Athena: HRC

Dear Augustine,

I know that many of the posts this month have been political. That was probably inevitable. But one thing that I wanted to write about was Clinton herself, because in the past few years I've felt a particular affinity for her, which is tied into some of my own journey.

I grew up in a very Republican household, and I don't really remember hearing much about Hillary, even during Bill's presidency. Not until the Monica Lewinsky scandal, and then afterwards...there was judgment towards Hillary--specifically for not leaving Bill. My mom (who doesn't consume media as critically as I'd hope) expressed several times that the only reason for her not to do so was her own ambition...it was interpreted as self-serving and a political calculation. Which then somehow seemed confirmed when she ran for office herself and became a NY Senator. I was pretty young at this point (still elementary school and then through middle school), and so I absorbed it uncritically. In high school, conservative politics became some sort of prerequisite for being a Christian, and it took my years at Gordon to unwend the two.

I started to become more liberal. I'm from NH, so there's still a strong independent streak in my blood...(I try to listen carefully, and there are some Republican politicians whom I admire. But honestly, it's their social policies that I just can't handle anymore on any level). I made peace with that around my last few years at Gordon, and by the time 2008 rolled around, I was on the Democrats train.

Here's the thing--I was on Obama's train from the beginning. I'd examined by personal political stances, but I never really went back and re-examined my thoughts about somebody like Hillary. I thought she was way too ambitious and corrupt, and everything that Obama was saying was exactly what I thought we needed. I thought bipartisanship was important and could help us get some real shit done. I believed in closing Guantanamo, and felt that he had a very hopeful and positive vision of the future. I liked that he was experienced, and I had no real clue of the real effects of the Clinton presidency, because while I had re-evaluated my current political positions, as I mentioned, I didn't go back and check past perceptions. The Lewinsky issue was all I could really have told you about either Clinton, really. (And to be honest, I actually liked McCain a decent amount back then, he was too hawkish, but then he went and unleashed Palin on us, and I will literally never forgive him [and whoever advised him to make that choice] for that as long as I live.)

But I remember, not as clearly as I want to, one of debates or comments that Clinton made around that time...and I wish I remember the specifics, but it was more of a general thing. Obama was talking about bipartisanship and the need to reach across the aisle, and at one point, Clinton sort of dismissed that as naïve. And I thought to myself at the time, "See that is everything that is wrong with you and why we need a candidate that is willing to work with others and get stuff done. You're an insider."

Obama became president, and I am still thankful for that. I honestly don't really regret voting for him in the primary, and I love that she ended up as his Secretary of State, and that they worked together for some solid years. But I remember, shortly after Obama became president that when he tried to invite Republicans to work with him (especially then Sen. Judd Gregg in NH, whom I respected and was excited)...and it just all fell to pieces. And I don't know all of the real reasoning behind that, but I saw Republicans dig their heels in and just move to counter Obama at every turn. (I'm not going to lie, I hated at the time, and I hope that I would've been frustrated with it if somebody like Romney had become president, but with Tr*mperdink I seriously hope that he is blocked from seriously damaging policies and bigoted things while in office. And I will deal with that hypocrisy.)

But I remember watching that unfold and somehow, a thought crept in--you know, I judged Clinton for that, but she was right. She was pragmatic--she wasn't saying the popular thing, the thing that inspired and moved people. She was saying the wise thing based on her experience. And if I remember, she got flack for it. In my mind, I gave her flack for it.

Fast forward to this time around, and that was a large part of why I was in Clinton's camp from the beginning. No disrespect to Bernie supporters--a large majority of my friends supported him, and frankly, I love him and Warren in the Senate. I think that's the better place for them, honestly. (Though I had wanted a Clinton-Warren ticket for at least 4 years now. That would've probably hurt even more than anything. I digress.) I saw the populism of Bernie, and I looked at his promises, and Clinton's more tempered discussion. And I remembered her with Obama as well, and I thought that she seemed the same pragmatic person.

I had also, in the last few years, watched some of the attacks that had happened on her character. I tried to be attentive to the Benghazi scandals, and just couldn't understand exactly why they were attacking her non-stop. I'm not saying that there weren't issues with decisions there, but people acted suddenly like she had somehow wanted people to die. I think there were moments of speaking too soon about the causes and perhaps some other decisions could have been made that would've been better in hindsight. But hindsight is 20/20...we don't hear about all the times decisions have worked, we hear about the times that they failed. Then the emails, and again, there was some concerns there, but I watched it be blown out of proportion to the evidence. And I started to realize how much more harshly she got judged on every single little thing. I do buy that some of that is related to her gender, I've seen that play out in how women in power (in business or politics) are judged. I think some of it is related to her personality, and some of it due to the expectation that everybody had to have had that she would be the 2016 nominee. I mean, there was some question of it earlier this year, but the GOP had the benefit of having way more time to sow seeds of doubt and smears on Hillary in some ways...Dems couldn't have dreamed in 2012 or 2014 that Tr*mperdink would be the nominee. I don't think so anyways.

(God this is so long, I'm sorry).

There wasn't a ton of enthusiasm in many corners for Hillary. I had a few close friends who were enthusiastic, but even among my fellow Democrats, there wasn't a ton of enthusiasm. Part of me gets that, but this time I was actually enthused. Most of it was for the reasons I discussed above--her pragmatism. The way that though she certainly used persuasion just like all politicians do, I think she was wise in the way she did it. When she ran negative ads against Tr*mperdink...they focused on his own words and temperament, things he couldn't deny (and yet he tried to anyways.) She had pragmatic policies, though I wish she had expounded them a little more during the debates, and even though at times she changes positions...I can respect that. She seems to do so after thoughtful consideration. In some ways, I don't think being a political opportunist is the worst quality to have in a candidate, which sounds bad, perhaps, but it means that they're willing to listen to people or at least appear to, because they know they rely on votes. And even some of the things that she said about public vs private positions (controversial) actually made perfect sense to me. I get that, after watching this whole debacle...we don't know how to have nuanced public conversations, so maybe it helps to be a little more Slytherin at times. No candidate is perfect, and I try to think of things that I dislike and disagree on as well as agree on, try to check myself for bias, but for me, this really was no contest.

I loved the DNC speech, and teared up a few times. I was proud of her debate performance--all the times she just reacted so calmly and smoothly...I can't imagine the fortitude it took to keep one's cool. And it wasn't just a political loss I felt or absolute terror for our country's future in the last hours of Nov 8th. It was absolute heartbreak. How did messages of "Love trumps hate" and "Better together" get beat out by sentiments of building a wall, and xenophobic comments? I try to understand things, and on some level, I do, because politics and the media and the economy and everything. But on another level, it destroys me. And it destroys me to think of the utter painshe must feel as a person...as the meme keeps saying: probably the most qualified woman in the country loses to the brash, obnoxious man. That is a real thing that I've seen so many times, that I've experienced a few times personally, but that I've seen happen far more often to so many wonderful women that I know. And it hurts. And is exhausting.

I love now though that she's out walking in the woods. That she's spared some of the utter shitstorm she would've been facing that she's won (though I still hate that she lost more than anything ever.) I loved her recent public speeches, and the way she encouraged people to keep fighting. And I believe in that. So. deeply.

So what I did, the day after the election, was...I went and bought her Funko!Pop that I originally didn't intend to buy [because I normally focus on sets from shows I really really love.] And I keep her on my shelf next to the John Oliver!Pop, and I bought it specifically after watching her concession speech. Because now, more than ever, I can't give up. So I see her Pop and it's a reminder to keep fighting harder than ever.

(Yup, cluttery bc I'm re-organizing. Why yes I do have a kickass statue of Alan Rickman as Severus Snape)

And, one of my favorite memes from the last few weeks, based on one of the sweetest memes from The Simpsons:

Source: https://i.redd.it/dyrs6yxep0fx.png

I'm making plans to be more involved, to attempt to have real conversations. I'm reading reading reading, articles and books...not just about politics, but about the social sciences (I'll learn to be pragmatic and shrewd too).

I'm finding organizations that are doing the work that we so desperately need, and making a list, so that I can donate to them on a rotating basis over the next few years. I'm trying to reach out to people. And every time I see that Pop on my shelf, it's silly, but I'm thinking of that. It's functioning as a sort of plastic icon (I've got to blog about those later) for me, a reminder to not quit.

I'm doing it for the good of my country, for my beloved friends--especially those in vulnerable positions right now. But you know what, I'm doing it for her too. Because I feel as though in some ways, we didn't realize what we had (in Obama or in her). We have this expectation sometimes for politicians to be perfect, super-humans...and I don't think that's realistic. It's some way that I'm still with her and the values that she espoused in her DNC speech and in her slogans. The values that I do believe are a part of our country, even if none of us express or believe in or act on them perfectly. We aim towards them anyways.

+Athena

PS--God, I'm sorry this was so long, but I think I needed to get it out. I also have plans to write her a letter if I can find where I should address it.

PPS--Cary Elwes, aka Westley from Princess Bride used "Tr*mperdink" in a tweet, and I'm still laughing about it. I know that it's immature on some level, but I do think he's so far outside of the realm of a 'normal' candidate that it feels right to acknowledge that somehow. I'm going to have a hard time over the next few years.

Athena: Nudge

Augustine,

I just started a book tonight called Nudge (in the field of neuroeconomics, which is pretty cool sometimes). It's synthesizing a lot of the information and studies in books I've read in recent years in the social sciences that discuss the ways in which humans are not really as rational as we think we are, and don't really make the best choices. This book goes further in discussing "nudges" that can influence people--with discussion of practical applications in how those nudges could be used for good. It is a little bit like manipulation on some level, which feels uncomfortable, but in the end...I do feel like like the reality is that advertisers, corporations, and certain brands of politicians/analysts have figured this stuff out...so it's not really as though you could prevent these techniques from existing. At best, you could try and teach people to be cognizant of them and try to fight them with rational thinking...which is still a good thing to do...but again, people are not as rational as we'd like to think. So learning some of the "choice architecture" principles that this book talks about seems helpful.

I think would I love about this whole field is the way that it is incredibly interdisciplinary--it meshes together my more analytical and humanistic sides--and I feel like there's room to work that in even further. This particular book is more on the science-y side, but I'm also excited to continue thinking through the implications of it and read more and more.

I want to be humble still, as I do think that human beings are far more complex than we can ever truly and deeply understand...but it's still interesting to think about how these things apply...and maybe, maybe how they could work to incentivize positive behaviors.

I haven't finished the book yet, so I may not agree with all of the conclusions, and I still have to think things through more, but it's been an exciting read thus far.

+Athena

Athena: Words

Augustine,

I had been thinking about writing this idea yesterday, and then I just ran across a quote that feels like it goes along with it...

“There exists, for everyone, a sentence - a series of words - that has the power to destroy you. Another sentence exists, another series of words, that could heal you. If you're lucky you will get the second, but you can be certain of getting the first.” ~Philip K. Dick

I don't know about just one sentence, but I realized a couple years ago that there is one main thing that completely crushes my spirit in a way that nothing else does. I can get into arguments and disagreements with people about a number of different things, I can find certain work situations frustrating, but none of those things wound me.

For me, it happens when my passion and excitement about something I'm learning completely is dismissed and shut down as boring or stupid. I love my sister, but she's probably the person who does this the most--we're very opposite in personality and she genuinely just doesn't care one bit about learning...and she's very blunt and will honestly just tell me to my face, "I stopped paying attention five minutes ago." I could deal with it with a sibling, because it's how she is and that's never going to change...I push back sometimes, but there's just no real use. But it's something that I couldn't bear in a friendship or relationship.

And truthfully, I don't need to. My closest friends in the world are genuinely geeks about so many things. Even if they may not be interested in all of the same topics, they love to have deep conversations. But somehow, most people in my family--whom I love--are more like my sister than like me (with the exception of my Dad and a couple aunts/uncles whom I don't see as regularly as the rest.)

I know it sounds like a small thing, and it's not necessarily every moment--there are always reasonable times when people just don't want to hear about a particular thing, and that's fine. It's the moments when you're sharing about something that really matters to you, that you're excited about, and having that just shoved aside that I mean. Which I do feel is a bit related to that "raw" feeling I wrote about yesterday. Perhaps because being a "learner" is such an important part of my being, that it feels not just like a rejection of conversation, but a rejection of me on some fundamental level. Even if that's not the intent, it sort of makes me want to suck myself back in a bit, and limits the type of emotional relationship I can have with that person.

And why my deepest friendships (and I include you in this) are always with people who are energized by learning and talking about things that really matter to them. The moments when I feel happiest and the most fulfilled are not when I'm doing some activity like bowling or kayaking or seeing some extravagant thing (even though I do appreciate nature and fun times)...they're in the conversations that happen along the way. I sometimes find far more meaning and joy in the conversations on a car ride than in the actual experience at a movie or a concert, etc.

It makes me wonder too what these things would be for other people--and how often I might step on those things unintentionally.

+Athena

Athena: On Dialogue and Self-Preservation

Augustine,

As mentioned in my previous post, I was a bit heartbroken when discussing the Eucharist vs. sermons as the central focus of a liturgy/service...it wasn't just a difficult thing to process intellectually. It was emotionally painful as well--because this wasn't a mere intellectual discussion for me, it was tied to very real things that I was trying to work out regarding my own faith, something that was such a key part of my identity. And that I always tried to approach both rationally and emotionally.

As I continued to learn about Orthodoxy, I started to tear down what I had called my "stumbling blocks" to the Orthodox faith. Things that I wasn't just ignorant or unaware of--like the focus of liturgy or the importance of the Resurrection...things that just weren't adequately addressed in the Protestantism I encountered growing up (though I know that's not true of every Prot. church)--but things that I had actively been taught were essentially heresy: the importance of the saints and especially Mary (the Theotokos) to name two.

I come from a very Protestant family, but it's not just that...my family members aren't just Evangelical Protestants [of varying stripes]...they are ex-Catholic Protestants, who all converted around the same time. And in some ways, there's nothing like the criticism you have for a tradition that you left, that you deliberately chose to leave.

I was terrified when my "stumbling blocks" seemed to crumble, and I started to realize that I was already becoming Orthodox in my mind, if not quite yet in practice. It wasn't just a shaking of things that I'd believed my whole life--it was the prospect of having to tell my theology professors and mentors at Gordon, my school (I thought there was a decent chance that I could lose my job...thankfully, I didn't), and my family, especially several of my uncles whom I had had long theological discussions with.

At some point, it wasn't enough to just be Orthodox in my mind, I started attending liturgy, and by the time I had reached that point, I had already been 'sold' on Orthodoxy (I approach things through my mind first). Then I had to tell everyone...I worried that some subsets people would think I wasn't a real Christian anymore, or just completely disdain aspects of my faith and try to convince me out of it.

Thankfully, those conversations on the whole went a lot more smoothly than I might have hoped--often because people knew at least that I didn't do anything half-heartedly. It was something I had been researching for a long time and had "defenses" ready for. But few of the conversations even got to that point--sometimes, one or another person would bring up something, but typically it just became this sort of resigned, "Okay, I guess, you seem to have at least thought this through, even though I really disagree with you. Let's just talk about what we do have in common," sort of thing.

What was really curious though--and still is when it rears its head from time-to-time--is that I realized that there are some things that feel so vulnerable, that I don't want to defend them. Orthodox teaching about Mary (the Theotokos) is one of those things.

I don't feel the same connection to the Theotokos that many Orthodox, especially women and mothers do, because there's still that Protestant piece of me that just...feels unnatural about it sometimes. (There's another story here too about how some of that has changed). But while there are some moments that feel unnatural, I still do like many of the Orthodox beliefs about the Theotokos, and there is some sort of special kinship and protectiveness there. It's because it somehow feels so pure, so beautiful, so right, that I can't bear the thought of exposing it. I can't bear the thought of it being laughed at, shrugged aside indifferently, or worse...attacked.

It does tend to come up in discussion in certain circles, and I find this almost physical reluctance to talk about it. It's not something I want to have to defend with words, because it feels so deeply a part of me and so absolutely vulnerable, that I don't want to expose it in that way. I don't want to have to defend and explain my thinking on it with people I know differ, instead I just want to tuck it away and deflect things, swiftly turning the conversation to something that feels a little less precious. A little less costly--even with my closest relatives. There's something about it that feels...raw at times. Like an exposed nerve which can't take even the slightest of pressure...not because it's weak, but because it's so deeply rooted and connected somehow that it's beyond words or arguing. It just needs to preserved and protected.

I think of so many of my friends who experience this same rawness about different aspects of their own identity. It makes me want to protect them too. I don't want to debate theology that's raw and vulnerable with other people, not when I know the deepness of that for real people whom I know and love. Instead I want to go into a protective mode and just divert things away so that the rawness is protected from harm, so that things have a chance to blossom and develop in their own time.

I live in a world where it's fairly easy to protect myself--theological discussions about Mary happen in certain circles, but not many. I look at my friend who converted to Islam, and think about how every single conversation with her whole family (immediate and extended) has that level of rawness. That's part of where I love my friendship with her--even though we have such different beliefs, we allow each other to share the beauty of what we see, and we try and see that beauty in the other person's beliefs. Even though we don't believe the same way--we recognize the rawness that we're dealing with and we protect each other with that as much as possible.

Does everybody have something that they feel this way about? I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm just not aware of things. I feel like everybody that I know has some type of "raw" experience in their past...but it's different when it's not just an experience that shaped you, but some core piece of your identity. And even more painful when those differences are tied to oppression and prejudice--when the danger is not just one of vulnerability but of actual safety.

I don't know, but I've been thinking a lot about it recently in regards to the difficulty of dialogue. There are moments when I think it is worth pushing myself a little and having those scary conversations that feel vulnerable, but there are many other moments where I feel it's better to shield raw places. And when it comes to others--I always want to shield and protect them...and I know I can't. I can't even promise that I will always say or interpret things properly so that I don't wound them in raw places (though I would never want to and try to be sensitive to it...I know I've failed, awfully sometimes).

I don't have any answers, just more and more questions and reflections.

+Athena

Athena: On Dialogue and Presumptions

Augustine,

I found a kindred spirit my first year of teaching with the English teacher in our small school. I was just out of college, and exploring Orthodoxy theologically, yet not attending services at that point. (Someday I'll tell you that whole story too. Someday we'll tell each other all the stories.) I hadn't yet figured out what I was, but I knew what I wasn't--Evangelical. And yet, I ended up with a job at a mostly-Evangelical school, and our Professional Development seminars that first year were...The Truth Project. My friend, KE, and I bonded the first session when we broke out into discussion groups because we just couldn't believe how ridiculous, biased, and illogical so much of it was. Yup, kindred spirit.

I got to know her better and better, and I immensely respected the way she approached her faith--through her intellect, like me. She studied classics, languages, and literature, and loved studying theology as well. I was a little nervous when I found out she was Reformed [because I had just 'escaped' that theology, the theology of my youth, and yes, at the time it felt like an escape]...but I respected her nonetheless.

As mentioned, I was studying Orthodoxy and reading Orthodox bloggers and authors, and one of the things that somehow just blew my mind was really simple to anybody who grew up with any sense of liturgy. In liturgical churches, the focus is usually on the Eucharist--that is the "climax" of the service, and it feels very much like the climax of the plot pyramid we learned way back in middle school. When I read about that, I immediately thought that it was so obvious--of course, a church service should be centered around the Eucharist, around Christ himself and his 'atoning' work (I'll blog more about that someday too. How had that been kept from me all of my life? How did that never occur to me?

Every church I'd ever really attended up to that point had been focused on the sermon--sure, there was a little worship service, in the church I attended, we did have communion once a month at least, but not every Sunday. And even in churches I'd been to that did celebrate communion every week, it wasn't the central focus of the service. It was important, but everybody knew that the sermon was the real point. I used to feel guilty in high school if I left before the sermon was finished--it was always at the end and usually at least 45 minutes, often running over, so if I had to leave early I felt somehow like it didn't count. Like I'd gone to church that week but it didn't count somehow--I knew God didn't keep track with a checklist, but I still felt like I had cheated somehow.

Because it had never occurred to me before, because nobody had talked to me about why most Protestant services are structured the way they are, and because my mind was so blown by the idea of centering the liturgy around the Eucharist--and how right that seemed to me--I immediately presumed that this would be good news to everybody else. Essentially, I believed that the only reason people didn't think that centering around the Eucharist vs. the sermon was wonderful was because they didn't know about it.

Remember that friend I mentioned? One day we got in a conversation about it, and I shared with her my excitement--immediately I was taken aback. I presumed, naïvely, that she was essentially ignorant about what I had just discovered. Quite the opposite. She instantly (and not meanly, just matter-of-factly) explained that of course Protestant services aren't centered around the Eucharist, nor should they be. They have to be focused on "Preaching the Word" and the Gospel. (A term that had been expanded for me immensely during my time at Gordon. A segue for another time.*)

I sat there a little bit stunned. I don't remember what I said, I just remember that my heart sank a bit...how could we know the same information and yet come to such drastically different conclusions about it? We had such similar 'worldviews' in many ways, it's not like we came from incredibly different parts of the world or vastly different personalities. I knew obviously that people had disagreements, it certainly wasn't the first time I encountered this experience, but I think it was the first time that I'd encountered it with somebody that I felt so deeply to be a 'kindred spirit' of sorts.

This wasn't something I could just blame on ignorance--hers or mine--of the facts. Or on a different moral compass or anything else. It's funny, too, because she's gone through some pretty drastic life changes since then and is now an Episcopalian and doesn't really find affinity with Reformed or Evangelical labels anymore. But I digress.

I've been thinking about that a lot recently, regarding politics or even just many other things in life. There are many times when we can attribute differences of opinion or politics to ignorance on one or both sides, or perhaps even just a very narrow lens--nobody seems to have the full picture or be working with the same set of facts, and it's hard to really get a clear picture even if you try to be well-read, because it's hard sometimes to really understand the proportion of things.

But even if you can actually agree on the facts, you could end up having a VERY different reaction to those facts. And that's what feels heartbreaking to me sometimes. It's easier if I pretend in my mind that the opposite perspective (on some things, but not all) is just ignorant or 'hoodwinked'...but what if they do see the facts and they just don't care? What if it doesn't mean anything to them or they firmly believe in the opposite viewpoint, just as firmly as I believe in my own?

I know how to have these conversations about religion sometimes (not always), but I don't know how to have these conversations about politics. Not when beliefs and policies have very real effects on the lives of so many people.

It feels hopeful to presume sometimes that disagreements could just be resolved if we could somehow all listen to each other. But I don't know that it's really realistic. I know that people sometimes do change their minds when they encounter another perspective--I have, I know many people who have, usually in the context of long-term relationships. But I also can think of so many times when that hasn't worked. When things haven't changed, and had to resign myself that perhaps they never will.

It feels futile, sometimes. And I hate that feeling--but like Sisyphus, I keep trying, because I don't know what else to do. And maybe eventually something will break through...put maybe I'll just keep pushing a giant boulder up a hill only to see all my work undone every day.

+Athena

*I normally don't like it when people discuss what they're not going to write about in a piece of writing. I'm doing it here intentionally because I hope to follow-through on that in this blog, so it seems fair to leave myself this reminder.

Athena: Mini-break

Augustine,

So I was behind a bit in my regular writing/posting, and then Thanksgiving break and I just...didn't go on my actual computer that much. It's too difficult to really blog from my iPhone (especially since iOS dropped the Blogger app *major side-eye at Apple*). I wish I could say that this meant that I wasn't on the internet as much...but I still was a fair amount. Just not on my laptop itself. So I'm going to try and catch up a little bit this week, because I still would like to somehow have 30 blog posts by the end of November, and I'm cutting it a little close.

I think I might keep writing here as well, because I do really like the letter format and I do feel better when I write. And I absolutely love reading your letters too.

I hope that your Thanksgiving was...exactly what it needed to be. And I hope that you are feeling more and more on the mend. I think you still have a little vacation time left, if my calculations are correct, and I hope that you 'suck the marrow' out of each and every moment. That you're reading beautiful things and writing writing writing.

+Athena

Augustine: Native Tongue

Dear Athena,

I came here this morning after waking up at 6:30am and following a normal routine. A routine I don't need to follow because I'm off from work, but one that I realize, if I don't practice now, will become difficult to return to. I drove to my favorite coffee shop Enchanted Grounds to review my todo list (todoist), which, as of today, stands at 131 neglected inbox events.

I sat down at one of my favorite tables with one of my favorite teas (bottomless, so as much as I want) and went to open up to open up the list. A few seconds later the middle aged man and twenty something woman sitting in the leather chairs in front of me began talking about student papers.

"I'm grading senior papers." He said

I was hooked. I spend so much of my life dealing with assessment and I can't seem to turn away when I get to hear the raw thought process of teachers openly reading, critiquing and judging student papers.

He lamented his terrrible fate at having to grade endless papers. And I understand, grading with 150 stuends at take an entire weekend. But this was not his primary complaint. It was the "abysmal" nature of their writing. He pulls up one paper that he anticipates will be particularly painful and let's her read.

The assignment is explained as to write four papers on issues you feel passionately about. That you must argue and defend your point of view.

They begin discussing the student and my heart saddens a bit as they, in vague terms, belittle her. But then the twenty something, who is seeming more like a girl, comments that the paper is not that bad. That she defends her points.

He comments, "Oh she probably wrote something about gender equality or whatever."

In the next minute, the following would come into stark clarity. Have you ever seen  chocolate or another food pulled out of liquid by a string or machine? You might never know it was there, then sudden realization you see a solid shape emerge from the dark liquid, dripping, but its form seen now clearly above the liquid's surface.

The paper was about homosexuality. She wrote, in her best defense, how Christians do not need to accept gay lifestyles, but that they do not need to interfere with governmental laws that guarantee the same rights. Her points are well argued. The college girl, a previous student at this incredibly wealthy private Christian school, acknoweldges the well-made arguments. He dismisses the affirmation, "well that's just one, and there's a lot of other terrible papers waiting at the bottom, I'm sure." Both he and she reiterate "Oh, but I really like her. I think she's good."

For the next couple of hours I would play a card game on my computer, trying to not listen, but only occasionally putting on my headphones and then not even turning them on. She talked about college and her conversations with other students. They discussed the school and students. He would ask her about boys in her life.

Athena, I don't know how to capture my thoughts from here. They were ranged and did not seem to represent a larger form.

I've thought to myself:

Oh God, this is horrifying to listen to you? Why did you invade the safety of my coffee shop?

Cami, would be such a better mentor for this person.

Amy, needs to take the program in school counseling and work with these students instead.

I need to get back to mentoring students. Maybe that's the real work I should be doing?

(Heart sinks) You are so judgmental and young. Not towards my people but towards the other people in your own community. You are judging other people's faith based on their tattoos.

This is who I was when I went to Gordon. This is who so many of us were when we first started. And Gordon, for whatever it is becoming, saved so many of us from this.

Rachel Evans use to be like you, exactly everything you are, she was there, and she has come so far, there is hope for these students. Maybe not this teacher, but for these students there is hope.

That student who wrote that paper is trying, she may very well break free one day and see in ways she never did before, but it will not be while she is there. In her own time.

Why is this the church? Why is the church seem to  mostly  be a before who are entitled about their own positions, judging and shaming others in small ways that they don't even comprehend? Why is it that the place that claims so much love, forgiveness, compassion; the one that seems least capable of practicing any degree of empathy or perspective taking for others? The church feels more like a tribe of insulation. A cult if I might say. That is constantly evaluating who is "in" and who is out.

Rachel Held Evans comes to mind in her speech when she says, the greatest scandal of the church is not who it keeps out but who it lets in. The scandal of grace. I wish that were true. I wish the church was not this.

This all seems like a strange curiosity now. This church, resembles nothing of what it claims to believe, but that doesn't seem to matter anymore. It doesn't matter anymore to me. Like Paul said in response to Elaine Phillips writing on homosexuality: I've read this all before and can see it at a distance.

Like a stranger revisiting home, I know it all, but it no longer seems to move me to action. Like an immortal being, I feel like I walk through the castle I was raised in, as it clutches to its traditions and the walls slowly crumble, I don't feel nostalgia, just curious abstraction.

I have to get my hair cut. I wish I could write more. I leave you with words…words I don't have an adjective for right now.

+Augustine

"Native Tongue"

I know what you’re saying it’s my native tongue

Heard it as a child and it soothed me

I know where we’re going like the river runs

In its pathways

I know what you’re saying

I know what you’re saying

Something really happened

It was wild and true

We talked about it for a hundred years

Looking for the Spirit but the Spirit moves,

I believe he’s moving here

I know what you’re saying

I know what you’re saying

Looking for a language that is older still

The taproot of a living Word

Resonating echoes of an Eden song

Waiting to be heard

I know what you’re saying

I know what you’re saying

Looking for a language that is older still

The taproot of a living Word

Resonating echoes of an Eden song

Waiting to be heard

Looking for a language that is older still

The taproot of a living Word

Resonating echoes of an Eden song

Waiting to be heard

Waiting to be heard

I know what you’re saying it’s my native tongue

I know what you’re saying, I know what you’re saying

Athena: Rhythms

Dear Augustine,

One of the things that I love most about school--both as a student and as a teacher--is the natural rhythm it gives to the year. Busy and slow seasons. Crunch periods where you get overwhelmed by the amount of work that seems to be squished into two weeks--and then you hit a break. Maybe it's a long weekend, or a week or two of vacation, or finally--blessedly--summer vacation.

They keep you sane. I mean, the downside is that you don't get to choose your vacations--and it makes traveling anywhere popular difficult and super-pricey, but I think if I got to choose my own vacation times, I'd have a hard time choosing exactly when. Plus, the added bonus of my current job is that while I get less summer vacation time, I can travel easily and just take my work with me. :)

Somehow, it always seems like vacations come just at the right time--and I've finally reached Thanksgiving break, which means that I get three extra days in addition to my weekend...but also reminds me that it's a quick trip through the last few weeks before Christmas. Really, there are only three full weeks after this before we begin our two-week Christmas break.

It's time to rest and recuperate. I may need to go off social media for a few days to avoid politics...but that would also mean missing out on many things I do love [mainly Tumblr. I could do without Facebook and Twitter, and may do that, but my Tumblr dash is full of a lot of hurting, grieving people right now [along with me.]

I'm hoping to read tomorrow and Friday, because I don't have to worry about pushing everything into just a short weekend. I'll probably sleep really late too. Then Thanksgiving celebrations Thursday and Saturday, which will be a nice time [hopefully] with family.

I hope that both your Thanksgiving and your time off is treating you well. (And that you're continuing to recover).

+Athena

Athena: Counseling

Dear Augustine,

So...the second Master's program (which, if I complete all of this would actually be my third Master's degree) is in Student Counseling. Which blends a lot of cool Psych courses from an Ed perspective, with a very practical bent.

In some ways, this feels like a culmination of the past...almost 20 years of my life. I hit middle school right around when my parents divorced. In a matter of 18 months, we moved away from all my family all the way down the East Coast, my grandfather passed away, my Dad had an affair and left my mom, they divorced, then we moved back "home". Plus, I was 12, so in additional to some pretty serious emotional upheaval, everything was just confusing and moody anyways.

School was always always my safe space. But even more so during my middle school years--it literally felt like the world was crumbling around me, and I honestly almost didn't make it. Thankfully, I was back with my network of extended family, reconnected with the friends I'd recently left, and had really wonderful teachers at the school. But more importantly, there was this one guidance counselor who I just loved. It took me awhile to figure out how to talk to her and actually deal with some of my shit, but I did. She poured into me a lot, and continued to support me when I was in high school--encouraging me when I had ideas for connecting high school students with middle schoolers.

I remember that one of the last times I saw her (she retired around the time I graduated high school), I told her that I was planning to go to college and become a math teacher. She reminded me again that she thought I'd make a good guidance counselor myself someday...and let me know that she had actually started out as a math teacher originally too (something I hadn't known before). I laughed and told her that I appreciated the sentiment, but I was pretty sure that I was going to stick with the math. At the time I couldn't see myself wanting anything else.

So it seems that she was not only a powerful force of good in my life, but somebody who saw things that I wasn't yet able to see for myself. She saw those things in my darkest and saddest moments, as well as in my happier ones.

I hope that I do some of that for my own students even now. And that perhaps with a little more formal training, I might be able to do that more fully.

+Athena

Athena: English

Augustine,

I'm still feeling drained and too exhausted to write about anything really reflective, but I need to get writing again. So I decided to write about the two Masters' programs I'm hoping to pursue in the near future, because I need to be excited about them.

I started off at my current school by teaching English, not math, despite the fact that my Bachelor's is officially in Mathematics. When students would be stuck on a math problem, even if it wasn't my class, I'd give them some help, telling them that even though I mostly taught English, "math was my first love."

Except that once, as those words were coming out of my mouth, I realized that they weren't actually true. Sure, math was my favorite subject in school, but I really loved most every subject until middle school. (Ah, elementary school, where things aren't divided as simply as they are in later years.) And even in middle and high school, I loved English and math pretty equally, I just was two years ahead in math, so that just seemed to make the most sense to be the subject I chose to teach.

But when I thought back on things, I realized that "English"--or more specifically reading--was my first love. I loved numbers and math, but I've actually been reading before I can remember. I'm told stories about how when I was a toddler, I used to listen to books on tape so often that I memorized them. My parents aren't even sure when I learned how to read, because one day when they tried to read me a story, I just started reading and spelling out the words myself. :) (Yup, my nerdiness began preeeeetty young).

My sister was always into dolls and imaginative play, but that just was never my style. I preferred puzzles and books, especially books. I loved going into Barnes and Noble and picking out books whenever I had a gift certificate or some money (I still love that ;) ). In college, I once counted to find that I had 100 non-course-related books in my dorm room, because I just loved to have them with me. I didn't take any English courses in college, but so many of the electives I choice (and JAF) had literature of some type as a core piece.

I got away from reading real books for a few years--I found that I was so sucked up in reading articles that I barely made any time for a full-length book. But the past three years I've changed that, and I hope to continuing reading more and more books.

But when I read, classics especially, I miss delving deeper into criticism and background. I miss the literature courses that I had that led me to insights beyond what I can pick up myself. I devour the introductions to these books and look for critical texts online, but there's something missing.

So I decided that it was time to look for a Master's in English Literature, and I found one that I hope will be a good fit. Sure, it helps me professionally to beef up my credentials a little more; it will allow me to be a Dual Enrollment teacher for English as well as math, but mostly I want to do it for myself. I want to study a subject that I love in a classroom setting again, and have the accountability that I need to process and analyze what I read in a more formal way.

And I'm super excited about it. :)

+Athena

Athena: Reading

Dear Augustine,

I forgot a day, and then last night I was too tired, and I am tonight as well...but I don't want to be behind three posts. I've loved reading your poetic and beautiful recent posts, and I wish I had the energy to respond in kind. Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow.

I'm excited about reading. In some ways it's the only thing keeping me sane right now (and good friends). I'm trying to line up some book for next year...and sort of for the next four. Because I think I'm going to need that. Here's what I've got in mind:

1) I need some Rabbi AJ Heschel. I think I'm going to start with him in January, not only because his theology is incredible, but also because he's a man who lived through the Civil Rights movement and marched with Martin Luther King Jr. He escaped the Nazis--but many of his family members did not. And because in contrast to much Christian theology, Jewish theology has always felt more...practical and earthy. There's a bigger focus on rebuilding what's here as opposed to escaping it or just sucking it up and saying, "Well, there's heaven someday," or "God has a bigger plan." I think I need that right now.

Rabbi Heschel [second from the right] with MLK Jr.
Image courtesy of Wikipedia

2) I'm probably going to read Night of the Confessor by Tomas Halik again, as well as his other book Patience with God. Again, somebody who lived through some great terrors of the world and society. Maybe I should add Solzhenitsyn to my list too.

3) The Harvard Classics...which I'm going to start next year at a rate of a book/month. At that rate, I'll finish in about four years. Yup, that's intentional; I figure it's as good a time as any to finally begin this, and it will be an encouraging way to mark time. I'll have to read 3 extra books on top of 1/month to finish all the volumes and the lecture volume, but it'll be worth it. It would be a shame to have such a great collection and neglect to read it. I should look into seeing if there's some sort of companion class out there for the volumes. Or maybe I should make it a goal to create one.

I'm trying to figure out ways to be slower. To process more. To figure out how to apply and engage with my reading so that it sinks in on a deeper and more lasting level. I've been writing mini-reviews for all the books I've read this year, and that's helped. I want to press myself to do that more, to take time for reflection, something that is really difficult for me sometimes. To force myself to not just be a "consumer" but an "engager" (there's probably a better word for it. I read an article once about being a "prosumer" = producer/consumer, but that's got too many businessified connotations now about branding, apparently.)

I think these authors and books will help me to slow my internal life, which is always whirring away. It will help me reflect more, and hopefully that will translate into acting and speaking wisely. I hope. As shitty as this year has been, I still don't want 2017 to come. I'm not hopeful, despite these plans. But time is going to move forward whether I want it to or not*, and I have to face that inevitability.

+Athena

*Maybe the Aztecs got things wrong because of leap years and perhaps the world is going to end in 2016 instead of 2012 and I won't have to face it. But I suppose I don't really entirely want to wish for the world's end either. (Maybe a little bit.)

Augustine: That we might sleep and dream.

Dear Athena,

It's the first snow. Long overdue. There's nothing overdue about snow. It is not the rain that comes in time to rescue the farmer from the drought. Snow arrives when the moment is right. It is my first day off from work for two weeks. Tomorrow is my surgery. Snow arrives in the front range usually in mid October, but this year, it was not till today, till November 17th, my first day away from work, that the landscape has gone from a warm and beleagured autumn, to a soft blanket of flakes. The world seems to sleep now. I wish I was in the countryside for this. This year winter feels like a fail-safe for the world. When, like in the fairy tale of sleeping beauty, we should all be killed, instead a sleep falls across the land. It freezes but it also preserves. I wish this year's snowflakes would land on the earth and bid us all asleep. That we would wake years from now, rested and anew. That our lives now might be a distant dream of another time and another age. We might wake a new people with a different vision of our world. That we may dream of exploring the universe in spaceships built for peaceful colonies, creating large choruses in which we sing through the streets as thousands and millions, building vast gardens that are leagues upon leagues in diameter in which we may spend days observing a hillside or mountain bloom, or any other number of wondrous dreams. And when we would awaken from our collective dreams, in which we remembered our humanity and imagination, we would set to work of creating all these things that we have dreamed for ourselves as a people. Our lives now would only be a vague concept of an "old age;" long ago, barely remembered, and happily forgotten with the melting snow.

The flakes melted at first on the smooth, warm concrete the moment they landed and then disappeared. They appeared as raindrops on a lake. The ground is cold now and they are accumulating. Translucent, but layering, the parking lot has gained a damp covering that is beginning to turn white.

+Augustine

Augustine: The man, his cliff, and a storm.

Athena,

I woke up early this morning. I've been going to bed early so it happens. I woke to an image held in my mind of a man standing on the edge of a cliff. It looked like the cliffs we've dreamed of seeing in Scotland or Ireland. Tall and sheer, they are covered in green grass that bends with the wind coming off of the ocean. He stood there; unmoving. Not frozen like a statue or stoic like a hero. It was nothing majestic because he stood there in a one piece, canvas pajama. He was absent and there was nothing to move him. The wild air whipping through his long white hair, he looked, without seeing, on a ravaging sea.

I stared at him in those moments between waking and sleeping. In late autumn, it seems the sun argues with the morning and is unwilling to rise. I watched him, during this time when the day is reluctant. I lingered on this image, willing myself to see every detail. I labored at the advice of Anne Lamott to see the Polaroid and put words to the moment it held. I held up words like swatches of paint to a wall, evaluating whether they matched. I thought of this moment, looking at the man standing in pajamas on a cliff while a storm grew in fury, and I thought how I would speak of it when I was awake. I knew this moment would come today - when I would sit down to write it - and that I would have forgotten the words I held for the man, his cliff, and a storm.

+Augustine

Athena: Allegory of Good and Bad Government

Augustine,

I can't fully move on to "acceptance" yet...so I'm moving past my stages of grief after watching a series of clips from all my favorite Late Night hosts tonight. My grieving and frustration are not over, but I want to go on a related but distinct 'tangent' this evening.

I'm reading Putting Art (Back) In Its Place by John Skillen this week, and it's been this wonderful reminder of my time in Italy. Dr. Skillen led our trip and taught us so much about all of this wonderful public art in Orvieto, Florence, Siena, and Rome; he mentioned then that he was working on a book, and I've been waiting for it to come out ever since.

I'm not quite ready to review the book yet, but I have been meditating on one piece, something I remember fondly from my time there, "The Allegory of Good and Bad Government" by Ambrogio Lorenzetti. Pictured below is one piece, but it's important to know that it's in a room in the room where the council of Siena used to meet. On the left wall is the "Bad Government" side, city, and country--where you can see the effects of bad leadership. On the right wall in the city and countryside flourishing as a result of the "Good Government" depicted here.

"The Allegory of Good and Bad Government" (x)

I could talk about the virtues, the allegorical figures in the painting, the flow and movement in both directions. The way the art was situated...but instead I'm leaving this video (at the bottom), because it does a fair job of that in about 10 minutes (I think we talked about it for at least 1-1.5hrs when in Siena).

Instead, I just want to say mostly that I'm meditating on it. I'm thinking about what exactly my role should be as a citizen of a government--whether that government is good or bad...or more likely, a mixture thereof. I want to think about what this would look like in our day...in government, in education, in church. What virtues would we have seated next to government (would they be seated? would they be more active?) I want to sit in silence and reflect, and then incorporate those reflections into my conversations as well as my actions. I want to share this painting with other people so that we can discuss these things. I want to send this video and painting to all of my students (and maybe I will) and have them reflect on their own views of government, so that I can see what's important to them.

I want to be challenged by this as well as using it to challenge others. I want to create space for time and reflection, because it feels like everything in our culture is pushing against that. And maybe, because I do want to escape just a little bit, and if I imagine myself back in this room in Italy, maybe I'll find some answers there.

+Athena

Athena: Depression

Augustine,

I'm skipping 'bargaining' because I don't know that that stage applies as much now. I did bargain a lot when the results were coming in, but not afterwards. I don't know what to bargain with now.

I'm trying not to let depression sink in. I'm trying to not allow myself to be paralyzed. Not all the time. Moments of it. I am allowing myself to cry, to sleep in and lay there a little while before getting up, weighted down by my two warm fuzzy furballs (cats). I feel blessed that I make my own schedule, so I can allow myself to do that. I'm trying to read, though it's hard to focus. I'm trying to find ways to engage: loving people and reaching out to them (I've told my friends I love them so often these last few days); trying to have real conversations with people I disagree with; figuring out how I'm going to save money for Winter Lent and where I can donate to those most at risk.

But this video was what I needed. I needed this last night more than I knew, and it captured the sadness so perfectly, while ending on a note of hope. Bless you, Kate McKinnon, for knowing what we all (and you as well) needed to hear.

It's okay to be scared and sad. We're going to "lick our wounds" and then move forward from there. We need to kick ass in 2018, and find ways to make sure that all who are vulnerable are protected in the meantime.

+Athena

Athena: Anger

Dear Augustine,

I've been angry. It's starting to settle down a bit now. I think the current feeling is upset. There's anger, but there's also hurt and that is so dominant that it feels like this black hole that sucks everything into it. Hurting mostly for people I love, grieving for the lack of understanding on all sides, the way it seems impossible to surmount all the tension and anger and vitriol.

But I am still angry. I'm angry that people excused hateful vitriol...and not just in the actual election. It should never have gotten that far. I'm angry that the people who did try to stand up against it and call things out just got rolled over. I'm angry that people didn't just. turn. up. Or that people vote as a joke. I'm angry at white Evangelicals...who voted for Tr*mp in higher margins than they did for George W. Bush, one of their own. I don't even fucking understand that. I'm so damn glad I'm not an Evangelical anymore, but I'm still mad that it broke my heart. They had the opportunity to save us all from this and they chose power more.

I'm angry that Hillary has worked her whole damn life and has taken every smear and retort, every rant, and somehow stood there with a straight face, calm and collected. And that people saw that and hated her more instead of thinking, "That's what we need." I'm angry that she's worked so hard and that this won't happen for her now. I'm angry that she had to lose when she should've had a landslide, or that she even had to run against him instead of against somebody like Mitt Romney. I disagree with every one of his policies, but at least I have some respect for him.

I'm angry now that we still can't talk to each other. That people see the acts of the few and use it to dismiss easily the hurt and pain and frustration of the many (and honestly, we all are doing that right now). I'm angry that it's been three days, and it's felt like three years, and nothing's even really happened yet.

I'm beyond pissed at Giuliani, Gingrich, Pence, and others who rode the coattails of vitriol gleefully into power. I'm pissed at other GOP leaders who were more concerned with their seats and preserving them than calling out bigotry all along. I'm mad at the entire GOP Congress who refused to vote on Merrick's appointment, because they knew that that spot was going to be their carrot to push along Evangelical turnout. And boy did they line up.

I'm angry that I don't know how to fix it. That I keep telling myself to do small things, to have small conversations, and to act kindly and love deeply. And it still feels impossible.

I'm mad too for all the supporters who voted for him for goals that I actually would agree with--bringing back jobs and supporting the middle class who have been left behind, and for cleaning up corruption. I'm mad that we aren't going to get those at all, and mad that they didn't see that coming, that they were duped. That three days later, their candidate organizes the same old power-hungry people as advisors...that he's going to strip away the protections that we had, and that things are going to get worse for all of us most likely. Not just on the social issues front, but on the economic ones as well, as the last vestiges of protections for workers over corporations get stripped away. And I'm mad as hell that that will somehow get spun too.

I'm mad at the media and social media. I'm angry that people have to comfort their kids and tell them that they won't be deported, while feeling doubtful and scared themselves.

I don't know how to make this anger constructive, so I try to spit it out like poison. Not everywhere. Just in some spaces. Here. Tumblr. Twitter. And it's cooling down, hardening into something else...something more like cynicism, apathy, resentment.

For as much as there's a gaping maw in the center of my being, trying to absorb all the pain and bear it somehow...maybe there's still a hell of a lot of anger soon.

More than anything, I need communion. Last week I was angry at (mostly hurt by) my priest, but that seems so far in the past that it has none of its force anymore. Now I just want to come, heavy-laden and drink from the cup. I need "Christmas Lent" (aka the Nativity Fast) this year, and it starts in three days. I can't remember the last time I felt like I needed something from the church. I've been running from it sometimes, without wanting to admit it to myself. But I feel desperate and needy, and I hate that and am angry at it too. But I think that somehow God is big enough. I hope.

+Athena

Athena: Denial

Augustine,

The first night, I hardly slept. I kept waking up to the smallest noise and realizing that I had not just had a nightmare...that it was real. And there was no going back or redoing it.

And I'm watching protests and seeing frantic petitions of impeachment or please to the electoral college. And I get it. I desperately want a redo. This whole election cycle has deeply shaken my faith in democracy.

I'm not sure what it is about grief that prompts denial, but I think it's actually the hardest part of the whole process for me. It's this feeling of numbness that washes over me over few hours as I realize: No. That actually happened. That's real. That's reality now.

Today, I coped with it by sitting in my dark room (I have black curtains to help block light in the mornings) and just listening to Frasier, trying to catch up on the sleep debt I've accrued. When my godfather died last year, I would just burst into tears every few hours, trying to process how this could possibly be real.

With death, there's a body or at least a casket. There's a funeral and a time set aside to go and grieve. There's people you can be with. There's some sense of closure. With divorce, there's some finality: somebody moves out [you learn to adjust to a new 'normal'], there's an official signing of papers at some point. But there's so much ambiguity too--so many things linger on, and the whole process takes months or even years. There's no one moment you set aside to grieve. My Nan's husband has Alzheimer's. The West Wing did an episode on that with CJ and her dad, "The Long Goodbye." That's exactly what it is...this just slipping away and erosion over time, a loss that waxes and wanes over time, so that you never get to fully STOP and deal with it. There's no stopping here too, and I almost wish there was. At least there's a community to grieve with.

And now this. And as terrible as it feels, it doesn't feel real yet, because there are blessedly two months left of 2016. In which President Obama still resides in the Oval Office, lamed by the countdown of the days and a Congress eager to obstruct him at every turn.

I get to live in denial until things are official. Until the Electoral College votes. Until he is sworn in. I'm trying not to--I'm trying to reach out to people, to make plans, to be shrewd and have important conversations in the moments when I'm not overwhelmed. But I also escape (I'm watching HIMYM, and though it's not my favorite comedy ever, it's making me laugh, which I needed so desperately) and I live in denial and though it prolongs things, delays, it makes things painful too.

With death or divorce or Alzheimer's...there's a sadness but it's an absence. And this is different here too, because this isn't one moment of grief to move on from. This is four years of potential grief waiting in the wings, of wounds waiting to be inflicted and ripped open.

At least that's how it feels today. Thus, I'd like to live in my denial a little bit longer.

+Athena

Athena: Shock

Augustine,

I slept for a total of about two hours last night. I kept waking up, hoping it had been a nightmare. Hoping that things didn't turn out the way they did. That Pennsylvania in particular hadn't broken my heart.

I wrote a post addressing my Republican friends. Urging them to reach out and denounce the hatred of their candidate amidst their victory. I wrote a letter to my students letting them know that they could reach out to me if needed. A few did.

But I can't watch Clinton's speech yet (she deserved so much better. It kills me the most thinking about her right now), or any of the other speeches. I've formulated plans of action in my mind, but the reality is...

I'm grieving. I am grieving. For Clinton, for the Dems (we lost so much more than just the Presidency this time around), especially for my friends who are in terror, for our country, for our citizens and our democracy. For myself.

I'm grieving personally too. It seems like a small thing in the midst of everything else, but my aunt and uncle are divorcing after almost 30 years of marriage...and that's a death too. It's figuring out how to say goodbye in a certain sense, to a person who has been a part of my life since I can remember, and who will no longer exist in my life in the same way at all...and will likely eventually hang out. There's more to that story, but I mention it because it's a parallel grief (Odd fact: this is the uncle whose sweater you have)

I'm still honest-to-God just stunned. I don't know how any of this makes sense, how this could possibly have happened. If the election had been a week ago, maybe, but emails were cleared up and polling dramatically increased, and I felt safe again. And I voted because I knew I wasn't safe enough to be complacent, but I honestly thought that my fears were just anxiety. I thought on one level that it just couldn't possibly happen. Not this time, not with this particular candidate.

I'm bewildered, and I want to cry and eat a lot of ice cream. I keep forgetting to eat, forgetting to move. Instead, I'm sending messages of love and support to my friends--but there are no words. And I want to talk about it, and do nothing but talk about it and figure out how to fix things and make plans and survive for four years, but I also can't because it still feels completely overwhelming and surreal.

So I think of Mr. Rogers. And I ask myself how I can be a good neighbor. And I hope and pray that I can figure out how to protect them.

+Athena

Athena: Grey

Dear Augustine,

I am too overwhelmed to blog tonight. I'm scared--for you, for me, for our country. I'm terrified, and have only just calmed down after a four-hour-long anxiety attack tonight.

But I have to hope that not all is lost. That we will survive this too and come out stronger in the end.

So in lieu of dealing with that...I'm sharing a post that I wrote about the livestream on Susan B. Anthony's grave today. I'm trying to see a little more grey today, when it feels very black.

"Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see." (Hamilton)

I understand that SBA is a complicated person--her voice for women's right to vote wasn't pure and perfect, it was shaded with racism, and that is unequivocally wrong. And yet, I'm still moved by the fact that we move forward slowly through time, being pushed along by imperfect people...people who caught a glimpse of the same ideals we continue to fight for, and which we seek to extend to all people: life, liberty, equality, justice.

I'm thankful for Anthony, and also for others who carried these values further: Ida B Wells, Mary Church Terrell, Ella Baker, Rosa Parks, Angela Davis, and many others.

I love you, my friend. Very very much.

+Athena

Athena: Common Themes

Dear Augustine,

So I started Middlemarch last month, but got a little bogged down. I had hoped I'd love it as much as I did Pride and Prejudice, but I think I prefer the narrative style of the latter a bit more. I am appreciating the wit and incisive social commentary [that featured in both pieces, tbh, but it's a little more extensive in Middlemarch]. What strikes me about both of these readers is that even though both were written over a century ago (P&P was over two)...so much remains the same, even though certain externals have changed.

I read about Mr. Collins's "mansplaining" to Lizzy Bennet after his proposal--how utterly convinced he was that he knew exactly what she wanted and that she was merely playing "coy". Not to mention his narcissistic monologues, his constant concern with status...and I immediately thought, "I know so many people like that." And multitudes of Lizzies and Janes as well.

Or Mr. Bulstrode (Middlemarch) who, at least thus far in the narrative, seems to be so much more concerned with his Puritanical religious codes than with actual people...and I'm reminded of so many who attempt to control people's behavior with their religious whims, indifferent to the suffering it might cause--in their mind, it's worth it if it "saves their soul."

And how many happy marriages or unhappy marriages or marriages for convenience I've seen--even though, thankfully, there are more options and freedoms afforded to women today, and property laws are blessedly different.

And I think that's what's so astounding in some ways about these authors--not just that they wrote classic stories, there are so many classic stories that appeal to universal themes and have the same sort of timelessness--but what's wonderful about Austen and Eliot is that they are writing specifically about the society's they live in: critiquing them, replying in writing in ways that perhaps they couldn't in real life, wittily crafting their narratives to expose the truth as they see it. And yet, despite how embodied their stories are, they still remain timeless to an extent. We're able to see what has remained alongside what has changed--and how fun it is to wonder how some of these heroines might have turned out were they to live in modern times.

I wonder what sorts of stories from our time--especially now that there are so many, and with the proliferation of self-published stories--will live on to become "classics." And what that will mean in a couple centuries, as I imagine there will be a constant flood of new voices from all walks of life. I wonder what sorts of critiques their will be about modern society, and the ways in which future generations will wonder about characters like us...and think, "I wonder what they would be like were they to love today instead of being constrained by the social pressures of their own time..."

It's impossible to imagine, honestly, but I sort of like to think about it sometimes. :)

+Athena

Athena: Jumble

Dear Augustine,

There are so many things swirling around in my head--and this is why I've always quit blogging before. Trying to pin any particular train of thought down and wrangle it into something coherent seems impossible so much of the time.

I want to write about the sermon today--which was painful and felt like a betrayal of a confidence, even though I know that wasn't the intent. Or I could write about the blessed joy of running into my good friend in the vestibule as I was literally running out of church after the service--a friend whom I couldn't explain things to, but whom I could hug. Somebody who got part of the anxiety that I've been feeling that's flowing together with everything else. Or I might need to write about the drama of this afternoon--of the death of a marriage that will be unfolding over the course of the next few months, or the death of a lovely church acquaintance, for whom I sang the eonia--all the way down to church.

But I'm not sure if I could pick one of those things, the thoughts are spinning too rapidly and they feel unfocused. And some of them I might explore over the course of the next few weeks, some I might never get to [and I have to learn to be okay with thoughts that fail to find their expression. That could be a whole other post.]

Instead I want to write about some of my students, because I thought of them while reading about your friend [may their memory be eternal]. Of my own student with CP who had such trouble pressing the calculator buttons...but was very good in math and is now a successful college student. Of the dear, dear heart who had selective mutism...and through some small miracles overcame their anxiety and began to speak with us, whose words--even now, years later--still feel like miracles. Or the other one who overcame anxiety and abuse, codependent friendships and finally the difficult transition of coming out...and is now engaged to be married and happy, teaching a class full of children with autism. Or the one I ran into this evening, whom I only taught for a year...and yet who excitedly told me all about their life and seemed sorry to see me go. Or the students in my current school who battle anxiety and learn that it's okay and figure out coping strategies...ones who are great conquerors of all things.

Every student is somehow a small miracle. There have been a few cases where I couldn't always see it--where my best efforts fell short or my own personal weaknesses and frustrations clouded my vision. But I still believe it to be true, even in the cases I didn't get to see for myself. It's an incredible thing to see them flourish and grow and come into their own--in both expected and unexpected ways.

And maybe I needed that reminder to face the upcoming week.

+Athena

Augustine: A Eulogy

"People always talk about how children teacch you unconditional love, and it's true."

I wrote this eulogy for a former student with cerebral palsy, who died when I was in grad school.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not there now. I'm sorry I haven't been there this year.


I don't know what is that I need to be telling you now. You're so far away and soon you will be even further.


But as I write this I realize that you have never been far. You have always been present. It is us, the adults, the "mature" guardians who have forgotten how to be present.


When I met you I didn't know what I was suppose to do. How do I educate or work with a student who cannot speak to me? So I had to sit and be present with you. And in being with you and spending time with you, I would learn that you were not silent at all. You spoke mountains and miles, volumes of books to me everyday. In your laughter, sadness, frustration, pain, and unabashed joy I began to realize what it meant to be present. I learned what it meant to try with all of ones' strength because someone asked you to try, to laugh at simple mistakes rather than becoming angry, to stop realize that distractions and games can not replace the power of having someone else sit with you.


When I would tell people I worked with a students with special needs, they talk as if I have taken on some burden, and it made me furious. Yes, I had to wake up 5 days a week and be on the road before the sun was up in order that I could be at school on-time to pick you up. (And if I'm being honest, how many times did I have to text someone because I was late). But on the commute to work I would think about the joy of getting you from the bus and when I was burned out in the morning, I looked forward to my time with you in the afternoons. You were ready to sit and revel in time spent with someone else. I would see you brave difficult therapy and boring school days ready at a moment to slip into a moment of joy and laughter.

The truth is that I have learned from you. As I've grown, I've forgotten how to laugh and love and live the way you did most days. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the days that you were in pain and I didn't know what to do. Please forgive me this as I know only you know how. But you reminded me of all the hopes, dreams, and love that I could not remember and do not know when I am lost.


I'm at grad school now because one day sitting with you I realized that I have no excuse to not try. If you can come to school everyday and live with more love than I know while you endure daily trials, I can do nothing less than strive to be as brave and courageous as you.
I'm here now because of you which is why I cannot be there with you now. But as someone who knows how to be present and in the moment, always you are with me.


I would listen to these lyrics on the way to school in the morning. Thank you for teaching me about all the most important things.


Thank you and I love you

Gracias y Te Amo

+Augustine

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sara Groves - I can't wait


When you reach the proper age
I will teach you to read and you can turn the pages
How to dress and tie your shoes
Your one plus ones, and your two times two's
And you'll teach me
Of hearts and dreams
And all the most important things
And all that I have lost along the way
And I can't wait

As you grow, I'll show you things
How to ride your bike and kick your legs out on the swings
To fold your hands and bow your head
How to say your prayers before you go to bed
And you'll teach me
Of hearts and dreams
And all the most important things
And all that I have lost along the way
And I can't wait

How do you sleep so peacefully?
How do you trust unflinchingly?
How do you love so faithfully?
How do you dance so joyfully?


Oh you'll teach me
Of hearts and dreams
And all the most important things
And all that I have lost along the way
And I can't
No I can't
Come teach me
Of love and dreams
And all the most essential things
And all that I have lost along the way
Cause I can't wait


How do you sleep so peacefully?

How do you trust unflinchingly?

How do you love so faithfully?

How do you dance so joyfully?


I can't wait

Augustine: Of loss and love and fire and rain, never would have come this way

Athena,

I've sat down to write to you multiple times these past days. I have several blank sheets with the date written across the top and I have sheets that are filled with rambling frustration. Finding an element of insight or truth often feels like digging in sand. Will every handful that you pull out, some slides back down. Some days it seems that I never get to anything of meaning after all the digging. Sitting down to write means I have to let down the barrier and listen to the voice inside, but there are so many other voices that were being quieted and they are no free to yell, scream, and whisper incoherently in my ear.

Anne Lamott encourages writers to think of the voices as mice. Do put them under little glass jars, turn up the volume to let them scream, and then turn the volume down low. I call mine ghosts. I don't like the name ghosts, it doesn't seem fitting. But the fact that I don't like their name seems even more fitting.

I've had occasion to write about a topic but whenever I sit down to do so, it feels like single person sail boat in a storm. I imagine the apostles in their small fishing boat being overrun by the waves. Somedays writing feels like insisting on casting a net out to fish while the storm is tearing the vessel apart.  I forget the storm can be calmed. Or I don't remember how.

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace."

'Touch, taste and smell your way to the holy hidden heart of it.'

There are not clear guideposts with directions, distances, and names. There are cairns, stacks of rocks, small and large, strewn across the landscape, sometimes close enough to see from one to the next, but often times they appear just in the moment when you wondered if you have entirely lost your way.

And in the moments when I pause and look up to see where it is that I am, I wonder if I am lost. I wonder "where are the signposts?" I look out over the land ahead that holds only stability but nothing else that I desire and wonder "why do I keep walking towards this?" But no other path seems stable or wise.

The blog was a new medium when I was in high school. I presented my senior project across a series of blogs. Mine was named after Jars of Clay lyrics which I also used as my senior quote:

"We look out way down past the road we came from

We're looking for redemption

It was hidden in the landscape

Of loss and love and fire and rain

Never would have come this way

Looking for redemption"

In those moments when I let myself question "what am I doing here?" I wonder if there is redemption hidden in this landscape?

+Augustine