feel better about being just me, the me that has friends and may not ever make it to a history book, but is loved and appreciated for her uniqueness all the same.
School is rough. Greek-- oh, participles and contract verbs and third declension! Lutheran Confessions. . .I'm gonna have the fourth article of the Augsburg Confession hammered into my brain before long! And SO much reading! I'd forgotten that little detail since last time.
Oh, but I've had a lot of fun, too. Went on a trip to Virginia this past weekend with six seminary friends for our friend the Monsignor's church homecoming (he's nicknamed such because he's VERY high-church, and he lives about 20 minutes from my parents). During that time, we had to excavate my car from a ditch (no matter what anyone says, do NOT go off-roading in a Honda Civic), we broke into two churches, we got fed like royalty, and played much keepaway with stuffed animals and brownies. A good weekend, I'd say. :)
So much to do now. I must apply for a position for CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education, which is pretty much a required hospital chaplaincy for about ten weeks during the summer), must make travel arrangements for December-January, and in the meantime, schoolwork looms alarmingly.
But I feel hopeful. . .for the most part anyway. On Iona, I felt so very CALLED to do God's work, and here. . .well, it's easy to sometimes feel discouraged and lost in the crowd of people called to ministry. It's great to be among these people, but when a call to ministry is a given, the bar is set high. I just hope that through God's help, what I can be will be good enough.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Battlefields in the Dark
You know, everything with regard to school is going much better than I'd thought. In fact, I think that such a good time justifies a list.
Good Stuff about Gettysburg '06
1.) New friends, especially flirt-happy David and football-crazed Katie. Love these guys and our late-night war councils!
2.) Being infinitely more sociable than last time. What a difference time and transformation have made! Now I don't have TIME to mope around. . .too busy scrambling to finish assignments, playing board games, making Wal-Mart runs, working part-time, working out at the Y, and goofing off in general.
3.) Walking on pitch-black battlefields at midnight. So quiet, so requiring trust, so good with a companion. And lemme tell ya, these folks are absolute fiends about walking. A quick jaunt to Lee's statue and back takes an hour and gives you a lot to think about.
4.) Okay, I'm all about ecumenism, but it is nice to be among Lutherans and to get each other's jokes, especially the really pathetically common ones about green jello and Lutefisk. Yeah, I've heard 'em a million times, but at least we're all on the same page.
5.) A grab-bag of other experiences: dining with Dominican monks, hurling Greek jokes at one another ("What does Johnny Depp say when he plays golf? 'GAR!'" and "Idou! A squirrel!"), memorising the hours of the Beer Mart, the kazoo band for our flag football team, hours of Risk and creative procrastination. . .I'm really enjoying myself here.
Of course, add to all this the relative pleasantness (and pain) of a crush, and what do you get? Impending heartache, I'm sure. But for now, I'm just going to live and sing and get in some good belly laughs and learn a lot more about myself and God working in my life.
In the meantime, I miss you, tiny Hebridean island. I miss you, Lauren, and Sam, and Marie, and Moses, and Hannah, and Pip, and Ben. Matty, Hazel, Rhiannon. . . So many people my heart yearns to be close to again. But perhaps at Christmas. Christmas.
Good Stuff about Gettysburg '06
1.) New friends, especially flirt-happy David and football-crazed Katie. Love these guys and our late-night war councils!
2.) Being infinitely more sociable than last time. What a difference time and transformation have made! Now I don't have TIME to mope around. . .too busy scrambling to finish assignments, playing board games, making Wal-Mart runs, working part-time, working out at the Y, and goofing off in general.
3.) Walking on pitch-black battlefields at midnight. So quiet, so requiring trust, so good with a companion. And lemme tell ya, these folks are absolute fiends about walking. A quick jaunt to Lee's statue and back takes an hour and gives you a lot to think about.
4.) Okay, I'm all about ecumenism, but it is nice to be among Lutherans and to get each other's jokes, especially the really pathetically common ones about green jello and Lutefisk. Yeah, I've heard 'em a million times, but at least we're all on the same page.
5.) A grab-bag of other experiences: dining with Dominican monks, hurling Greek jokes at one another ("What does Johnny Depp say when he plays golf? 'GAR!'" and "Idou! A squirrel!"), memorising the hours of the Beer Mart, the kazoo band for our flag football team, hours of Risk and creative procrastination. . .I'm really enjoying myself here.
Of course, add to all this the relative pleasantness (and pain) of a crush, and what do you get? Impending heartache, I'm sure. But for now, I'm just going to live and sing and get in some good belly laughs and learn a lot more about myself and God working in my life.
In the meantime, I miss you, tiny Hebridean island. I miss you, Lauren, and Sam, and Marie, and Moses, and Hannah, and Pip, and Ben. Matty, Hazel, Rhiannon. . . So many people my heart yearns to be close to again. But perhaps at Christmas. Christmas.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Wistful Anniversary
[Visual: faux-French menu from the Aberly dorm dinner this week (note the "Jello vert. . .liturgicalement correcte")] :)
So externally everything is peachy. Especially this: I got a 99 in Greek. Definitely fantastic. . .I passed with flying colours.
Tomorrow I'm preaching at Martin Luther in Bergton.
In order to get there, I'm driving all by myself for a two-and-a-half hour road trip home.
When I return to Gettysburg, I have friends here waiting to greet me warmly.
Amazing things that I never would have predicted a year ago. Driving?! Preaching??? Friends after two weeks? That doesn't sound like me. And yet here I am, myself still, but doing things the former Melissa could not have imagined for herself.
Why, then, am I melancholy? Why are you cast down, O my soul?
It's because it's the one-month anniversary of me leaving Iona. I'm scared of not seeing anyone for a while. I hate the idea that now half the vollies there have no clue who I am. . .not that they need to. I wish I were still in the midst of that experience, that I could have it again. But I can't, even if I forced it, because my best friends cannot be there any longer.
I talked with Katie a little last night about moving past the gift of Iona, which helped, even if she feels like I was talking myself in dark circles of depression. Last night was indeed bad, but here I am this morning, having refrained from making destructive decisions in the meantime. I hope that that's at least something.
Anyway, time for my journey home. God, please keep me safe, and help me grow rather than curl up and wither. I may be returning home, but I don't want to go back to where I once was.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Greek and Kickboxing
So Greek has been going well. It's a lot of stuff to remember, but it's fine, really. "It's good": "Esti agathos kai eimi kalos." (". . .And I am beautiful." I'm practicing my adjectives and my conjugation of the verb "to be," if you'll forgive me). :D
Last night I took advantage of my NEW YWCA membership (Gettysburg students pay $10 a year for it!) to attend a cardio-kick class, which translates to kickboxing moves in a cardio workout setting. I gotta tell ya, it kicked my ass. Probably in a good way, considering that that ass needs to get in shape. :) It's up in the air whether or not I'll try that one again, but definitely looking forward to using the Y for swimming, even weight training maybe. When I get through a couple of months of that, I'll be able to bench-press Sam at Christmas.
Speaking of which, I talked to Sam and Lauren yesterday—the latter on the phone! She's in Glasgow, and anxious to get back to ministerial work. No message yet back from Mary upon her arrival home in Sweden, and Sam's engaging in metrosexual cooking for his mum on his family pig farm. Moses is probably downing shots of screech and kissing puffin's arses in Newfoundland.
Ah, eclectic friends. What would I do without them? :)
A lot of my friends seem to be delayed in getting their first call in a congregation, like Ryan, who's a Wartburg grad, and Mark, who's a Gettysburg grad. I can only imagine how frustrating that would be! But at least they know that they're in good hands in terms of eventually finding a position in a congregation, especially because of the pastoral shortage in the ELCA that we hear so much about.
I'm doing alright with meeting new peeps here too. David across the hall is good to hang and watch movies with, and I'm learning tons about marching bands and USC from Katie, who's upstairs.
Well, nearly time for chapel. It's interesting, only going to worship once a day instead of twice. Ooh, and tonight on Iona is the "service of commitment" with a "symbolic action." I'll just imagine myself lighting a candle or some such thing and pretend I'm there.
In the meanwhile, I'm actually geographically here, and actually doing fine. A miracle in itself, I think.
Last night I took advantage of my NEW YWCA membership (Gettysburg students pay $10 a year for it!) to attend a cardio-kick class, which translates to kickboxing moves in a cardio workout setting. I gotta tell ya, it kicked my ass. Probably in a good way, considering that that ass needs to get in shape. :) It's up in the air whether or not I'll try that one again, but definitely looking forward to using the Y for swimming, even weight training maybe. When I get through a couple of months of that, I'll be able to bench-press Sam at Christmas.
Speaking of which, I talked to Sam and Lauren yesterday—the latter on the phone! She's in Glasgow, and anxious to get back to ministerial work. No message yet back from Mary upon her arrival home in Sweden, and Sam's engaging in metrosexual cooking for his mum on his family pig farm. Moses is probably downing shots of screech and kissing puffin's arses in Newfoundland.
Ah, eclectic friends. What would I do without them? :)
A lot of my friends seem to be delayed in getting their first call in a congregation, like Ryan, who's a Wartburg grad, and Mark, who's a Gettysburg grad. I can only imagine how frustrating that would be! But at least they know that they're in good hands in terms of eventually finding a position in a congregation, especially because of the pastoral shortage in the ELCA that we hear so much about.
I'm doing alright with meeting new peeps here too. David across the hall is good to hang and watch movies with, and I'm learning tons about marching bands and USC from Katie, who's upstairs.
Well, nearly time for chapel. It's interesting, only going to worship once a day instead of twice. Ooh, and tonight on Iona is the "service of commitment" with a "symbolic action." I'll just imagine myself lighting a candle or some such thing and pretend I'm there.
In the meanwhile, I'm actually geographically here, and actually doing fine. A miracle in itself, I think.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Some questions for you, God
Well, here I am again, settled in at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, and not surprisingly, I find myself retaining traces of those old fears. All these things: field education time in congregations, heavy-duty classes, more advanced students, a lack of an emotional connection with anyone here . . . it all makes me feel intimidated and small. And I’m not even at a big-league school here like Yale or Harvard! Just little old Gettysburg.
I met with my advisor this morning, and he was helping me try to work out when I’d fit in this Field Ed thing, Teaching Parish, another year, and whether it’d mean that I’d need to stay on for an extra semester or year. I can’t believe that my lack of communication with my candidacy committee could end up costing me something like $8,000+ in extra tuition and fees. I feel kinda stupid right about now.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Did you not lead worship a few times on Iona, and assist and preach at your home congregation and receive nothing but warm support and enthusiasm? Do you not have good friends who would do anything if they could to help you on your way? Is not God your faithful companion and guide, helping you fill out even the most confusing financial forms and holding your hand as you move past that with which you are familiar?
What’ll I do when the tide takes me
Further out to sea than I care to be?
Go a little further where the shade is not
Go a little further, you might find your heart
Time will do its own thing anyway
The trick is not to get lost in the day to day
Find your way, come feel your way
People act strange and they mislead the way
’Cause only when you turn around you see you’ve strayed
So open up your arms and I will carry you
When things are too hard to comprehend in full
God, help me not to hide anymore. Help me to go forth and lay structures in place for a future of courage, because exiting this dorm room and going to face paperwork and general scrutiny seems to me as difficult as riding a charger into fierce battle. I know I am at war with something, perhaps my weaker self. All I know is that I have to make myself, inch by torturous inch, go out and act confident as I go through the motions of a scheme I’m not sure I want my life to resemble.
Why always so much uncertainty? I miss the sureness of mopping a floor, cleaning a toilet, everyday liturgical responses. My life there was liturgy; the fellowship there was sacrament. My God, my God, where is the sacred here in a small-town community in Pennsylvania, where I feel so out of touch with everyone and everything that is not happening?
I met with my advisor this morning, and he was helping me try to work out when I’d fit in this Field Ed thing, Teaching Parish, another year, and whether it’d mean that I’d need to stay on for an extra semester or year. I can’t believe that my lack of communication with my candidacy committee could end up costing me something like $8,000+ in extra tuition and fees. I feel kinda stupid right about now.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Did you not lead worship a few times on Iona, and assist and preach at your home congregation and receive nothing but warm support and enthusiasm? Do you not have good friends who would do anything if they could to help you on your way? Is not God your faithful companion and guide, helping you fill out even the most confusing financial forms and holding your hand as you move past that with which you are familiar?
What’ll I do when the tide takes me
Further out to sea than I care to be?
Go a little further where the shade is not
Go a little further, you might find your heart
Time will do its own thing anyway
The trick is not to get lost in the day to day
Find your way, come feel your way
People act strange and they mislead the way
’Cause only when you turn around you see you’ve strayed
So open up your arms and I will carry you
When things are too hard to comprehend in full
God, help me not to hide anymore. Help me to go forth and lay structures in place for a future of courage, because exiting this dorm room and going to face paperwork and general scrutiny seems to me as difficult as riding a charger into fierce battle. I know I am at war with something, perhaps my weaker self. All I know is that I have to make myself, inch by torturous inch, go out and act confident as I go through the motions of a scheme I’m not sure I want my life to resemble.
Why always so much uncertainty? I miss the sureness of mopping a floor, cleaning a toilet, everyday liturgical responses. My life there was liturgy; the fellowship there was sacrament. My God, my God, where is the sacred here in a small-town community in Pennsylvania, where I feel so out of touch with everyone and everything that is not happening?
Sunday, August 13, 2006
A Milestone and Other Markers
Today I delivered my first sermon.
Sounds amazing to say that. Probably as recently as a few months ago that idea would have set me shivering with nervousness, but. . .well, like so many new things I do these days, Iona helped change that. I know deep within me now that I am loved and supported and thus that the big steps that I take are cheered on by that great cloud of witnesses in the church. As I prepared, I felt the hope and affirmation from people like Simon, Gillian, Lotte, Lauren, Moses, Sam, Mary, Hannah, Philippa, Mary III, my parents, my grandparents, and old seminary and college friends like Beth and Johanna and Bree coursing through me. . .how, with that sheer volume of positive energy, can one not feel more confident?
People liked the sermon. I'm pleasantly surprised by that. Based on how things were going last night in writing it, I thought it'd turn out bland and flat and garden-variety. Now. . .now I can better see myself in that role as a pastor, though I'm still frightened of getting boxed in to a confined space (geographically, mostly) in a small country parish and not exploring the world, learning loads of different things. I do love small country parishes, though. Maybe one of these days I'll have "settled down" and will really want those roots.
Last night was pretty rough. I was kind of disappointed with myself anyway for ending up going to bed with not everything written for today, and ended up listening to Simon's band, Icarus (for about the millionth time in a week and a half) and feeling fairly lonely. I think that I subconsciously protected myself emotionally as I traveled from Britain and in the first few days home by only feeling "comfortable" pain. Yes, there was intense sadness at missing everyone and life on Iona. Yes, much anguish and anxiousness. Last night, however, something welled up within me that--for the first time in months--resembled something like despair. (About complicated things that, bottom line, involve my own sense of self-worth). Well, I know better these days than to let something like that fester, so I immediately reached out for a lifeline: Mary. I emailed her asking for her to help me in any way she could, whether it would be to send a message back or to just think about me. (Ever get the feeling that even if someone's not particularly praying to God on your behalf, just them letting you know that they're thinking about you and your welfare really helps too?)
I received a reply when I checked my email this morning, and I felt so grateful to see that Mary understood my plea. . .she even said that if I'd only lived five hours or so away she would have gotten on the first bus to come see me, and that she'd try and give me a call when she had a chance. I just appreciate her understanding that I needed some support.
Since arriving back home, I've worried a bit that my Iona friends will see me as needy. I don't know if I am, honestly. I think of myself these days as a fairly self-sufficient person who happens to know that she needs God working through significant loving relationships in order to really live. Isolated, I am an empty, meaningless shell. Buoyed up by friends and family and community in general, I am vivacious and truly myself. I don't think I'm clingy or desperate. I think I just know what I need. I pray that the people I am most close to understand this. . .and I think they must, for they know me pretty deeply.
Well, on a lighter note. . . I helped to watch my cousins Ben and Ava today (9 and 5 years old). Yes, it's all fun and games, swimming and ice cream, laughter and board games, until somebody has an "accident." In that case, skills as a housekeeper come in handy! :)
Now that I've figured out how to use the bottle opener to extricate the cap from my leftover-from-the-picnic Newcastle Brown Ale, I think I'll slowly retire to my inner sanctum and prepare for a day of mad packing/organising.
Sounds amazing to say that. Probably as recently as a few months ago that idea would have set me shivering with nervousness, but. . .well, like so many new things I do these days, Iona helped change that. I know deep within me now that I am loved and supported and thus that the big steps that I take are cheered on by that great cloud of witnesses in the church. As I prepared, I felt the hope and affirmation from people like Simon, Gillian, Lotte, Lauren, Moses, Sam, Mary, Hannah, Philippa, Mary III, my parents, my grandparents, and old seminary and college friends like Beth and Johanna and Bree coursing through me. . .how, with that sheer volume of positive energy, can one not feel more confident?
People liked the sermon. I'm pleasantly surprised by that. Based on how things were going last night in writing it, I thought it'd turn out bland and flat and garden-variety. Now. . .now I can better see myself in that role as a pastor, though I'm still frightened of getting boxed in to a confined space (geographically, mostly) in a small country parish and not exploring the world, learning loads of different things. I do love small country parishes, though. Maybe one of these days I'll have "settled down" and will really want those roots.
Last night was pretty rough. I was kind of disappointed with myself anyway for ending up going to bed with not everything written for today, and ended up listening to Simon's band, Icarus (for about the millionth time in a week and a half) and feeling fairly lonely. I think that I subconsciously protected myself emotionally as I traveled from Britain and in the first few days home by only feeling "comfortable" pain. Yes, there was intense sadness at missing everyone and life on Iona. Yes, much anguish and anxiousness. Last night, however, something welled up within me that--for the first time in months--resembled something like despair. (About complicated things that, bottom line, involve my own sense of self-worth). Well, I know better these days than to let something like that fester, so I immediately reached out for a lifeline: Mary. I emailed her asking for her to help me in any way she could, whether it would be to send a message back or to just think about me. (Ever get the feeling that even if someone's not particularly praying to God on your behalf, just them letting you know that they're thinking about you and your welfare really helps too?)
I received a reply when I checked my email this morning, and I felt so grateful to see that Mary understood my plea. . .she even said that if I'd only lived five hours or so away she would have gotten on the first bus to come see me, and that she'd try and give me a call when she had a chance. I just appreciate her understanding that I needed some support.
Since arriving back home, I've worried a bit that my Iona friends will see me as needy. I don't know if I am, honestly. I think of myself these days as a fairly self-sufficient person who happens to know that she needs God working through significant loving relationships in order to really live. Isolated, I am an empty, meaningless shell. Buoyed up by friends and family and community in general, I am vivacious and truly myself. I don't think I'm clingy or desperate. I think I just know what I need. I pray that the people I am most close to understand this. . .and I think they must, for they know me pretty deeply.
Well, on a lighter note. . . I helped to watch my cousins Ben and Ava today (9 and 5 years old). Yes, it's all fun and games, swimming and ice cream, laughter and board games, until somebody has an "accident." In that case, skills as a housekeeper come in handy! :)
Now that I've figured out how to use the bottle opener to extricate the cap from my leftover-from-the-picnic Newcastle Brown Ale, I think I'll slowly retire to my inner sanctum and prepare for a day of mad packing/organising.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Whirlwind Return
I am safely home, and here are some highlights of the journey and the week since:
-Hanging out with Simon's friend Travis in Glasgow (fun to learn about filmmaking!)
-Sneakily listening to Verdi's opera "Rigoletto" in Holland Park, London, while I made my own high-culture experience of consuming shandy, stilton and crackers in a private picnic
-Getting showered with love in the form of emails and phone conversations from Iona vollies (love them!)
-Avoiding air-travel security hassles by quite fortuitously leaving a week before new terror concerns; I might've had to go through all sorts of tiring and confusing new plans otherwise (kudos to Scotland Yard on the arrests, though)
-Playing guitar for my congregation ("One Bread, One Body" and "Take, Oh, Take Me As I Am" in English and Gaelic)
-A welcome home picnic with a sheep cake and a slideshow of Iona pics for those attending (and British beer, too!)
-Meeting with my candidacy committee--good to reestablish old ties and meet some current Gettysburg students
-Going through tons of boxes of old junk
-Preparing to give a sermon at Mt. Zion tomorrow- whoa!
My life: both a blessing and a blur.
-Hanging out with Simon's friend Travis in Glasgow (fun to learn about filmmaking!)
-Sneakily listening to Verdi's opera "Rigoletto" in Holland Park, London, while I made my own high-culture experience of consuming shandy, stilton and crackers in a private picnic
-Getting showered with love in the form of emails and phone conversations from Iona vollies (love them!)
-Avoiding air-travel security hassles by quite fortuitously leaving a week before new terror concerns; I might've had to go through all sorts of tiring and confusing new plans otherwise (kudos to Scotland Yard on the arrests, though)
-Playing guitar for my congregation ("One Bread, One Body" and "Take, Oh, Take Me As I Am" in English and Gaelic)
-A welcome home picnic with a sheep cake and a slideshow of Iona pics for those attending (and British beer, too!)
-Meeting with my candidacy committee--good to reestablish old ties and meet some current Gettysburg students
-Going through tons of boxes of old junk
-Preparing to give a sermon at Mt. Zion tomorrow- whoa!
My life: both a blessing and a blur.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Deep Peace
Saturday 29 July
It is well with my soul.
Last night, on Martyrs Bay beach, I reaffirmed my baptismal vows in the presence of God and a few dozen Iona vollies and residents. People loved and were touched by the service—it was a collection of songs, vows, prayers, and symbolic actions (including an invitation for people to collect handfuls of water from the sea and pour it into a glass bowl, from which Richard, the leader, anointed me). So many people have told me how much they enjoyed the service (even loved it) and how much they were honoured by the chance to be present at it. Rosie played clarinet, Simon played guitar, Richard presided, Lauren read Romans 8:31-39, and Sam wrote and said a prayer.
Directly afterwards was Mary III’s creation service, during which I helped sing with her and Mary ("Come Light, Light of God") and an "evening came, morning came" motif)—her service turned out to be brilliant.
Today we welcomed over 200 members for Community Week, and kicked off their time here with a welcoming service, complete with Lauren leading "Igama Le(k)unkosi."
At the end of tonight’s service, Simon sang his "Deep Peace," during which I began to cry (thinking again about leaving, and Simon’s voice is so incredible and emotive). Mary, Sam, Simon, and others hugged me in the cloisters, and the former two held arms around me as we walked down to Cul Shuna to hang out for the night. Later, Sam walked me back to the Mac, and we had a good chat. Mary had said earlier that Sam told her I was one of his best friends here. I can’t believe how incredibly lucky I am to have such fantastic friends, including these two, Lauren, and the recently departed (through the life-giving death that lies in returning home) Moses.
Sam and I agreed: life is strange and wonderful, and it’s a privilege to be living it. And all is well.
It is well with my soul.
Last night, on Martyrs Bay beach, I reaffirmed my baptismal vows in the presence of God and a few dozen Iona vollies and residents. People loved and were touched by the service—it was a collection of songs, vows, prayers, and symbolic actions (including an invitation for people to collect handfuls of water from the sea and pour it into a glass bowl, from which Richard, the leader, anointed me). So many people have told me how much they enjoyed the service (even loved it) and how much they were honoured by the chance to be present at it. Rosie played clarinet, Simon played guitar, Richard presided, Lauren read Romans 8:31-39, and Sam wrote and said a prayer.
Directly afterwards was Mary III’s creation service, during which I helped sing with her and Mary ("Come Light, Light of God") and an "evening came, morning came" motif)—her service turned out to be brilliant.
Today we welcomed over 200 members for Community Week, and kicked off their time here with a welcoming service, complete with Lauren leading "Igama Le(k)unkosi."
At the end of tonight’s service, Simon sang his "Deep Peace," during which I began to cry (thinking again about leaving, and Simon’s voice is so incredible and emotive). Mary, Sam, Simon, and others hugged me in the cloisters, and the former two held arms around me as we walked down to Cul Shuna to hang out for the night. Later, Sam walked me back to the Mac, and we had a good chat. Mary had said earlier that Sam told her I was one of his best friends here. I can’t believe how incredibly lucky I am to have such fantastic friends, including these two, Lauren, and the recently departed (through the life-giving death that lies in returning home) Moses.
Sam and I agreed: life is strange and wonderful, and it’s a privilege to be living it. And all is well.
Day in the life of a vollie
Ever wondered what a typical day is like in the life of an Iona vollie? Well, you're about to see one that's pretty indicative of how I spent most days during 14 weeks on Iona as a housekeeper. Enjoy!
Saturday 22 July
8:00 am- Woke up early: acquired some toast and was marginally sociable in the vollie area.
9:00 am- Morning worship- Jane (a general assistant) led--Gillian played "Morning Has Broken" after the last bit of the liturgy: I sang it while walking through the cloisters to work.
9:30-10:30- Drying room: Ines and I folded sheets, flipped gloves, sang, and talked over boys and big life decisions. Also sang some Michael Jackson songs with Sam as he stocked the nearby shop store room. It's a wonder, actually, that we get so much work done in the midst of so much goofing off.
10:30-11:00- Tea break! After summoning the other vollies ("Kitchen!" "Housekeeping!"), Ines and I prepared tea break and now maybe a dozen of us are sharing tea, coffee, and chocolate cake. Needed this break.
11:00 am- 1:00pm- Tea-break clean-up, lunch set-up, more laundry folding. Ines and I started joking, making up a phrase that goes, "I'm sweating like a monk." In our self-entertaining in-joke, we devised an elaborate scheme to market bottled monk-sweat as though it were holy water, and have it as an alcohol-free communion substitute.
1:00-2:30- Lunch and clean-up. It was a staff lunch at the Abbey (though unfortunately not enough room for the continued Ben tradition of candle-lit meals for two). Sat and chatted with Simon and the two Andrews, then at clean-up bustled about in the jam-packed scullery and servery to get everything washed, dried, and put away.
2:30-2:45- Met with Gillian to practise for tomorrow's worship service--I'm doing the hands again to lead the congregation in singing an African "Hallelujah" and to "Mungu Ni Mwema."
3:00-4:30- Went with Andrew (shop) to the Argyll hotel for a cream tea-- tea, scones with whipped cream and apricot jam. Quite a warm, sunny day.
4:30-5:45- Practised playing guitar and took a cat nap.
6:00-7:30- First dinner with new guests (this was my half-day, so normally I'd be working during this time)--had introductions and staff wash-up afterwards. Listened to Jackson 5 and danced during the last bit to make it more fun.
7:45-8:00-Practise with Gillian for song teaching.
8:00-8:30- Staff choir practise in the music loft. One of my favourite parts of the week—we sing some really good stuff!
8:30-8:50- A casual chat with Paddy and Philippa, two other vollies who are children’s workers. We lay in the grass outside the Abbey and relaxed.
9:00-9:45- Communion service and our staff choir performance. After the service, as we recess into the cloisters, everyone’s singing and dancing together.
9:45-10:00-After-serfice teas in the refectory: a time to chat over a hot beverage and some biscuits (cookies).
10:00-11:30-Fellowship among vollies at Martyrs Bay Restaurant, home of the pub we frequent. Lots of laughter, bad jokes, singing, and storytelling.
11:30-11:40- Walk back to the Mac for bed. Sweet sleep!
Saturday 22 July
8:00 am- Woke up early: acquired some toast and was marginally sociable in the vollie area.
9:00 am- Morning worship- Jane (a general assistant) led--Gillian played "Morning Has Broken" after the last bit of the liturgy: I sang it while walking through the cloisters to work.
9:30-10:30- Drying room: Ines and I folded sheets, flipped gloves, sang, and talked over boys and big life decisions. Also sang some Michael Jackson songs with Sam as he stocked the nearby shop store room. It's a wonder, actually, that we get so much work done in the midst of so much goofing off.
10:30-11:00- Tea break! After summoning the other vollies ("Kitchen!" "Housekeeping!"), Ines and I prepared tea break and now maybe a dozen of us are sharing tea, coffee, and chocolate cake. Needed this break.
11:00 am- 1:00pm- Tea-break clean-up, lunch set-up, more laundry folding. Ines and I started joking, making up a phrase that goes, "I'm sweating like a monk." In our self-entertaining in-joke, we devised an elaborate scheme to market bottled monk-sweat as though it were holy water, and have it as an alcohol-free communion substitute.
1:00-2:30- Lunch and clean-up. It was a staff lunch at the Abbey (though unfortunately not enough room for the continued Ben tradition of candle-lit meals for two). Sat and chatted with Simon and the two Andrews, then at clean-up bustled about in the jam-packed scullery and servery to get everything washed, dried, and put away.
2:30-2:45- Met with Gillian to practise for tomorrow's worship service--I'm doing the hands again to lead the congregation in singing an African "Hallelujah" and to "Mungu Ni Mwema."
3:00-4:30- Went with Andrew (shop) to the Argyll hotel for a cream tea-- tea, scones with whipped cream and apricot jam. Quite a warm, sunny day.
4:30-5:45- Practised playing guitar and took a cat nap.
6:00-7:30- First dinner with new guests (this was my half-day, so normally I'd be working during this time)--had introductions and staff wash-up afterwards. Listened to Jackson 5 and danced during the last bit to make it more fun.
7:45-8:00-Practise with Gillian for song teaching.
8:00-8:30- Staff choir practise in the music loft. One of my favourite parts of the week—we sing some really good stuff!
8:30-8:50- A casual chat with Paddy and Philippa, two other vollies who are children’s workers. We lay in the grass outside the Abbey and relaxed.
9:00-9:45- Communion service and our staff choir performance. After the service, as we recess into the cloisters, everyone’s singing and dancing together.
9:45-10:00-After-serfice teas in the refectory: a time to chat over a hot beverage and some biscuits (cookies).
10:00-11:30-Fellowship among vollies at Martyrs Bay Restaurant, home of the pub we frequent. Lots of laughter, bad jokes, singing, and storytelling.
11:30-11:40- Walk back to the Mac for bed. Sweet sleep!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Edinburgh, and a Warm Welcome Back
My time at Edinburgh we really great. I saw the Castle, Holyroodhouse, St. Giles Cathedral, Canongate Church, and the Museum of Edinburgh. What a great city! Relatively quiet, cultured, and unpretentious. Full of writers like Robert Burns, Robert Fergusson, Robert Louis Stevenson (see the pattern?), Sir Walter Scott. . . I saw Fergusson's grave as well as Adam Smith's . . .I saw the outside of the new Scottish Parliament (very 21st-century-looking, with good quotes from Scottish writers carved outside), and Deacon Brodie's close (that dude was the real-life inspiration for Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde).
Hannah's flatmates (Gemma, Kerrie, and Jenny) were very warm and helpful, and I had good chats with Jenny especially. I really got a lot of good rest and relaxation in, and felt I got a nice sense of the city after wandering about it for a few days.
I also received a touching welcome back to Iona-- people gave me loads of hugs, said they'd missed me and it seemed like ages since I'd been here.
We were all at the pub last night, and Sam witnessed what he called a "Super Melvin" (I really put my foot in it) in from of Helen Woodcock, a Community member's daughter. After some time laughing there, Sam and Marie and I went on a mission to cut flowers from across peoples' hedges to give to Kate for her birthday. Then, when I arrived back to my room, I kicked over a container of liquid by my bed, which surprised and puzzled me. When I turned on the light, I realised what it was--Marie and Sam had gotten me flowers as well! They were wanting to say thank you for the CDs I brought back for them. . . the note on the flowers read, "To a really great friend--see you at the pub!-- Sam-- Jelly Tot." (They'd gotten and placed them there while I was at after-service teas, and before the pub). I felt so excited and happy and loved all at once. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment that I will treasure in my heart for probably the rest of my life.
Hannah's flatmates (Gemma, Kerrie, and Jenny) were very warm and helpful, and I had good chats with Jenny especially. I really got a lot of good rest and relaxation in, and felt I got a nice sense of the city after wandering about it for a few days.
I also received a touching welcome back to Iona-- people gave me loads of hugs, said they'd missed me and it seemed like ages since I'd been here.
We were all at the pub last night, and Sam witnessed what he called a "Super Melvin" (I really put my foot in it) in from of Helen Woodcock, a Community member's daughter. After some time laughing there, Sam and Marie and I went on a mission to cut flowers from across peoples' hedges to give to Kate for her birthday. Then, when I arrived back to my room, I kicked over a container of liquid by my bed, which surprised and puzzled me. When I turned on the light, I realised what it was--Marie and Sam had gotten me flowers as well! They were wanting to say thank you for the CDs I brought back for them. . . the note on the flowers read, "To a really great friend--see you at the pub!-- Sam-- Jelly Tot." (They'd gotten and placed them there while I was at after-service teas, and before the pub). I felt so excited and happy and loved all at once. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment that I will treasure in my heart for probably the rest of my life.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
In with the new!
Nuts to this keeping up with old journal entries. I'm givin' you guys the fresh stuff from here on out. (At some point I'll create a document with all my entries for your perusal. . .however, I doubt I know that many people that dedicated to my life's details, but I can always flatter myself with the idea that somebody wants to live vicariously through me).
Anyway, I'll be back on tomorrow to post hightlights from my Edinburgh holiday, my adventures in singing to a congregation with my hands (not as easy as it looks) and generally fun housekeeping stuff like diluting mass quantities of sanitising solution. I bet you can't wait. :)
Back soon with the good stuff, perhaps even some poems from the Iona vollies' Write Club. Keep an eye out.
Anyway, I'll be back on tomorrow to post hightlights from my Edinburgh holiday, my adventures in singing to a congregation with my hands (not as easy as it looks) and generally fun housekeeping stuff like diluting mass quantities of sanitising solution. I bet you can't wait. :)
Back soon with the good stuff, perhaps even some poems from the Iona vollies' Write Club. Keep an eye out.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Bouncers in Wellies
Friday 19 May
Last evening was yet another blessing in disguise. I was feeling a little down, and an unexpected boon arrived in the form of a disco (read: dance) held for the teens staying at the Mac. I heard about it and came--and got invited to be a bouncer at the door with Lauren and Simon, who were dressed in shades and bright yellow fishermen's gear, calling teachers "hot chicks," and making the kids prove themselves to get inside the activity room where the disco was being held. I myself was a little hesitant at first (twentysomething vollies dancing with high schoolers?), but (Swedish) Amanda's adorable enthusiasm and the infectious music got me shakin' my thing with the best of 'em. Best part: dancing in a group with other staff, complete with Lauren and Simon still dancing about in their head-to-toe yellow waterproofs and wellies. Simon called himself Amanda's and my pimp as he rocked out- ha! I had a bloody fantastic time.
Thank you, God. I came, I danced, and I saw things a little more clearly about myself. I may be about ten years late on this, but I appreciate it all the same.
Last evening was yet another blessing in disguise. I was feeling a little down, and an unexpected boon arrived in the form of a disco (read: dance) held for the teens staying at the Mac. I heard about it and came--and got invited to be a bouncer at the door with Lauren and Simon, who were dressed in shades and bright yellow fishermen's gear, calling teachers "hot chicks," and making the kids prove themselves to get inside the activity room where the disco was being held. I myself was a little hesitant at first (twentysomething vollies dancing with high schoolers?), but (Swedish) Amanda's adorable enthusiasm and the infectious music got me shakin' my thing with the best of 'em. Best part: dancing in a group with other staff, complete with Lauren and Simon still dancing about in their head-to-toe yellow waterproofs and wellies. Simon called himself Amanda's and my pimp as he rocked out- ha! I had a bloody fantastic time.
Thank you, God. I came, I danced, and I saw things a little more clearly about myself. I may be about ten years late on this, but I appreciate it all the same.
Visiting Camas
Day off again today, and I went with Matty and Moses to the Isle of Mull (Iona's next-door neighbour) through Fionnphort, and while walking down the road we met Hazel and Petr, two other vollies. They convinced us to walk with them another two miles or so to Camas, another one of Iona's island centres. The trouble was that we had no idea how rought the terrain was going to be once we left the road for the last mile down to the bay: bogs and mud-piles abounded. The bay was beautiful, but the Camas buildings were pretty rough. I hope the Growing Hope Appeal will make things more liveable there. Then again, some people like that level of outdoorsiness, with extremely few amenities like hot showers and toilets.
Our original group headed back to Fionnphort for a pint at the pub (Keel Row), which was quite cosy with a fireplace. Moses bought us a round of Strongbow cider, Matty got his Cocoa Pops from the corner store (since Iona's store lacks such necessities like chocolatey breakfast cereals, hair gel--brought some back for Darren--and video rentals) and we shared some Indian takeaway (tikka missala which we nuked and ate at Cul Shuna). The football game Darren organised didn't happen, as it was raining and we couldn't be bothered to play in such weather.
Our original group headed back to Fionnphort for a pint at the pub (Keel Row), which was quite cosy with a fireplace. Moses bought us a round of Strongbow cider, Matty got his Cocoa Pops from the corner store (since Iona's store lacks such necessities like chocolatey breakfast cereals, hair gel--brought some back for Darren--and video rentals) and we shared some Indian takeaway (tikka missala which we nuked and ate at Cul Shuna). The football game Darren organised didn't happen, as it was raining and we couldn't be bothered to play in such weather.
The Shrinking Violet Dances
Tuesday 16 May
So I'm getting more in touch with the island animals, including Lily the cat, Clyde the horse, and Petey and Gertrude the compost slugs. Okay, maybe I'm a bit nuts, but hey, talking with animals helps you maintain your sanity, I'm sure.
Evidently the Mac housekeepers and cooks have had a really sucky day so far with leaky milk-bags, food-fighting kids in the kitchen, a lack of chores getting done, and Rhiannon being yelled at by one of the teachers--I'm glad I wasn't there for all that.
This morning I had my first reflection with Zoe, and my first "chatting" time with Simon this afternoon. He seemed to want me to remember to truly be present in this time on Iona and to think about what it truly means to be oneself. He said I seemed, if not confident, then not fragile . . . I told him all but my darkest secret, and he could identify with what I told him . . . he talked about intuitive, compassionate people who can be so in tune with other people's emotions that they have real problems with worrying too much about what others think of them. He thanked me for being so open. I reminded him that I'd had lots of practise.
Zoe praised my skills with teaching the guests their chores and dinner tasks. Quite surprising--I have done something (other than being a shrinking violet) well!
Wednesday 17 May
I've had the breakfast shift this morning, and it went quite alright. It's the three-week marker for me, and the other vollies were right when they warned us from the beginning that time goes quite quickly here. I feel great, though. I wish I made friends more quickly with others here, but the important thing is to be open and, as Nick (an Iona Community member) would say, "Don't roll the window up." Someone might just defy your dreadful expectations and want to dance with you in a vibrant, free celebration of life.
So I'm getting more in touch with the island animals, including Lily the cat, Clyde the horse, and Petey and Gertrude the compost slugs. Okay, maybe I'm a bit nuts, but hey, talking with animals helps you maintain your sanity, I'm sure.
Evidently the Mac housekeepers and cooks have had a really sucky day so far with leaky milk-bags, food-fighting kids in the kitchen, a lack of chores getting done, and Rhiannon being yelled at by one of the teachers--I'm glad I wasn't there for all that.
This morning I had my first reflection with Zoe, and my first "chatting" time with Simon this afternoon. He seemed to want me to remember to truly be present in this time on Iona and to think about what it truly means to be oneself. He said I seemed, if not confident, then not fragile . . . I told him all but my darkest secret, and he could identify with what I told him . . . he talked about intuitive, compassionate people who can be so in tune with other people's emotions that they have real problems with worrying too much about what others think of them. He thanked me for being so open. I reminded him that I'd had lots of practise.
Zoe praised my skills with teaching the guests their chores and dinner tasks. Quite surprising--I have done something (other than being a shrinking violet) well!
Wednesday 17 May
I've had the breakfast shift this morning, and it went quite alright. It's the three-week marker for me, and the other vollies were right when they warned us from the beginning that time goes quite quickly here. I feel great, though. I wish I made friends more quickly with others here, but the important thing is to be open and, as Nick (an Iona Community member) would say, "Don't roll the window up." Someone might just defy your dreadful expectations and want to dance with you in a vibrant, free celebration of life.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Can Old Seals Learn New Tricks?
Sunday 14 May
It's my parents' twenty-eighth wedding anniversary, and Joel and Julianne are also getting married today (which I'd forgotten), and in other important news, Aniko will be leaving tomorrow. . .she's another person that I'd like to try and keep in touch with after we're parted from this place.
Today I taught some puffins their tasks, and at dinner tonight I will teach some seals to balance balls on their noses, perhaps. Of course, I'm not referring to the real animals. . .these are two names of task teams into which we divide the guests for the week (the other is the otters). My first time teaching, and it went well. . .nothing got really botched up. I'm amazed and grateful.
Monday 15 May
Highlights today:
-enjoyable ceilidh
-loved learning about the South African community of Gugulatu
-got to know a nun from Wales
-got to brag about EMHS Touring Choir
-waved goodbye to Aniko at the jetty
-difficult "learning experiences" with setting up dinner
-walked to the shop with Matty and Hazel for a Mars Bar (what we'd call a Milky Way), after earlier indulging in leftover sticky toffee pudding (sweets overload)
-talked more with Naison from Zimbabwe
It's never boring, Iona.
It's my parents' twenty-eighth wedding anniversary, and Joel and Julianne are also getting married today (which I'd forgotten), and in other important news, Aniko will be leaving tomorrow. . .she's another person that I'd like to try and keep in touch with after we're parted from this place.
Today I taught some puffins their tasks, and at dinner tonight I will teach some seals to balance balls on their noses, perhaps. Of course, I'm not referring to the real animals. . .these are two names of task teams into which we divide the guests for the week (the other is the otters). My first time teaching, and it went well. . .nothing got really botched up. I'm amazed and grateful.
Monday 15 May
Highlights today:
-enjoyable ceilidh
-loved learning about the South African community of Gugulatu
-got to know a nun from Wales
-got to brag about EMHS Touring Choir
-waved goodbye to Aniko at the jetty
-difficult "learning experiences" with setting up dinner
-walked to the shop with Matty and Hazel for a Mars Bar (what we'd call a Milky Way), after earlier indulging in leftover sticky toffee pudding (sweets overload)
-talked more with Naison from Zimbabwe
It's never boring, Iona.
Roller Coasters
Saturday 13 May
Just sent Mum a postcard for Mother's Day and her and Dad's anniversary . . . although really late. Oh well--it's the thought that counts, right? Yeah.
Everyone's kinda grumpy and/or down around Cul Shuna this afternoon, although we have had some laughs about Matty trying to open a tin of chocolate pudding (Heinz makes it--can you believe it?!) with a defunct tin opener, and when we were all dancing about to Sugababes music (a pop group in the UK, and make enjoyable only by the fact that Matty gets so into it).
Last night, we on the staff went on the Iolaire (Gaelic for "eagle") on a boat trip round Iona-- loads of fun. The boat rocked fiercely as we rounded the isle's north coast and came down along the west side in the Atlantic rather than merely the sound between Iona and Mull. We squealed with delight in getting drenched with salty sea-sprays, and crashed into each otehr's arms as the natural roller coaster slammed us back and forth.
Today, after spending ages on a crossword puzzle (better with two people), Matty and I went out to dinner at Martyrs Bay (a restaurant which is also home to Iona's much-celebrated pub), and made plans for spending time on Mull on Thursday, our simultaneous day off. Church was great tonight--a Scottish song about hospitality ("Trim the crusie's failing light") and an African song called "Bambalayla", with which we had fun changing around the words as we walked to the pub. It was Aniko's brithday--she seems so happy about her job here as Mac Housekeeper in the fall. I really like her.
Matty seems okay after having an emotionally up-and-down day about his boyfriend, Luke, whom I really hope is trustworthy. Matty doesn't need betrayal right now . . . he soaks up all the love he can get, and based on what he says, he needs it.
Just sent Mum a postcard for Mother's Day and her and Dad's anniversary . . . although really late. Oh well--it's the thought that counts, right? Yeah.
Everyone's kinda grumpy and/or down around Cul Shuna this afternoon, although we have had some laughs about Matty trying to open a tin of chocolate pudding (Heinz makes it--can you believe it?!) with a defunct tin opener, and when we were all dancing about to Sugababes music (a pop group in the UK, and make enjoyable only by the fact that Matty gets so into it).
Last night, we on the staff went on the Iolaire (Gaelic for "eagle") on a boat trip round Iona-- loads of fun. The boat rocked fiercely as we rounded the isle's north coast and came down along the west side in the Atlantic rather than merely the sound between Iona and Mull. We squealed with delight in getting drenched with salty sea-sprays, and crashed into each otehr's arms as the natural roller coaster slammed us back and forth.
Today, after spending ages on a crossword puzzle (better with two people), Matty and I went out to dinner at Martyrs Bay (a restaurant which is also home to Iona's much-celebrated pub), and made plans for spending time on Mull on Thursday, our simultaneous day off. Church was great tonight--a Scottish song about hospitality ("Trim the crusie's failing light") and an African song called "Bambalayla", with which we had fun changing around the words as we walked to the pub. It was Aniko's brithday--she seems so happy about her job here as Mac Housekeeper in the fall. I really like her.
Matty seems okay after having an emotionally up-and-down day about his boyfriend, Luke, whom I really hope is trustworthy. Matty doesn't need betrayal right now . . . he soaks up all the love he can get, and based on what he says, he needs it.
Being God's
Thursday 11 May
Well, Staffa was great fun--between the puffins close-up, the high hills so near to the sea, and singing in Fingal's Cave, I quite enjoyed it.
After the day was almost over, some of the other vollies at Cul Shuna noticed that I looked kind of down, and Lauren took me outside for a walk to talk. We ended up sitting on the windy jetty, which was chilly, but I didn't care. At that point, I proceeded to burst into tears and tell her all that had been on my mind. This included feeling un-unique, among the hated as an American, and feeling unnoticeable. She asked me where all this had come from, and I told her the story of my fears. She was so honest and encouraging and humble and didn't sugar-coat things in talking about life, but neither did she shortchange the amazingness of God's love. "What if it were true, that he loves you?" she said. She told me I was amazing, and that I was her friend. She said, "Be God's." Lauren is quite a wonderful person, and she actually said that her life has been made richer for knowing me.
The service this morning went great, and Rhiannon and I (we co-led) got lots of compliments. No really flub-ups or anything, and people seemed to especially like our prayers and the polished manner in which the whole service was presented.
Catherine, a new vollie in housekeeping with me, seems very nice. She names herself a writer, and doesn't have huge plans lined up anytime soon. Everyone here seems to be at a crossroads.
Well, Staffa was great fun--between the puffins close-up, the high hills so near to the sea, and singing in Fingal's Cave, I quite enjoyed it.
After the day was almost over, some of the other vollies at Cul Shuna noticed that I looked kind of down, and Lauren took me outside for a walk to talk. We ended up sitting on the windy jetty, which was chilly, but I didn't care. At that point, I proceeded to burst into tears and tell her all that had been on my mind. This included feeling un-unique, among the hated as an American, and feeling unnoticeable. She asked me where all this had come from, and I told her the story of my fears. She was so honest and encouraging and humble and didn't sugar-coat things in talking about life, but neither did she shortchange the amazingness of God's love. "What if it were true, that he loves you?" she said. She told me I was amazing, and that I was her friend. She said, "Be God's." Lauren is quite a wonderful person, and she actually said that her life has been made richer for knowing me.
The service this morning went great, and Rhiannon and I (we co-led) got lots of compliments. No really flub-ups or anything, and people seemed to especially like our prayers and the polished manner in which the whole service was presented.
Catherine, a new vollie in housekeeping with me, seems very nice. She names herself a writer, and doesn't have huge plans lined up anytime soon. Everyone here seems to be at a crossroads.
First Difficult Goodbye
Wednesday 10 May
My day off, and I'm on a boat trip to Staffa, a tiny island in the Hebrides family-- it's most famous for Fingal's Cave, which is named after an Irish giant (Fionn MacCaul) and inspired Felix Mendelssohn's Hebrides Overture (well, the sound of the sea from the cave inspired him, really). Staffa was volcanically formed 59 million years ago, and Iona was formed in the same way 2.9 billion years ago!
A sad thing today: saying goodbye to Kate and Amanda, two really great vollies. Kate worked with me in Abbey housekeeping (she'll always be in my mind as the YAAAAAAAAAY!!! queen), and Amanda was one of my roomies and in the Abbey kitchen. She's a native of Nova Scotia, and contemplating becoming a minister in the Presbyterian church; she's quite friendly, caring, genuine, helpful, and I'll really miss her. I hope to send cards out to them both, and definitely keep in touch as best I can.
A really excellent conversation with Matty last night as we walked south from the pub and sat on a bench along the beach. I told him he's smarter than he gives himself credit for, and he said he sometimes plays dumb in order to present his more "fun" side and get people to like him. He wants to start his own business-- a cafe'-- and he's got lots of savings. He's well on his way to his dream, but truth be told, if he were oodles in debt and had no idea what he wanted to do, I'd still love him. Matty's got a great heart.
Is it strange to know you love someone in friendship after two weeks?
My day off, and I'm on a boat trip to Staffa, a tiny island in the Hebrides family-- it's most famous for Fingal's Cave, which is named after an Irish giant (Fionn MacCaul) and inspired Felix Mendelssohn's Hebrides Overture (well, the sound of the sea from the cave inspired him, really). Staffa was volcanically formed 59 million years ago, and Iona was formed in the same way 2.9 billion years ago!
A sad thing today: saying goodbye to Kate and Amanda, two really great vollies. Kate worked with me in Abbey housekeeping (she'll always be in my mind as the YAAAAAAAAAY!!! queen), and Amanda was one of my roomies and in the Abbey kitchen. She's a native of Nova Scotia, and contemplating becoming a minister in the Presbyterian church; she's quite friendly, caring, genuine, helpful, and I'll really miss her. I hope to send cards out to them both, and definitely keep in touch as best I can.
A really excellent conversation with Matty last night as we walked south from the pub and sat on a bench along the beach. I told him he's smarter than he gives himself credit for, and he said he sometimes plays dumb in order to present his more "fun" side and get people to like him. He wants to start his own business-- a cafe'-- and he's got lots of savings. He's well on his way to his dream, but truth be told, if he were oodles in debt and had no idea what he wanted to do, I'd still love him. Matty's got a great heart.
Is it strange to know you love someone in friendship after two weeks?
National Identities
Feeling annoyed with pretty much everyone, and mostly myself. My mind spews criticisms of others: She's too self-righteous, he's abrasive, she's a pushy diva, he's oblivious, she's attention-seeking, he's Mr. Awesome Granola Man, she's so pretty (and I'm jealous), he's condemned already to lying and mediocrity and scarcely anyone's thinking of how to help, she (and she and she) is cold and clipped, he's too smart to smoke, they fell in love too fast. Argh!
And another thing: diversity is celebrated in such a manner that people like Lauren get heaps of admiration and attention simply because they happen to have been born in the most interesting and different country from vollie knowledge (in her case, South Africa). Okay. Awesome--truly. I'm quite eager to learn about that culture as well as that of the UK, Germany, Sweden, Denmark, the Czech Republic, and Canada. But . . . I feel discounted because I'm common. I oppress and force. I control and dominate. I'm tiresome and weak. But I'm not unique. No, just one of the scores of American volunteers, provoking jests and snide remarks by virtue of their place of birth.
I'd so much rather celebrate a person for who they are, which is naturally infused with cultural influences. Lauren: compassionate, brash, creative, having a percussive personality, telling the truth baldly and unapologetically. A true friend.
And another thing: diversity is celebrated in such a manner that people like Lauren get heaps of admiration and attention simply because they happen to have been born in the most interesting and different country from vollie knowledge (in her case, South Africa). Okay. Awesome--truly. I'm quite eager to learn about that culture as well as that of the UK, Germany, Sweden, Denmark, the Czech Republic, and Canada. But . . . I feel discounted because I'm common. I oppress and force. I control and dominate. I'm tiresome and weak. But I'm not unique. No, just one of the scores of American volunteers, provoking jests and snide remarks by virtue of their place of birth.
I'd so much rather celebrate a person for who they are, which is naturally infused with cultural influences. Lauren: compassionate, brash, creative, having a percussive personality, telling the truth baldly and unapologetically. A true friend.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Soapbox Time
Saturday 6 May
Turns out that Simon forgot our meeting-- he sought me out to apologise at dinner, and in the meantime must've allowed at least three other vollies to witness his subsequent search for me. I suppose in the past I might've felt hurt. I don't think I do now.
I have a particularly difficult time, though, of making sense of four new American vollies coming next week, and the much-celebrated showing of Team America last night. I know I'm highly sensitive about all this-- but the fact remains that I am not totally paranoid. Everyone here openly opposes Bush's policies, and though I'm with them on that, I don't agree with that leading to them using Americans as a scapegoat. Yes, I am guilty of not doing more to fight injustice and oppression, but you are too, Britain. We are simul justus et peccator (simultaneously saint and sinner), just as all of us are oppressor and oppressed at the same time. I am guilty. You are guilty. So were Ghandi and Mother Theresa, and not just in some vague matter of principle. Even canonised saints like Columba gave into evil impulses to harm themselves, others and the world. We are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves. Christ is the liberator with the keys of salvation. And from that point, we choose whether to shake off our shackles and operate with unrestrained hands and unbound feet.
Anyway, I'll step down from my soapbox now. I just really dislike elitism (even, let me remember, in myself).
Turns out that Simon forgot our meeting-- he sought me out to apologise at dinner, and in the meantime must've allowed at least three other vollies to witness his subsequent search for me. I suppose in the past I might've felt hurt. I don't think I do now.
I have a particularly difficult time, though, of making sense of four new American vollies coming next week, and the much-celebrated showing of Team America last night. I know I'm highly sensitive about all this-- but the fact remains that I am not totally paranoid. Everyone here openly opposes Bush's policies, and though I'm with them on that, I don't agree with that leading to them using Americans as a scapegoat. Yes, I am guilty of not doing more to fight injustice and oppression, but you are too, Britain. We are simul justus et peccator (simultaneously saint and sinner), just as all of us are oppressor and oppressed at the same time. I am guilty. You are guilty. So were Ghandi and Mother Theresa, and not just in some vague matter of principle. Even canonised saints like Columba gave into evil impulses to harm themselves, others and the world. We are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves. Christ is the liberator with the keys of salvation. And from that point, we choose whether to shake off our shackles and operate with unrestrained hands and unbound feet.
Anyway, I'll step down from my soapbox now. I just really dislike elitism (even, let me remember, in myself).
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Small Offerings, Small Miracles
Friday 5 May
A three-quarter day! I'm sitting right now waiting to meet Simon (the Mac programme worker), who may be sort of talking with me regularly in lieu of a counselor, but at the moment, he's not come yet. Maybe there was a miscommunication--I'll find out soon, in any case.
Cleaned lots of toilets, showers, and sinks today, since the guests have all left on the morning ferries. It's amazing to me how fond I feel of some of them, and evidently they of me: a few hugged me and said things like, "Thank you for all your help and hospitality." Me--could they be talking about me? I am stupefied. Something I've done has been useful, appreciated, and mutually touching. "Small miracles," as Martin says, and also "strange days," says Markus.
The farewells at the jetty were quite stirring: hungs and smiles and Iona staff turning cartwheels, doing "the wave," and singing "Ameni" one more time with the departing guests as their ferry pulls away.
Matty's quite exuberant with his singing and chocolate and hugging--I couldn't keep up with him in spirit in cleaning this morning. But a really great thing happened. When I was starting to get terribly down, I remembered some words from the liturgy we use in the mornings: "we will not offer to God offerings that cost us nothing." It's okay that there are regularly times when I'm in discomfort or frustration or annoyance, because it's a part of a larger, healthy service that can be slowly but richly rewarding.
Anyway, although it's sunny outside and all, i'm going to nap. That's what half-days are for, right?
A three-quarter day! I'm sitting right now waiting to meet Simon (the Mac programme worker), who may be sort of talking with me regularly in lieu of a counselor, but at the moment, he's not come yet. Maybe there was a miscommunication--I'll find out soon, in any case.
Cleaned lots of toilets, showers, and sinks today, since the guests have all left on the morning ferries. It's amazing to me how fond I feel of some of them, and evidently they of me: a few hugged me and said things like, "Thank you for all your help and hospitality." Me--could they be talking about me? I am stupefied. Something I've done has been useful, appreciated, and mutually touching. "Small miracles," as Martin says, and also "strange days," says Markus.
The farewells at the jetty were quite stirring: hungs and smiles and Iona staff turning cartwheels, doing "the wave," and singing "Ameni" one more time with the departing guests as their ferry pulls away.
Matty's quite exuberant with his singing and chocolate and hugging--I couldn't keep up with him in spirit in cleaning this morning. But a really great thing happened. When I was starting to get terribly down, I remembered some words from the liturgy we use in the mornings: "we will not offer to God offerings that cost us nothing." It's okay that there are regularly times when I'm in discomfort or frustration or annoyance, because it's a part of a larger, healthy service that can be slowly but richly rewarding.
Anyway, although it's sunny outside and all, i'm going to nap. That's what half-days are for, right?
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Really Good Conversations
Thursday 4 May
Returning to work yesterday after a day off wasn't so bad, especially as I got to read in church yesterday morning--it was fantastic! I felt so. . .valued.
The guests this week are mostly from Holland (we heard their football fight song of "Hup, Holland, Hup!" as they danced around in bright orange at the guest concert last night), the Netherlands, Canada, and the U.S. (two of whom are from Roanoke!). Another couple are from Florida, and the husband is a Presbyterian minister (PCUSA) and helped me along with some encouragements about seminary.
The guest concert had some great stuff in it--the folks with the adults-with-developmental-disabilities group did some really great Celtic music with guitars, violin, drums, and tin whistle; a large contingent of the Canada group calling themselves "Maple Syrup" sung some folk songs; and other just invited us to sing along with Beatles lyrics.
Worship was amazing last night--besides singing "Halle, Halle, Halle" at one point, near the end we did a rousing traditional Israeli song called "Hevenu Shalom Alechem" (meaning "May peace be with us"), which had perhaps fifty of us running about in the aisles, joining hands as we spontaneously danced and sang. Definitely one of those times when you can fell the spirit of God pulsing in your veins and breathing new air in your lungs.
At the pub, I tried some Ember, which is a lager (I'm so not a drinking person, so I'm cautiously sampling things here and there), took a sip of Hans's Guinness and promptly cringed, and enjoyed getting to know two of the new vollies, Birgitte and Katie. Both of them are quite nice. Birgitte is from Denmark and is a Lutheran--yay!--and wants to study social sciences at Uni, hopefully in the fall. Katie is a friend of Amanda's from school in New Brunswick, Canada, and I'm anticipating finding out more soon.
other highlights from the day:
-conversation with a guest named Johann, a retired Lutheran minister from Canada who spend 8 years in Liberia
-handing out and getting hungs from Matty, who loves Weird Al songs
-Scrabble, good conversations with Zoe and Markus (both in Abbey Housekeeping with me), Steve, Matty again, and Kate and Amanda
I must've done a lot of talking today to have had this many good conversations, eh? (Oh, the Canadians are getting to my speech!)
Returning to work yesterday after a day off wasn't so bad, especially as I got to read in church yesterday morning--it was fantastic! I felt so. . .valued.
The guests this week are mostly from Holland (we heard their football fight song of "Hup, Holland, Hup!" as they danced around in bright orange at the guest concert last night), the Netherlands, Canada, and the U.S. (two of whom are from Roanoke!). Another couple are from Florida, and the husband is a Presbyterian minister (PCUSA) and helped me along with some encouragements about seminary.
The guest concert had some great stuff in it--the folks with the adults-with-developmental-disabilities group did some really great Celtic music with guitars, violin, drums, and tin whistle; a large contingent of the Canada group calling themselves "Maple Syrup" sung some folk songs; and other just invited us to sing along with Beatles lyrics.
Worship was amazing last night--besides singing "Halle, Halle, Halle" at one point, near the end we did a rousing traditional Israeli song called "Hevenu Shalom Alechem" (meaning "May peace be with us"), which had perhaps fifty of us running about in the aisles, joining hands as we spontaneously danced and sang. Definitely one of those times when you can fell the spirit of God pulsing in your veins and breathing new air in your lungs.
At the pub, I tried some Ember, which is a lager (I'm so not a drinking person, so I'm cautiously sampling things here and there), took a sip of Hans's Guinness and promptly cringed, and enjoyed getting to know two of the new vollies, Birgitte and Katie. Both of them are quite nice. Birgitte is from Denmark and is a Lutheran--yay!--and wants to study social sciences at Uni, hopefully in the fall. Katie is a friend of Amanda's from school in New Brunswick, Canada, and I'm anticipating finding out more soon.
other highlights from the day:
-conversation with a guest named Johann, a retired Lutheran minister from Canada who spend 8 years in Liberia
-handing out and getting hungs from Matty, who loves Weird Al songs
-Scrabble, good conversations with Zoe and Markus (both in Abbey Housekeeping with me), Steve, Matty again, and Kate and Amanda
I must've done a lot of talking today to have had this many good conversations, eh? (Oh, the Canadians are getting to my speech!)
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Making the Pilgrimage
(above, a picture of Iona Abbey, since I haven't yet provided one. . .can you believe I WORK there?!)
Well, if yesterday was a jewel of a day, today's been a slimy, moss-covered, fetid stone buried at the bottom of a bog.
Matty and I went on the "on-road" pilgrimage to various sites on the island and the weather was hideous. As we were led in a group of a few dozen about the island's sacred sites of interest, rain stung our faces like nettles, the wind tossed us forwards and slammed into us like an obstinate concrete wall, and the near-freezing chill sent a constant ache into our skin. We saw a few of the famous Celtic crosses, Martyrs Bay (evidently a massacre of monks took place there!), the Augustinian Nunnery ruins, a beach near where St. Columba landed with twelve others in a coracle in 563, and another place having to do with Columba called Angels' Hill. At each site, we heard the history along with a Scripture reading, then sang a song together; we ate lunch on the Machair Beach and stopped a little while later for steaming hot tea in tumblers and flapjack (a sweet oat-ish bar probably also made with golden syrup, which is like thick pancake syrup) served by other Iona staff out of the back of a van driven to the spot for the occasion. It was, in fact, such bad weather that the ferry only had one run off the island today; the other trips were cancelled because the sea was so rough. The other vollies say that the only they've seen worse than this is when it snowed about six inches in March.
The ceilidh was great fun last night, although greatly exhausting. I was twirled- and jigged-out and my face probably tom-ah-to red from exertion. Wonderful--danced with Matty and John the sacristan.
I had good fun exchanging jokes with Annie and Eve, two to Richard and Biddy's three daughters. Actually, Richard later asked me if I'd read at worship tomorrow morning, and I'm realy looking forward to it.
Otherwise, it was relaxing and good to hangout with Matty, Amanda (from Sweden), Melissa (from Atlanta), and Darren (a Glaswegian) at Cul Shuna this afternoon. This evening's staff program session on ecology and prophecy was pretty great as well.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
The Ceilidh Approaches
Monday 1 May
Just walked to the post office, only to remember that today's a bank holiday, so no post, and no purchasing stamps!
It's quite warm this afternoon, and so I've trailed away less than five feet farther to the sands of the shore--how sunny and warm and delicious it is! Some teenagers have rolled up their trousers and are dipping their feet in the sea while their travelling groups wait on the pier above for the ferry. You can see other islands, and they're quite close across the azure-and-dusky-blue waters that are still choppy from storms this morning.
Tonights there is going to be a ceilidh in the village hall. From a previous experience at such an event, I know that it's a social gathering with lots of dancing that's obviously the cultural ancestor of square dancing. Since I'll be coming right from work, I won't be able to dress up, but maybe that's for the best, as everyone might just be going casually.
Just walked to the post office, only to remember that today's a bank holiday, so no post, and no purchasing stamps!
It's quite warm this afternoon, and so I've trailed away less than five feet farther to the sands of the shore--how sunny and warm and delicious it is! Some teenagers have rolled up their trousers and are dipping their feet in the sea while their travelling groups wait on the pier above for the ferry. You can see other islands, and they're quite close across the azure-and-dusky-blue waters that are still choppy from storms this morning.
Tonights there is going to be a ceilidh in the village hall. From a previous experience at such an event, I know that it's a social gathering with lots of dancing that's obviously the cultural ancestor of square dancing. Since I'll be coming right from work, I won't be able to dress up, but maybe that's for the best, as everyone might just be going casually.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
The Sky Cries; So Do I
Sunday 30 April
Amazing communion service this morning-- lots of good versions of the liturgy from Africa, and Lauren, I discovered, has an awesome presence when leading any part of worship. Tea afterwards in the cloisters (a sheltered area of stone corridors around an open courtyard); I'll have had enough tea to drown a sheep by the time I'm done, I think.
Speaking of drowning, today it finally rained. Since it's been clear from our arrival on Wednesday ("our" as in mine along with the other new vollies), everyone has been telling us to appreciate it being dry while it lasts, and now it's more than clear why. The temperature seems to drop 10 degrees, the wind freezes your skin, and the gravelly paths become like soup under your feet. Returning from my evening shift at 7:30, it seemed as though the sky and the gulls were crying along with me in my loneliness. I've so much wanted a hug-- someone to hold, to hold hands with. Everyone else was off getting ready to drink or meet their own friends or gossip and giggle and talk about their favourite music groups and clubs. I want a mutually affectionate touch unhampered by the briefness dictated in social correctness. I wan a hug. I need love frrom someone in friendship, not just in universal welcoming. Is it not possible that I could be loved for the person I am uniquely and truly?
My deepest fear: not that I am powerful beyond measure, but that I am not enough to warrant real love.
God, how can I know your love truly if I can only experience it cerebrally? Why can I not feel it in another way? Am I barred from ever having a lasting and thoroughly loving relationship ever again?
Amazing communion service this morning-- lots of good versions of the liturgy from Africa, and Lauren, I discovered, has an awesome presence when leading any part of worship. Tea afterwards in the cloisters (a sheltered area of stone corridors around an open courtyard); I'll have had enough tea to drown a sheep by the time I'm done, I think.
Speaking of drowning, today it finally rained. Since it's been clear from our arrival on Wednesday ("our" as in mine along with the other new vollies), everyone has been telling us to appreciate it being dry while it lasts, and now it's more than clear why. The temperature seems to drop 10 degrees, the wind freezes your skin, and the gravelly paths become like soup under your feet. Returning from my evening shift at 7:30, it seemed as though the sky and the gulls were crying along with me in my loneliness. I've so much wanted a hug-- someone to hold, to hold hands with. Everyone else was off getting ready to drink or meet their own friends or gossip and giggle and talk about their favourite music groups and clubs. I want a mutually affectionate touch unhampered by the briefness dictated in social correctness. I wan a hug. I need love frrom someone in friendship, not just in universal welcoming. Is it not possible that I could be loved for the person I am uniquely and truly?
My deepest fear: not that I am powerful beyond measure, but that I am not enough to warrant real love.
God, how can I know your love truly if I can only experience it cerebrally? Why can I not feel it in another way? Am I barred from ever having a lasting and thoroughly loving relationship ever again?
Monday, May 15, 2006
So Much Awesomeness I Had to Make a List
Saturday 29 April
Hard work again today. I need to be better about getting up earlier for breakfast. Otherwise I'm famished at lunch. Today's was really good-- leftovers including roast pork and shepherd's pie. I miss having meat.
My favourite parts of today:
-singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" with Matty while folding laundry
-singing South African song called "Ameni" at evening service with the staff choir
-listening to two Brits sing "Loch Lomond" in the kitchen
-having discussion of history and culture with Daniel, a vollie from Germany
-being comforted by Claire, one of my fantastic roomies
Hard work again today. I need to be better about getting up earlier for breakfast. Otherwise I'm famished at lunch. Today's was really good-- leftovers including roast pork and shepherd's pie. I miss having meat.
My favourite parts of today:
-singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" with Matty while folding laundry
-singing South African song called "Ameni" at evening service with the staff choir
-listening to two Brits sing "Loch Lomond" in the kitchen
-having discussion of history and culture with Daniel, a vollie from Germany
-being comforted by Claire, one of my fantastic roomies
Your Official Iona Tour
Friday 28th April, 5:15 pm
An up-and-down sort of day was this, my first full day of bed, easy to cheer myself singing while working, quick the fall of spirits when I realise I don't know my place among the people here, and slow my contentment to build when work is over and relaxing can begin.
Right, so for convenience's sake:
A British-American Guide to Translation on Iona
trousers=pants pants=underwear (to) frank=to put postage on
polishing=dusting hoovering=vacuuming uni=college A-levels=SATs
vollies=volunteers (an Iona phrase)
So. . .a descriptive tour of Iona. After the ferry to the Isle of Mull, the bus from Craignure (the landing point) to Fionnphort (pronounced Finn-a-fort), and the ferry from thence to Iona, you step off onto this island that's three miles long and one mile wide, but teeming with grassy hills and old stony ruins. Less than a hundred people live here, they say, and no wonder: only the ferry can get you back to its neighbour island, and then another ferry back to the Scottish mainland. If there's an emergency, you call the coast guard.
In less than a mile, you approach the Benedictine Abbey built in the 1100s for monks, and now it's the spiritual centre of life in the Iona Community. In it are a church, cloisters, a refectory (dining hall), meeting rooms, and guest rooms (the last two were added in the 20th century). If you continue on up the path, passing sharply rising mounds of earth and green fields filled with wandering sheep, you'll come to the MacLeod Centre, where I live. Everyone calls it the Mac. In my room, which I share with three other vollies, I have a bed with some storage space, and I share a toilet and sink with the other girls. The shower's down the hall.
Some of the other vollies live in a residence called Cul Shuna (Gaelic for "behind the cow"). I eat all my meals in the Abbey refectory, since it's the place I work, and the vollies who are "attached to" (work in) the Mac eat there.
There's two services every day in the church-- one at 9 am, one at 9 pm-- and each contains a few hymns, contemporarily worded liturgy, and unique worship features depending on the theme of the service. I work seven hours a day and get a day and a half off per week; my work consists mainly of cleaning rooms, corridors, bathrooms, dishes, clothes, floors, and laundry throughout the Abbey. Hard work, but worth it because it means I get to be here.
An up-and-down sort of day was this, my first full day of bed, easy to cheer myself singing while working, quick the fall of spirits when I realise I don't know my place among the people here, and slow my contentment to build when work is over and relaxing can begin.
Right, so for convenience's sake:
A British-American Guide to Translation on Iona
trousers=pants pants=underwear (to) frank=to put postage on
polishing=dusting hoovering=vacuuming uni=college A-levels=SATs
vollies=volunteers (an Iona phrase)
So. . .a descriptive tour of Iona. After the ferry to the Isle of Mull, the bus from Craignure (the landing point) to Fionnphort (pronounced Finn-a-fort), and the ferry from thence to Iona, you step off onto this island that's three miles long and one mile wide, but teeming with grassy hills and old stony ruins. Less than a hundred people live here, they say, and no wonder: only the ferry can get you back to its neighbour island, and then another ferry back to the Scottish mainland. If there's an emergency, you call the coast guard.
In less than a mile, you approach the Benedictine Abbey built in the 1100s for monks, and now it's the spiritual centre of life in the Iona Community. In it are a church, cloisters, a refectory (dining hall), meeting rooms, and guest rooms (the last two were added in the 20th century). If you continue on up the path, passing sharply rising mounds of earth and green fields filled with wandering sheep, you'll come to the MacLeod Centre, where I live. Everyone calls it the Mac. In my room, which I share with three other vollies, I have a bed with some storage space, and I share a toilet and sink with the other girls. The shower's down the hall.
Some of the other vollies live in a residence called Cul Shuna (Gaelic for "behind the cow"). I eat all my meals in the Abbey refectory, since it's the place I work, and the vollies who are "attached to" (work in) the Mac eat there.
There's two services every day in the church-- one at 9 am, one at 9 pm-- and each contains a few hymns, contemporarily worded liturgy, and unique worship features depending on the theme of the service. I work seven hours a day and get a day and a half off per week; my work consists mainly of cleaning rooms, corridors, bathrooms, dishes, clothes, floors, and laundry throughout the Abbey. Hard work, but worth it because it means I get to be here.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Poor Wayfaring Stranger
26 April
12:10 am
Pretty darn exhausted. After allowing myself the luxury of relaxing at the hostel--a little reading, some TV--I realised it was getting late, so I checked out and bolted back the few blocks to Euston station. By the time I located Platform 1, had walked four minutes or so along the train to reach my coach, and stowed all my bags overhead, I collapsed into my seat, sweaty and out of breath. I feel like a clumsy idiot, but at least I'm now on the train and headed north.
9:20 am
On the second leg of the train ride now, having switched trains in Glasgow. A nice man on the street spontaneously offered to help me with directions to the station (I had to walk from one to the other), and everyone else I've asked questions of has been kind and friendly. And it's a good thing, too--otherwise this trip and my time here so far in the UK would be more difficult.
Scotland is visually breathtaking. The landscape is vast, sparkling with lochs and its craggy mountains sprouting tall pines like some eccentric man's wild eyebrows. It seems most of the country is quite rural, and the towns well-scattered. "Welcome to the best (small) country in the world" a sign at Glasgow Central's station reads. And as I look at the broad landscape jammed with rocky, piny hights and run through with creeks and lakes and waterfalls, I'm inclined to believe it.
I realise what I'm looking at now-- Loch Lomond! As in, "the bonny, bonny banks of"! The song's not lying--gorgeous, vast water and wild, rambling mountains rising from it--this truly is beautiful.
The signs in Scotland, firstly in English, are supplemented by a language that is definitely Celtic, perhaps Gaelic. I'll have to ask.
"Eileanan an Aigh" (Islands to Inspire)
So, Tombermory: not a bad place to get lost, really. Had I not been in this situation, I wouldn't've stopped for a healthy-sized early dinner and gotten to try a pale ale brewed with chocolate malt! And Iona's not mad about the mix-up: they understand.
I still stick out like a sore thumb as an American with tons of very literal baggage, but no one's laughed yet (quite possibly they've felt sorry for me, though).
12:10 am
Pretty darn exhausted. After allowing myself the luxury of relaxing at the hostel--a little reading, some TV--I realised it was getting late, so I checked out and bolted back the few blocks to Euston station. By the time I located Platform 1, had walked four minutes or so along the train to reach my coach, and stowed all my bags overhead, I collapsed into my seat, sweaty and out of breath. I feel like a clumsy idiot, but at least I'm now on the train and headed north.
9:20 am
On the second leg of the train ride now, having switched trains in Glasgow. A nice man on the street spontaneously offered to help me with directions to the station (I had to walk from one to the other), and everyone else I've asked questions of has been kind and friendly. And it's a good thing, too--otherwise this trip and my time here so far in the UK would be more difficult.
Scotland is visually breathtaking. The landscape is vast, sparkling with lochs and its craggy mountains sprouting tall pines like some eccentric man's wild eyebrows. It seems most of the country is quite rural, and the towns well-scattered. "Welcome to the best (small) country in the world" a sign at Glasgow Central's station reads. And as I look at the broad landscape jammed with rocky, piny hights and run through with creeks and lakes and waterfalls, I'm inclined to believe it.
I realise what I'm looking at now-- Loch Lomond! As in, "the bonny, bonny banks of"! The song's not lying--gorgeous, vast water and wild, rambling mountains rising from it--this truly is beautiful.
The signs in Scotland, firstly in English, are supplemented by a language that is definitely Celtic, perhaps Gaelic. I'll have to ask.
"Eileanan an Aigh" (Islands to Inspire)
So, Tombermory: not a bad place to get lost, really. Had I not been in this situation, I wouldn't've stopped for a healthy-sized early dinner and gotten to try a pale ale brewed with chocolate malt! And Iona's not mad about the mix-up: they understand.
I still stick out like a sore thumb as an American with tons of very literal baggage, but no one's laughed yet (quite possibly they've felt sorry for me, though).
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Arrival!
Tuesday 25 April
It's starting to hit home for me now, that I'm in Britain. You can't tell much on an overnight flight, passing over Ireland and western England in shrouded pre-dawn, but indicators as to my true location arrive quickly like clues on a once-puzzling treasure map after a sudden inspiration. There's the Brits returning home via Heathrow, some of them with accents which make them seem like stereotypes walking about unabashedly: men who sound like Eliza Doolittle's relatives, schoolchildren who seem like they might next tell me what house they've been sorted into at Hogwarts, and Scotsmen who make me almost believe they were childhood friends with Groundskeeper Willie. Then, of course, prices are listed in pounds, the buses are cardinal-red and the cabs a stately black. It's like a blisfully alternate universe with charming quirks: yield signs read "give way," cars on the left, vending machines featuring a mind-boggling array of Cadbury chocolates , the last letter of the alphabet is "zed", and so on. Another big difference: Underground stations that happen to be above-ground reveal not communities growing so alarmingly fast it's as though they're new and unseemly stretch marks on a culture's skin (as in Washington, D.C.), but instead show neighbourhoods--some rough, some refined--that have patiently acquired meaningful character, rather like faces of elderly women, whose wrinkles may be read like a script . . . some pleasant, some frightening, some melancholy, some laughing and bursting with vivacity.
And London truly is an old city, having matured over thousands of years, first seeing Stone-, Iron-, and Bronze-Age Britons, then domineering Romans and invading Germanic Angles and Saxons. The sturday brick-and-shingle dwellings girding the city's limbs tell of a broad steadfastness that only leaves a moderate amount of skin unguarded and bruised by mindless cosmopolitan trends. Starbucks and rave clubs will come and go, but the stalwart Britain these bricks and stones represent will slowly blink and breathe and evolve.
I can't romanticise and venerate London wholly, though. The Underground may afford peeks at beautiful views of budding spring trees and many landmarks, but one must be jostled about at stations and crammed into trains, the doors nearly grazing one's sweating scalp at times, and if you blow your nose after a little travel via these vehicles, you can see accumulated there dark matter--soot? petrol fumes? I don't know. But if you compare London to a knight on a white horse, you may soon find the inevitable realities of dints in armour and horse-hair flecked with mud. When fairy-tale beings become real to you at last, and thus they are more fascinating, terrifying, and beautiful.
My train from London to Oban will depart at 11:45 p.m., and today I arrived in town, very much weighted down with luggage, at 7 a.m. I didn't know where I could may my head to rest all day after a sleepless flight, and a buzzing train station certainly wasn't appealing. In a facility where you have to pay 20 pence merely to visit the toilets, how can you feel welcome enough to sleep, even for an hour?
All I want is a room somewhere
far away from the cold night air. . .
I recounted Eliza Doolittle's words as I nodded off on a metal bench in the station, watching cold rain fall outside. Finally I sought the respite of a youth hostel and the sleep and shower that £24 could allow me this day.
Well, much more traveling to do: onward.
It's starting to hit home for me now, that I'm in Britain. You can't tell much on an overnight flight, passing over Ireland and western England in shrouded pre-dawn, but indicators as to my true location arrive quickly like clues on a once-puzzling treasure map after a sudden inspiration. There's the Brits returning home via Heathrow, some of them with accents which make them seem like stereotypes walking about unabashedly: men who sound like Eliza Doolittle's relatives, schoolchildren who seem like they might next tell me what house they've been sorted into at Hogwarts, and Scotsmen who make me almost believe they were childhood friends with Groundskeeper Willie. Then, of course, prices are listed in pounds, the buses are cardinal-red and the cabs a stately black. It's like a blisfully alternate universe with charming quirks: yield signs read "give way," cars on the left, vending machines featuring a mind-boggling array of Cadbury chocolates , the last letter of the alphabet is "zed", and so on. Another big difference: Underground stations that happen to be above-ground reveal not communities growing so alarmingly fast it's as though they're new and unseemly stretch marks on a culture's skin (as in Washington, D.C.), but instead show neighbourhoods--some rough, some refined--that have patiently acquired meaningful character, rather like faces of elderly women, whose wrinkles may be read like a script . . . some pleasant, some frightening, some melancholy, some laughing and bursting with vivacity.
And London truly is an old city, having matured over thousands of years, first seeing Stone-, Iron-, and Bronze-Age Britons, then domineering Romans and invading Germanic Angles and Saxons. The sturday brick-and-shingle dwellings girding the city's limbs tell of a broad steadfastness that only leaves a moderate amount of skin unguarded and bruised by mindless cosmopolitan trends. Starbucks and rave clubs will come and go, but the stalwart Britain these bricks and stones represent will slowly blink and breathe and evolve.
I can't romanticise and venerate London wholly, though. The Underground may afford peeks at beautiful views of budding spring trees and many landmarks, but one must be jostled about at stations and crammed into trains, the doors nearly grazing one's sweating scalp at times, and if you blow your nose after a little travel via these vehicles, you can see accumulated there dark matter--soot? petrol fumes? I don't know. But if you compare London to a knight on a white horse, you may soon find the inevitable realities of dints in armour and horse-hair flecked with mud. When fairy-tale beings become real to you at last, and thus they are more fascinating, terrifying, and beautiful.
My train from London to Oban will depart at 11:45 p.m., and today I arrived in town, very much weighted down with luggage, at 7 a.m. I didn't know where I could may my head to rest all day after a sleepless flight, and a buzzing train station certainly wasn't appealing. In a facility where you have to pay 20 pence merely to visit the toilets, how can you feel welcome enough to sleep, even for an hour?
All I want is a room somewhere
far away from the cold night air. . .
I recounted Eliza Doolittle's words as I nodded off on a metal bench in the station, watching cold rain fall outside. Finally I sought the respite of a youth hostel and the sleep and shower that £24 could allow me this day.
Well, much more traveling to do: onward.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
T minus 34 hours
Tomorrow night I will start a series of traveling which will lead me to the island of Iona off the west coast of Scotland. I will be there for nine weeks, volunteering as a housekeeping assistant in the 13th-century Abbey which is one of the facilities used by the Iona Community, which is an ecumenical group of Christians doing all sorts of wonderful things in this place of contemplation, discussion, planning, fellowship, and worship. (Find out more here: http://www.iona.org.uk/ ).
In fact, this is the reason why I've started this blog: I want to share this experience with you. I go to be among strangers who, as Christians, are already friends unknown, and I want to stay connected to you, my friends and family. (Even my close friends can testify to my blaring lack of consistent correspondence skills).
I am almost completely packed, and have been trying to take as little as possible, because it'll be awkward to be heavily laden down during travel: in order to get from my front door to Iona's, I will be taking a car, plane, subway, train, taxi, two ferries, and a bus. You can begin to understand how remote this place is! (On the map at the upper left, if you look for Glasgow in the north, I'll be on one of the islands west of it, as seen in the map on the right).
Well, I'm off to church right now, and more inevitable last-minute preparation will follow.
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