yet to be

During this season of Advent, I am praying that God would reveal to me something yet to be revealed. For the past few months I’ve been hovering just around the edges of a big something, an idea, a concept, a truth, a something he wants me to understand, but that my own fear has kept hidden.

like something just beyond the window, the trees, the morning fog

This morning I read Paul’s prayer to the Philippians (1:9-11):  And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.

So now, as we anticipate the coming Light, I pray Paul’s prayer for myself, for knowledge and  full insight. I wait for the fog to lift, for God to help me understand what has yet to be understood.

What are you waiting for during Advent this year?

Ch-ch-ch-changes!

OK readers, in light of a few recent posts that are bringing me a little down, a post about the positives of right now:

D and I bought a house. When we aren’t feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of long-term debt, we are basking in the joy of having our own little home. The house came to us through a bit of wu wei; we noticed the ‘for sale’ sign at the bottom of a driveway on Bee Branch at a time when we were just settling into my grandparents house right up the road. We took a look just for the heck of it, met the owners and heard their amazing story of working on the house over the years. They bought the four acres from their friend, ordered the cedar logs from British Columbia, and have been laboring in love, little bits at a time (as this was their vacation home) since the 70′s. D and I fell in love with its small size, cozy wood stoves  and cedary-smells, and have been blessed to work with owners who empathize with our less-than-impressive income.

a little peek of the little cedar house on bee branch

We put up our first Christmas tree in the house last weekend. Need I say more?

the magic

We traded in the old mini-van for a new car. Yep. Crazy. Jetta, TDI, car of my dreams. Loving the gas mileage and the coolness. Not gonna lie.

I have a full-time job (thus the house and the car, whew)! After a year of working one part time job, a month of working two part-time jobs, I finally have full-time work with GEAR UP NC in the Yancey County School system. For the next seven years, I hope to be working with parents and families to see more students graduate high school and succeed on a wide range of post-secondary paths.

Gearing Up at the high school!

In many ways this year, I am feeling for the first time like maybe I am becoming an adult. With real pain and suffering has also come real joy. Alongside all the unsettling, unpleasant changes I’ve been experiencing lately, I must also acknowledge the sweetness of the positives.

eGAD!

Alright, ya’ll, throwing it out there: a post about anxiety!

I’ve been dealing with generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) since I was in college in 2005. At that time, I felt anxious for about two months, couldn’t eat, cried a lot, and felt like I was going crazy, and had no idea what I was anxious about. For a young student who generally felt positive, on top of things, and in control, I was terrified. I went to the doctor, got a prescription, and finally started to feel like my old self again (it wasn’t as simple as it sounds, but the rest is a post for another time).

Since then, I’ve still had anxious times, but nothing like those two months at school. I’ve also learned more about anxiety, and am trying a different approach, going off my medicine and researching cognitive behavioral therapy (in hopes of trying it soon). In my research, I’ve read lots of practical tips for dealing with anxiety. One I’ve found helpful is to notice my feelings without judging them, naming the physical sensations and accepting them for what they are (instead of giving into my most common response: Oh no I am going into anxious mode let me get more anxious about being anxious! OH NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!).

Another thing I’ve been trying is looking at the times when my anxiety gets intense, goes beyond general nervousness or apprehension that’s normal and short-lived. So I have been following my anxiety, paying attention to my body and my environment (what am I actually doing) when I feel it coming on. Below are a few of the recent times when I’ve had severe anxiety that has uninterrupted sleep/eating habits and lasted more than a day or so:

• D broke his jaw and had to have surgery.
• My brother’s best friend died unexpectedly.
• I directed a summer camp for a week.
• I got into conflict with someone at church.
• I changed jobs and had to send an email in which I felt that I was letting someone down.

In the first two instances, it seems like when my idea of reality, the status quo, gets upset by something or changes dramatically, I get uncontrollably anxious. “The world is NOT what I’ve always known it to be! Terrible things happen and I can’t control or prepare for them!”

In the last two instances it seems that when I don’t know how another person is perceiving me, or fear that I’ve upset another person, I get uncontrollably anxious. “What are they thinking? I bet they think I am an irresponsible, incompetent jerk. Oh no!!!“

The middle instance seems to be a combo of both those things: A drastic change to my status quo, and being completely vulnerable to how people (and kids) might perceive me, sends me into intense anxious mode during which I can’t eat and I demand that my poor hubby to actually come to church camp and stay with me….

I don’t want to make too much of this pattern, as indeed sometimes I can find no reason whatsoever for feeling anxious, but there does seem to be a common theme centering around my need for CONTROL…..When something happens that reminds me that I am not in control of the world I live in, nor of the people in that world, it really throws me off! Of course I can rationalize to myself: “Dora, come on. You KNOW you are not in control of anything. God is. You are not. You know that. Don’t even try.” But how do I make my body believe that?  HOW???

on needing hope

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light   
‘Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we’ll be alright

~ Mumford and Sons, “Ghosts That We Knew”

My life has generally been bright and smooth, like a river stone. I’ve had dark days, and painful losses, to be sure, but I’ve never questioned that my life would continue on its bright path, in a world that was basically good with people that were mostly safe and happy. I don’t think I’ve ever really needed that kind of big, grounding hope, that things will get better. I’ve heard it talked about, to the point of cliche,  but never needed it.

Lately though, I’ve been feeling the need for a hope that will see me through in a big, overarching way. This year has been one in which I have been reminded experienced for the first time  my own lack of security in the world, of the fact that the world is imperfect and that people suffer inevitably  and sometimes beyond any scope of what I can understand. In the days after months of witnessing enormous loss in close family and friends, I feel like I am modifying my identity, or my sense of reality. Pressing questions weave in and out of my mind. Is the world good? Are people mostly happy and trying to do their best? Does God will terrible things to happen to innocent people? Is it wrong for me to seek and enjoy happiness and security while others are suffering so greatly? These questions aren’t just hanging around for pondering over a cup of coffee and a journal entry. They are urgent. I need to know the answers so I can get on and live.  How do I continue?

Hope. God shows me the possibility of a better world, one that we all have hands in creating. Hoping and working for the kingdom of heaven on Earth, drawing nourishment from the transcendent spirit that connects us to one another and to the  world, and looking forward to a time when we will all be drawn back together without suffering, represents, for me, that big hope that I can’t live without.

Practicing this kind of hope is a new feeling, like grabbing hold of a little gift that has always been there for the taking. It reminds me that the river stone wasn’t always bright and smooth. It has ridden the ancient waters of tumult, lost parts of itself and been transformed.

 

weekend wonder

Summer weekends in the mountains are the best.

Inspired by new friends, we sought the rare Gray’s Lily on the Roan Balds.

The view from the Roan is even better in person.

 And someone became a fan of the Johnson City Cardinals (actually, I think the grape Italian ice is what really won him over).

 He got to run the bases after the game.

Weekends like these remind me of why we moved back home.

Lifting up gratitude today.

The Tale of the Gypsy Wedding Dress

As D and I approach the second birthday of our marriage, I have been reflecting on our magical wedding day and chewing on a story about the procurement of my dress. The following tale is as true as I can remember it. Ladies, enjoy.

I have never been one of those people who dream about their wedding day in acute and ecstatic detail. Yes, I hoped to get married one day, but I was never in a rush and usually had more pressing things on my mind, like you know, the meaning of life and death and whatnot. So when I found myself happily engaged in the summer of 2009, I approached dress shopping with an unexpected sense of glee: This is my day to look as beautiful and as me I want! Woohoo!

Dress Number One

The night after D proposed, my sisters and I spent hours on ebay, and I actually bought a dress. $78 plus shipping.  So what if it has poofy sleeves and is two sizes two small? I’ll remove the sleeves and make it work! Something about that neckline I just have to have! (“Do it! Do it!” cried the giddy bridesmaids-to-be.) So, as I basked in all of five days of being engaged, Dress Number One arrived. Let’s just say it was a no. Think Shelby in Steel Magnolias, but with long sleeves.  My dad loved it, actually wanted me to wear it. Not happening.

Add long sleeves, and you have Dress Number One.

But not to worry, my frugal readers, the $78 were not for nothing! A few months later, my little sister went all out for Halloween as a shockingly realistic zombie bride. The dress debuted in the hideous glory for which it was destined.

Dress Number Two

After my initial adrenaline-based purchase, I calmed down and decided to take my time dress-hunting. I knew what I wanted: simple, lace, cream, not to wedding-y. A few months later, I found it. This time on Etsy, $60, vintage. I was in Harrisonburg so I got to try it out for new friends before my family saw it. And it was a hit. In the back of my mind though, I knew it wasn’t gonna fly with the mother of the bride. It was just too simple. But I thought I would give it a shot, so I came home and tried it on for her. As expected, “It is beautiful, but it just isn’t what I pictured my daughter walking down the aisle in.” I was in the familiar pickle of wanting to please my mother and needing to be true to myself. So I compromised. It was two months until the wedding, and I told her that if I could find something I loved between now and then, I’d get it. If not, I’d wear Dress Number Two.

Dress Number Two in action

I really loved the back.

Dress Number Three: The Gypsy

A little less than two months until the big day, and I was still in limbo about the dress, thought not really panicked. I knew if I had to wear Dress Number Two and disappoint mom, the world would go on. But part of me still wanted to find that perfect dress that would please everyone. So, it is a normal Saturday in July, and D and I are driving down the road in rural Linville, finishing a week of cooking at Camp Caramel. We drive by several yard sales, nothing strange for a Saturday in the mountains. As the circus of items long-stashed in garages and attics of strangers floats by my window, a mannequin in a white dress, looming over a quilt of gnomes and bicycle wheels, catches my eye. I demand that D turn around, and we return to the little square piled high with the wares of a dreamy lady in a long skirt and magenta headscarf. The dress is kind of seventies style, deep v-neck, floor length cream-colored thin fabric. Lace around the neck and flowy lace sleeves. Just so me.

“How much is the dress?” I ask hopefully.

She grimaces, “Well, I was really trying to sell the mannequin. The dress was my sister’s, out her wedding didn’t work out so she never got to wear it.”

“Would you mind if I tried it on?”

“Sure, I guess. I guess I could sell it for 15 or so.”

I tried to stay calm. Please let it fit.

D and I found a dark shed and he zipped me. I felt lovely and natural. I stepped out into the sunshine and the lady stopped straightening her empty picture frames and stared at me.

“That dress is yours. I have chills you look so beautiful.”

We both teared up and I said too many thank yous and hugged her like an old friend. She gave me her email address: gypsymtnwoman@…. and asked me to send pictures of the wedding.

D and I looked at each other, thinking the same thing. “We’ll take the mannequin.”

She was thrilled, explaining how there was just something about this day, and how she would be glad not to have to tote it around for the rest of her long journey.

There certainly was something about that day, and about that dress. It was magical.

So, it only took three dresses, approximately $150, and one gypsy to find the perfect dress. I think the story alone is worth that and more.

just listen

(From Psalm 19)

The heavens are telling the glory of God;

the dome proclaims his truth.

 

Day to day pours forth speech;

night to night declares his knowledge.

 

Every swath of grass sings his word;

any brittle leaf chants the key.

 

Any yet.

 

There is no speech, nor are there words.

Their voice is not heard.

 

Any yet.

 

Their line goes out through all the earth,

their words to the end of the world.

days in the light

if you don’st stick your neck out, even the nothing you have will be taken from you. take the leap, though, and more will be given. (mark 4:24-25)

Camp Carmel Junior Camp 2012

a river baptism

sleepless nights

a midnight serenade

sunburned shoulders

morning watch

in everything give thanks

dark days

These days have been dark. Not just because of winter and long rains, but because of the struggles of moving home and looking for a job. Don’t get me wrong, I have loved being back in my mountains, closer to family, but it hasn’t been all Zinnia’s and game nights, if you know what I mean.

I have had to let go of the post-graduate school vision I had for myself: Dora Smith-Cook, conflict transformer and community organizer, farmer, writer, wife, friend, sister, neighbor and daughter extraordinaire, hasn’t been seen on Bee Branch as much as I would have hoped. Instead Dora, mediocre housekeeper, anxious and hesitant conflict resolver, lady of the perpetual blahs has been spotted in sweatpants and unwashed hair, leaving the house only to check the mail and send out the occasional batch of hopeful resumes.

My definition of potential jobs has needed to change.  I am now up for working for transformative change and strengthening communities in the capacity of animal shelter employee, for example (alas, I wasn’t hired for that one, either, probably a good thing…).

And while the grounds for conflict resolution work have been fertile this winter, my skills have taken a backseat to strong emotions, anxiety and defeatism. Entangled in conflicts in my extended family and in my church (which tend to overlap), I have faced complicated situations and change efforts with trepidation, excitement, and bewilderment. In the midst of the chaos I have tried to apply my training, but have ultimately ended up feeling unsure, confused, and discouraged.

I think an overarching contributing factor to the long-term winter blahs has been how desperate I have felt for community. I cannot believe I so took for granted my Harrisonburg church and school family. I had close relationships with a few people (which I still treasure), and an emergent church that made me feel engaged, safe, and connected with the Spirit. And more, I was surrounded by people, even if I did not have close relationships with all of them, who generally share my worldview, values, and even interests. Now, I return to my home community and congregation where I in turn feel isolated, exposed, and so darn far from the Spirit that I would rather stay home than step into that old sanctuary…..I know that I aught not be surprised to feel completely different at home than when I left, but to feel so bad, I simply did not expect.

And yet.*

With the sudden appearance of another miraculous, budding-and-blooming-of-fragrant-air and show-off petals-vibrating-morning-serenades-magical kind of Spring, I can look back on those dark, couched-in days with a sense of joy that they have passed, and a new appreciation for what has been accomplished.

There have been new relationships. Close friends that loved and supported us through the conflicts, reminding us that when in the midst of working for and experiencing big change, you feel bad, like you are doing something wrong, and you wonder and wish you could stop it (kind of like being pummeled by a wave, in my opinion), and that is normal and even a good sign. They encouraged us to keep going, affirming our efforts and giving us the perspective we needed. Thank you.

There have been moments of learning and joy, of course. New baby goats and sweet afternoons with my boy. Nights of easy conversation and silliness with new friends and dear visits with older ones. Oh yeah, and I have a job (for now)!

There has been positive change in our church, steps taken toward realizing the kind of place of worship where we do feel safe and connected. Where all voices are free to take part in the conversation about worship and priorities. Where the previously silent are now being heard. Where we have been given the opportunity to create a space in which we can connect with one another and with the Spirit in a transcendent, mutually supportive, and Christ-centered way.

And yet. The work is not over. The conflicts still brew and will continue to rise as change happens. I only pray now for the reminder that Spring comes, that peace and joy are not taken permanently by the present situation. Just to wait for the rebirth.

And speaking of growth and perspective, a quick picture to brighten up your otherwise word-filled screen: Farmer D in the amazing Joyce Kilmer-Slickrock Wilderness.

D and an old growth Poplar

*Another high point of this winter was reading The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. OMG. Go read it and you too will be thinking in the voice of narrator Leo Gursky, rambling long-winded sentences describing impossible situations, and following them up so poignantly with a simple “And yet”, capturing in two short words the ever-present beautiful confusion of hope and hopelessness in life. GAH! So. Good.

D & D Animal Husbandry

A long-ago promised post on the little bit of animal husbandry that Farmer D and I have been attempting for the past year!

Soon after we settled in on Bee Branch, Dad handed over his little goat herd to us, realizing that we had time to do what he no longer could (in much the same way we ended up with our lovely lady laying hens). So we found ourselves with around twenty Boer goats of mixed health and breeding. While D and I (but mostly D) brought considerable gardening and food preservation experience to our little Bee Branch homestead, we have had to learn about goat husbandry as we go, getting tips from Dad and books and learning many lessons the hard way.

the kids

rueben, davy, and swede

cheetah and baby ed

little swede

Now don’t let these adorable pictures fool you. Goat work is smelly, expensive, and often heartbreaking. There is nothing more vile than a big Billy who wants to get it on. I saw one especially virile male peeing into his own mouth with apparent glee. No joke. Drinking his own urine. Nasty. And last winter we spent our nights and days bottle-feeding three little runts only to have two them die months later after they had been weaned. So frustrating!

I have come to believe it is something of a calling, one that D has and I lack. Take the simple differences in our approaches:

D’s goat-time = Gather their food and water. Clean their eating and drinking area. Dispense food and water. Stand and watch them for as long as possible. Pet them.

Dora’s goat-time = Throw down the food, tip off the water and scurry out of that poopy place as soon as possible.

If anything this experience has further affirmed our dream lifestyle: Dora bread-winning and D bread-making. (Good one, huh?) But wait, if Derrick makes the bread, then what would you call me? The items-we-want-and-can’t grow-or-make-winner? Yeah! I am the netflix-winner. I am the dark-chocolate-winner…ok, you get it…

Anyway, until this gal gets a job, it is more animal work for me! (Sorry goats…)