YAV year/life lesson 1 of ∞

I have averaged communion 2-3 times per week for the past month and a half or so, between Sunday mornings, various church meetings, and leading worship for a local summer mission program. This week, for example: Bayou Blue on Sunday morning, YAV closing worship last night, Project Homecoming closing worship tonight.

One of my favorite parts of communion in the Presbyterian Church is when the person serving it announces that "This is not a Presbyterian table. All are welcome." Actually, on Sunday morning, that was said both during announcements and during communion, which is what got me thinking about it.

I really like that.

I only have about a dozen days left of being a YAV in South Louisiana. This year has been a great opportunity for really getting involved with local churches, with a Presbytery, and with PC(USA). I am going to take about a thousand million billion infinity lessons from this year, but in the midst of this very difficult week I am very focused on this not-Presbyterian-table.

All are welcome at my table. Presbyterians, Catholics, Episcopals, Mennonites, Quakers, Muslims, Jews, athiests, Hindus, those who practice traditional religions, those who believe in everything, those who believe in nothing, and everyone in between. Everyone is welcome at my table. Palestinians and Israelis. Russians and Ukrainians. Children who arrive to the US border unaccompanied, and their parents and guardians.

Peacemaking has become an important theme in my work, brought out especially by working with the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship at General Assembly. As an environmentalist, I know that if we don't take care of our natural resources, there's going to be a lot less peace in the future. So far beyond that very basic premise though, I've been reading and learning and thinking about issues of peace around the world. All of these people who are so different from me, not just in appearance and location but circumstances and background and foreground.

It is fitting that such a difficult week end with the birthday of the late Nelson Mandela, who inspires so many people to work for peace. "Let freedom reign. The sun never set on so glorious a human achievement." he said. "Courageous people do not fear forgiving, for the sake of peace." he said. "It always seems impossible until it is done." he said.

I am not always a perfect peacemaker. (Neither was Nelson Mandela, truthfully.) I'm sure my brothers would agree with that. I'm sure my partner would agree with that. I'm sure my seven housemates in New Orleans would agree with that. This is one of the important lessons I am taking from this year though, this idea to constantly and intentionally work for peace. I won't always get it right, but to start, I will focus on this idea that everyone is welcome at my table.

Peace, salaam, shalom.

adventures in and around and around and around Terrebonne Parish

I found a little dog today.



After church, I went to Morgan City and then took the scenic route back to Houma to visit a friend in a nursing home there. He was wandering along the side of a busy road in downtown Houma and I couldn't just keep driving. His fur was a mess and full of sticks and leaves and he seemed so confused. He was nervous when I approached him but sniffed my hand and let me scoop him up. In fact, after I scooped him up he decided we were best friends, and sat happily in my arms as we wandered around the neighborhood to see if anyone recognized him. First I tried to call the vet listed on his tag. They're closed on weekends.



No answer at the first few houses. A man on a bike passed by and thought it might belong to a couple in a blue house down the street. So little dog and I went there.

They had a few little dogs, and this one was not one of theirs, but they thought his name was Poofy and he belonged to a girl who lived around the corner. She drives a silver Nissan Versa with lots of bumper stickers.

There was no such car to be found on that street, but one of the women sitting outside on her porch was pretty sure he belonged to the house across the street.

No one was at the house across the street, so I left one of my cards with a note on the back.

Little dog (who I decided was more of a Doofy than a Poofy) was very tired and panting, so I decided to take him to a friend's house in Bayou Blue 20 minutes away to hang out and get him some water while we came up with a plan. I tried to get most of the sticks and leaves out of his hair.

The people weren't home but I have a key, so I got a bowl of water and we played in the back yard as not to disturb the cats in the house. Doofy wandered around a sniffed some things, and finally made noise for the first time when he noticed the neighbor's rooster, who was about twice his size.

I called the vet's emergency line, which said to call animal control, which said to call the police station, which said to call the vet's emergency line, which said to call animal control... animal control wouldn't pick up the dog unless it was hurt or aggressive. Doofy was healthy and sweet. I asked if I should break his leg, because I needed to get back to New Orleans and shouldn't bring Doofy back with me. They didn't think it was very funny, but didn't really offer any help either.

I called the police again. They had zero suggestions. Doofy smelled some flowers and drank some water.

I got a call! From the house where I left my card! Her dog was home with her, but thanks for leaving my information. She suggested I look up a local lost pets page on Facebook that tends to be pretty responsive.

I do not have a phone that is capable of doing such things. This was the first time I felt bad about that. (I still don't want one though.)

My parents kindly did some internet research for me. I sent my dad a picture using my phone (see, I'm at least a little high tech), and he managed to get that information to the page's administrator. Eventually, she called me and offered to take the dog until the vet was open tomorrow. She lived in Houma and took her own dogs to Doofy's vet, and often fostered dogs who turned up like this.

So I went to meet her in a shopping center parking lot back down in Houma. Doofy fell asleep sitting up.




The woman met me, and was really kind. Turns out her father sat behind me in church this morning, and his mother-in-law is the friend who I was trying to get to visit in Houma in the first place when I found Doofy.

I love that everyone down the bayou is related. I love nice people who do nice things like take care of nice little lost dogs. I love that my parents were totally on board with helping me instead of criticizing me for having an old timey cell phone. I love the conversation that my parents were having--

"She's a piece of work." -Dad
"It's all MY fault." -Mom (meaning, she taught me the whole stop- and- help- the- poor- sad- animal- thing)
"I know." -Dad

I love that my dad would stop and do the same thing anyway.

I also love that I now have proof that I was not trying to avoid a date with Mike early in our more- than- friends- relationship, when I made him pull over to pick up a sad, wet beagle on a rainy morning by the side of a busy highway when he was trying to take me out for brunch for a second date so I would stop saying "You have to go on more than one date for it to be considered dating". This is just who I am.

This is what my day ended up looking like:



tl;dr: another typical story about how I put over 200 miles on my car today (broke 62,000 miles, in fact).

Five Things I learned at GA/as a YAV

I preached at Bayou Blue again this past Sunday. I tried to record it for my parents, but the camera and microphone refuse to work properly at the same time. Sigh. I re-recorded it while sitting in the Tree of Life in Audubon Park yesterday evening (so you can hear the cicadas and crickets!).

Micah 6:6-8
Psalm 148
Romans 15:13
Matthew 5:13-16
Children's sermon: The Lorax by Dr. Seuss

          

The week before last, I was present at the 221^st General Assembly in Detroit as one of the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship’s interns, and I was exhausted. I’m going to tell you more generally about my experience at General Assembly, and how nicely it ties into my year in service here in the Presbytery of South Louisiana.

            

I received an incredible education from countless organizations, commissioners, advisory delegates and observers in topics concerning environmental justice, peace in Israel/Palestine, and marriage equality issues, among many, many other topics. I learned about church polity, about exceedingly specific grammar, and about how every vote counts.

             

I felt the heavy sadness of the commissioners rejecting things I poured my energy and heart into, and the intense joy as other acts of just peace and equality were passed.

             

Of course, there were also the long waking hours and short nights of sleep on the floor of a nearby church, the rushing from plenary to strategy session to commission meeting to briefing dinner and back again, and the endless organization of emails, twitter feeds, mass texts, testimonies, and reflections.

             

I was exhausted physically, emotionally, and spiritually, but it might be the most beautiful kind of exhausted I’ve ever been. My cup is running over and spilling everywhere. The theme of the assembly was “abound in hope” from the Romans passage I just read, and I left feeling more hopeful about and connected to the church than ever before.

            

 I was very excited when Rev. Dick and Rev. Kris asked me preach about my time at GA. I decided immediately I would share what I learned about the church there. But the more I thought about what I learned that week, the more I realized that I was learning these things throughout the year through Bayou Blue and the Presbytery of South Louisiana. With just a few weeks left to my term of service, I thought I’d reflect on the entire year, which manifested itself very clearly at General Assembly. So without further ado, the five things I’ve learned this year as a Young Adult Volunteer in this specific church, this regional church, and this national church—

           

             

Number 5: Yes, I’m counting down backwards. It’s far more dramatic that way. Number 5: Education is important. Hence why I am preaching on “what have I learned from General Assembly and my YAV year”. Being in the reformed tradition, the Presbyterian Church holds the conviction that what is reformed must always be reforming, hence the need to learn and reassess constantly. The focus on education in our church is a longstanding tradition, dating to the earliest days of Presbyterianism during the Protestant Reformation in the sixteenth century. John Calvin and John Knox, two influential theologians of the time, were both very vocal advocates for free public education. Presbyterians often established local schools in their communities in the colonial days of this country, and later founded 65 colleges and universities as well as ten theological seminaries.

           

Education has been an important theme for my service in South Louisiana this year. I came to you with both an undergraduate and graduate degree in environmental geography. I love and value these studies very, very much, but could only be so prepared for what I would see and experience here, having never been to Louisiana before. Thankfully, you all and many other stepped in with a phenomenal field education. You had suggestions of which organizations I should connect with. You taught me about the trees that grow here. You taught me about the agriculture, the fishing, and the changing landscape. I am so grateful to this room full of experts, because it was a steep learning curve for me.

             

Education was also critical at our General Assembly. There were countless opportunities for briefings on all of the issues, from the Presbyteries that sponsored or concurred with the overtures presented, from the many observers from different organizations with different interpretations of the subjects at hand, as well as the option for independent reading and self-teaching as we went along. Different reports were made available to all in the assembly hall, updated as they changed. The leadership of the assembly strived to make sure everyone was informed of what we were discussing.

             

For me, it was an opportunity to learn a great deal from many perspectives about the issues in Israel and Palestine, a situation that I have never been too well-informed about because of how completely and unimaginably large and long-standing the problems are. I was too intimidated to even ponder where to start. I was finally given a starting point by a group of people who have spent years studying the issues and visiting the region, which encouraged me to read further and ask questions and eventually learn enough to form my own opinions. The little informal education I received was incredibly empowering. Just imagine the impact this church has in so many formal education settings!

             

Number 4: PC(USA) is a church full of connections and relationships. When I worked for New Jersey’s only Presbyterian camp, I would visit churches and presbytery meetings for all seven of the state’s presbyteries. Not only that, but I worked with people from all over New Jersey for the summer camp program. I met a lot of pastors, church leaders, and young adults in those years. It felt like everywhere I went in NJ, I could find the nearest Presbyterian church and know or at least know of someone in that congregation or Presbytery. It constantly felt like six degrees of separation, or even less most of the time.

             

That continued as I came to Louisiana. Three of my housemates grew up in New Jersey, and we all crossed paths many times, through that camp, through our churches, and in the case of one, even by going to the same college. We never met before we lived together, but we have many shared people, places, and experiences. Even more small worldly, one of last year’s New Orleans YAV’s was my camper at that summer camp in New Jersey about ten years ago.

             

Of course, I found a connection in this sweet little congregation here at Bayou Blue. You have treated me like family from the start, always telling me I’m related to you all “by affinity”, but affinity wasn’t enough. About halfway through the year, I found out Miss Billie Robertson’s maiden name was Earp, just like my own name. And let me tell you all—there aren’t too many Earps in this world. So while we haven’t figured out exactly how we’re related, I am absolutely positive that we share a family tree. And since many of you are related to her in one way or another, it seems like you’re stuck with me actually being part of your family.

             

This incredible network within the church extended easily to Detroit. Aside from running into plenty of people I know from Presbytery of South Louisiana and various presbyteries in New Jersey, I met and served alongside many other people who are familiar with this church. I met Ms. Andree Tarrant, who spent time with you while serving with the Coast Guard in the area after Hurricane Katrina. I saw many of the Presbyterian Hunger Program people who came to visit us and hear your stories just a few months ago. I worked with the director of Stony Point Conference Center, where my YAV orientation took place, and with one of the pastors who I met on the Eco-Stewards trip a few weeks ago—you know, the one where I swam with the manatees, which I like to shamelessly remind everyone about every chance I get.

            

In the Presbyterian Church, we work to build a great network, a great cloud of witnesses, a great family. It is an incredible group to be connected with.

           

Number 3: This church includes all of us as ministers, ordained or not. To be a minister means to give service, care, or aid, or act as the agent or instrument of another—in this case, God, Christ and the Holy Spirit. Seminary degrees and ordination help our pastors to do this in a more official manner, but as members of this church, we all get to be instruments of the Lord.       

This kept surfacing throughout my week in Detroit. Sure, many of the people ministering to me are ordained, as one might expect of a gathering of hundreds of church members and workers. There was the pastor from my home Presbytery who recognized me early in the week and excitedly shared updates from New Jersey. There was the pastor involved with Presbyterians for Earth Care who I met in the fall, who encouraged me and included me in her work throughout the week. There were the elders from this Presbytery attending the assembly who brought a bag full of snacks for me, just to cheer me on for being there. There was the college chaplain who offered a hug following a difficult decision on the assembly floor that I was struggling with, and the pastor I met at the Eco-Stewards conference a few weeks ago who sent support via text message, as his flight left before the vote.

             

But there were so many others ministering to me, acting on behalf of the Holy Spirit and caring for me, without any sort of ordination. There were several former YAV’s working with the Peace Fellowship who provided meals, listening ears, and guidance throughout the week. When I fell ill with a fever on Tuesday morning, they made sure the things I was working on were covered so I could get myself to a doctor. There was the friend with the Peace Fellowship who always seemed to show up with the car keys in his hand when I desperately needed a change of scenery. There was the former camp director who now works in the national church offices who cheered me on for my involvement in the church. Some of the Presbyterian Hunger Program people who visited us a few months ago asked how you all were doing, asked how my work on the coast was, asked how things are in Louisiana. There was a fun group of Peace Fellowship people who ventured to a grocery store ten miles outside of Detroit late at night because they decided we could all use some ice cream. All of these small interactions, all of these bits of encouragement and love—all of these things were forms of ministry, unordained.

             

This is just like this very congregation. Some of you are ordained as elders, but all of you, yes, all of you, have ministered to me in different ways this year. You have asked about my work, encouraging me as I faced many challenges during the year. You have invited me into your homes for a meal or just to catch up. You have asked how I was doing, settling into Louisiana, so far from my family. You have shown me around your community, teaching me what I needed to know in order to best serve here (see, there’s that education stuff again). You have supported the YAV program since long before I came here, and have been enthusiastic about the program since my arrival. In all of these ways and many more, you have acted as instruments of God, partnering with me in a ministry that is so much bigger than any of us as individuals.

           

             

Number 2: This church takes discernment very seriously. This is a word that Presbyterians love. The interview process for becoming a Young Adult Volunteer is one of mutual discernment, that is, I figure out what feels best for me as an individual while the program figures out what is best for it overall, and then we sit and ponder what the best possible outcome of those ideas might be. In my case, it was fairly straightforward: Louisiana was clearly the best option for me. At General Assembly, it was far more drawn out, weighing every possible angle of every possible decision to be made.

             

Nothing was taken lightly. Every overture was considered by an individual committee with about fifty voting commissioners, plus a dozen or so resource people and advisory delegates. Dozens of people would observe each committee and testify, each with another perspective. Conversations would become tediously long at times, but it would follow rules of order to make sure as many voices were heard and considered as possible.

             

This year, the GA tried something new and hosted two discussion periods on the floor of the assembly, to make sure that the commissioners had adequate time to learn from each other and consider as many options as possible on some of the more intense overtures, since everyone sat on different committees. Even aside from that time, many of the overtures brought lengthy conversation. No decisions were made without first hearing at least a few carefully selected testimonies for and against the topic. The assembly deliberated for hours over marriage and Middle East issues. It may sound like a special kind of torture, but I was very excited that environmental issues brought an hour and a half of conversation to the floor. There were no snap decisions made. Everything took a great deal of time and energy to make sure that we were doing the work of the church as best we could.

             

I think this is true here for Bayou Blue as well. It may be a smaller body, so conversations hopefully don’t take as long. I have heard many session meetings called, sometimes last minute, to consider things that need considering. Discernment is important.

       

And the Number 1 thing I learned at General Assembly and as a YAV this year: I am called to do this work. When I applied to the YAV program, my interviewers noticed I was a few years older than the average Young Adult Volunteer. One of the interview questions was of course something straightforward like, why do you want to be a YAV? It had been five years since I had graduated from college at the time, and I was frustrated that I had not been able to find a full time job despite my best efforts. I wanted to serve as a YAV because I wanted to listen a little more intentionally for that still, small voice guiding me toward the right thing.

             

It’s hard to hear that still, small voice over ALL OF THE YELLING. Holy Spirit has not been shy with me at all. I absolutely love serving Bayou Blue and the Presbytery of South Louisiana as an environmental conservationist, planting trees and grasses and teaching others why that’s important. But it all came together for me last week in Detroit. Late Friday night, I found myself beyond tired. I was quite miserable for a little while, time I spent alone in the church where the Peace Fellowship was staying. I could not comprehend this exhaustion. It was far more than just being sleepy after a long week of work. It took me a while to realize that I was completely exhausted because I had poured out everything I had, my energy, my heart, and my spirit, over dealing with environmental issues at the General Assembly. I had used every gift God gave to me to do this work for the church. This is not about me liking this environmental work and just wanting to do it because I want to, but because God has given me the right gifts for this work and has guided me to the point that I know I need to use them in this way.

            

 I focused on education. I spent months learning about the issues in preparation, and many hours present in Detroit to fine tune that knowledge and clarify my questions. I spent time in conversation with individuals and groups, making sure I was as educated as possible as I testified and took part in bigger discussions concerning the church’s relationship with creation.

             

I built relationships. I spent a lot of time connecting with new people and groups, to make sure that I was reaching everyone I needed to and everyone I possibly could. There was so much encouragement and support.

            

 I was ministered to by many people. I like to think that I offered some ministry to others as well, not to bring my will about, but to serve God’s will.

            

 I did not arrive at this lightly, but spent every waking moment possible since then trying to figure out whether this sense of call is completely crazy or not, although some very kind ministers have told me that’s what discernment really is. I’m not entirely sure how this sense of call will play out, but here I am, discerning.

           

I did each of these things in my role here as your YAV, too, and I was so blessed to have Bayou Blue with me every step of the way, teaching me, befriending me, ministering to me, and entertaining big questions with me. My entire year of service in the wetlands and this church has built up to this.

             

So here I am, with this sense of call that I need to continue to be a voice for the environment, much like The Lorax I introduced you to earlier, but I need to continue doing this for the church. It’s not that I need to exhaust myself beyond recognition, it’s that as soon as I realized why I was so tired, I felt fulfilled.

             

When I was commissioned during my orientation in New York before I arrived to Louisiana, the verses from Matthew were used, about being salt of the earth and light of the world. I have tried hard to live that out this year. Salt of the earth: good, humble people just like salt is a good, humble seasoning. Light of the world: we are calling to let our God-given gifts shine and light the way for those around us. I have been shining as brightly as I can all year, but especially in Detroit.

             

I applied for the internship with the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship because I wanted to go to General Assembly to see the bigger picture of the church I grew up in, and am serving this year as a Young Adult Volunteer. It has been a great opportunity not just to see that bigger picture, but also to connect with it, and it has left me full of hope. I am part of a church that is happening, and I want to continue to be part of that church. In fact, not only do I want to continue to be part of that church, but I am feeling called to be part of that church, to continue to be a loud voice for the environment for that church. That week in Detroit has been full of discussion and discernment as well as opportunities to learn and to love. As a church, we have taken risks to include others and encourage peace, not because they were the easy answers, but because according to Holy Spirit, they were right answers. That exhaustion passed, but I believe this church will continue on. And here I am, part of that picture! Amen.

General Assembly

Last week, I was present at the 221^st General Assembly in Detroit as one of the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship’s interns, and I was exhausted.

I received an incredible education from countless organizations, commissioners, advisory delegates and observers in topics concerning environmental justice, peace in Israel/Palestine, and marriage equality issues, among many, many other topics. I learned about church polity, about exceedingly specific grammar, and about how every vote counts.

I felt the heavy sadness of the commissioners rejecting things I poured my energy and heart into, and the intense joy as other acts of just peace and equality were passed.

Of course, there were also the long waking hours and short nights of sleep on the floor of a nearby church, the rushing from plenary to strategy session to commission meeting to briefing dinner and back again, and the endless organization of emails, twitter feeds, mass texts, testimonies, and reflections.

I was exhausted physically, emotionally, and spiritually, but it might be the most beautiful kind of exhausted I’ve ever been. My cup is running over and spilling everywhere. 

I applied for the internship because I wanted to go to General Assembly to see the bigger picture of the church I grew up in, and am serving this year as a Young Adult Volunteer. It has been a great opportunity not just to see that bigger picture, but also to connect with it, and it has left me full of hope. I am part of a church that is happening. This week has been full of discussion and discernment as well as opportunities to learn and to love. As a church, we have taken risks to include others and encourage peace, not because they were the easy answers, but because according to Holy Spirit, they were right answers. The exhaustion will pass, but I believe this church will continue on. And here I am, part of that picture!

how far I've come

Greetings from the whirlwind we call General Assembly! I'd hoped to update more during the week, but I have kept incredibly busy as a Presbyterian Peace Fellowship intern. Also I fell ill with a viral throat infection, so the vast majority of my free time is spent unconscious, drinking tea, or... no. I haven't had free time yet. But I have been loving this (minus the abscesses on my throat).

First, let me say, I adore PPF and feel so honored and excited to be one of their interns. This is a group of wonderful people who are open minded and ready to be challenged, responding with grace (no seriously, read that link, that letter and the press conference we put together in under 3 hours to support it were really amazing). An organization started to support conscientious objectors in WWII, PPF is celebrating 70 years of peacemaking through justice of all kinds-- social, food, environmental... we have talked about drones, about BDS (boycotting, divestment and sanctions), about gender and marriage equality, about fossil fuels...

I am loving this.

I have probably a hundred thousand million billion more things to say, but I wanted to talk about two horrible ironies in my life this week: the oil slick experience I had a few weeks ago, and the laptop on which I am writing this.

I testified before Committee 15 regarding fossil fuel divestment, in partnership with PPF as well as Fossil Free PC(USA), Presbyterians for Earth Care, the Covenant Network, and other great people and groups. We heard many, many testimonies in favor of divestment, mostly focused on climate change. I talked about the irony of swimming through oil while planting bullrushes to restore the banks of a river badly eroded by the oil industry. Investing in fossil fuels undermines this work I've been doing, that the church has told me is important. Supporting environmental damages is inconsistent with preaching that the earth is precious and worth caring for.
 
Another big topic PPF is focusing on this General Assembly, is that of divesting from three companies that have supported Israeli occupation of Palestinian places, bulldozing homes and trees. Those companies are Caterpiller, Motorola, and... HP. Hewlitt Packard.

I am writing this from an HP laptop.

I bought it six years ago when I started teaching at Rutgers, because moving a desktop around might have become a bit tedious. It was a good price, had a reputation for being a good machine, and plus I really liked the commercials that were on at the time:



I am learning a great deal about Middle East issues this week, not just through the eyes of the Peace Fellowship, but many other organizations and individuals weighing in.We're mostly discussing Israel/Palestine, an issue that the great Desmond Tutu has spoken about. Wearing a PPF shirt and carrying an HP computer felt a little ironic and inconsistent.

I'm human. I'm not perfect, even at the stuff I believe in. I am passionate about conservation, but I still drive a car all over the place. I lose my patience and speak violently even though I believe in peace. I'm not perfect, because I'm human, but I'm trying. I'm learning. I'm doing my best to share what I learn in productive, peaceful ways.

So, is it a little strange to serve PPF and use an HP? Yes. But I can't know everything. So maybe the HP isn't so awful, but is a sign of how far I've come. When I do learn things, I will do my best to live it out-- I'm learning a lot this year about voting with my dollars (and/or future computer choices). In the meantime, the environmentalist in me will use this laptop until it is dead, and as an associate of the Peace Fellowship I will keep my mind and heart open. I think that's ok.

Eco-Stewards Gainesville

I apologize that this has taken a few weeks to post. Immediately following my incredible trip to Gainesville with the Eco-Stewards, I hosted my childhood bff in New Orleans, along with a visit from my partner and one of his friends, and then I had surgery to remove a stubborn wisdom tooth from my sinus and jaw (I'm not sure how it could be in both places at once, but it sure made a mess; also its neighbor was removed from the other side of my jaw, good times in my face). So now that I've slept off the anesthesia and my brain is not totally being hijacked by pain medicine, I wanted to tell you about the beautiful things I saw in Gainesville as part of this year's Eco-Stewards program:



Just kidding. I don't know where to begin.

We toured a beautiful organic farm, an incubator kitchen, talked with the Coalition of Immokalee Workers about fair labor conditions for farm workers, went to some really great coffee shops, and visited a ton of incredible places: Payne's Prairie, a community garden where you pick and you pay what you can, a farm to school program, a farmers market, the Gainesville Catholic Worker, a microfarm, and a church yard community garden, biked 20 miles to the Alachua Conservation Trust to tour Forage Farm and talk about water issues with the Florida Springs Institute. We ate amazing local foods, and learned about the connections between all of these places. There is some beautiful work going on in Gainesville, feeding the hungry and loving the earth. To top it all off, we hiked the Devil's Millhopper and tubed the Ichetucknee. I'm sure I'm forgetting a few stops but it was a week of constantly amazing things.

And, of course, I would be remiss not to mention that tubing the Ichetucknee lead to swimming alongside manatees as they moved up the beautifully clear spring-fed river. Yep, I just dove in and swam beside these two incredibly beautiful creatures.





Keeping up with them is a lot harder than I would have guessed. They're so big and slow and graceful, but also very strong. We floated so slowly down the river that I was surprised how hard it was to swim upstream. I was also just a little bit excited, so holding my breath long enough to be underwater, take pictures, and kick frantically without scaring the manatees was a challenge.

It was a really amazing week to come together with other people interested in the relationship between faith and environmental work. As we all reflected on how awesome the Eco-Stewards program was, and how good it was to connect with this sort of buildingless church that the program has created, it came up that these kinds of great experiences kind of carry us for a while. A week like this is fleeting, but so deeply moving. And in the face the church being a complicated place for many young adults, it's kind of important to find these beautiful things to sustain us while we sort out the tough stuff and figure it out for ourselves.

While deep in the throes of that conversation, Rev. Rob Mark, one of the trip leaders, piped in, "...like the manatees..." Yes, exactly like the manatees. So incredibly beautiful, and only with us for a very short time, but I think about it every day. Not just manatees. The whole week of connecting with the great things going on in Gainesville and the church.

Will that excitement wear off? Perhaps, just like the manatees kept swimming up that clear, cool spring. But it leaves me with a sense of hope in what I am doing, and encourages me to keep seeking out the church in the world like this.

good grief

From Soul Pancake, page 84-- "It's morbid, but eye-opening: Put on your finest black and crash a funeral. Without an emotional connection to the deceased, observe love manifesting itself as grief."

(Soul Pancake is a book I picked up because Rainn Wilson started the movement, and Josh Ritter wrote a song for it. I cannot recommend it highly enough. It's a book full of art and weird facts and fantastic questions about art, science, spirituality, philosophy, and life. They also produce wonderful videos.)

I didn't quite crash a funeral, but I volunteered at the last minute to be the musician for a children's memorial service at Tulane Hospital. I didn't know any of the families, just one of the chaplains. It was a bit of a scramble to figure out songs for a secular memorial service, and I decided to bring my ukulele this morning because it's a little easier to play so might quell whatever nervousness I came up with. This whole thing probably could have been kind of awkward, but I decided to focus on how beautiful it was, which reminded me of that Soul Pancake page.

Only a few families showed up out of the probably two or three dozen children whom we lit candles for. I can only imagine reentering the place where your child died. One family showed up well after the service ended, during the reception. The chaplain told me this was typical-- families want to grieve, but are unsure of how they want to or are able to.

I heard a lot of stories and saw a lot of pictures of really awesome kids, kids who rode their little bikes through the hospital hallways and banged on the piano in the chapel the day before they passed, kids who lit up the world around them. Lives cut short.


I've had a lot of heavy, morbid thoughts the last few days. On Thursday night, while taking some visitors to the French Quarter, I was driving at a reasonable speed down a decently lit road. It had been raining on and off all evening, so I was focusing on the road, trying not to find any deep water with my little car. It was so dim and misty out, I didn't notice until it was almost too late that a person was meandering slowly across Claiborne Ave with a shopping cart full of stuff, not too far in front of me. I hit the brakes, but I hit water. We weren't slowing down fast enough. I swerved. I fish tailed. I regained control of the car, just barely, without hitting the far curb or the person and their shopping cart.

That entire evening, I had horrifying images flashing across my brain of that person flying up the hood of my car.

I thought a lot about what would have happened. That person was almost certainly homeless. I wondered if they were altered, or actually trying to get hit by a car. I wondered what would have happened if I hit them. I wondered if the police or paramedics would come quickly or not. I wondered if my car swerving at about 30mph was enough to seriously injure or kill a human pushing a shopping cart. I wondered who would grieve for the loss of this person.

I thought about the people laid to rest at the Katrina Memorial and wondered who was grieving for them.

Today, at the children's service, I also heard stories about homicides (and the good work of the police and detectives and chaplains involved). I found myself grieving for the children, for their families,and for this city. I've seen so many beautiful things in South Louisiana this year, and it can be incredibly hard to balance that beauty with all of the terrible things. The wetlands disappearing. Homeless people being forgotten. Children being murdered.

This page in Soul Pancake was really an exercise in beauty. You don't really grieve for things you don't care about. Being part of that service this morning was really lovely, and I'm so glad that I could offer my gift of music in that way. There were a lot of dark thoughts swirling around in my head, but ultimately, it's incredible to think about how much I love this world. It's worth a little sadness from time to time.

Today, I fell through the flotant marsh.

My week of flora fieldwork continued today, with vegetation monitoring along Bayou Segnette in the Jean Lafitte Barataria Preserve (my favorite park I've found).


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We were measuring bald cypress trees that were planted 1-3 years ago, and assessing their health. For the most part, they're looking good! This involved hiking through a spoil bank (basically the sides of the waterway that are built up with the stuff that gets dredged to keep the waterway clear), which was very dense with brambles and trees, and into the marsh, which had several inches of standing water.

I usually try to find out the landscape before I go out to do fieldwork, so I can make well-informed choices about my footwear. Anyone who knows me at all knows I'm not the kind of person who has a million pairs of shoes, but I do have several kinds of boots and outdoor/work footwear. With me in Louisiana, I have an old pair of awesome trail running shoes that serve as my water planting shoes; I have my yellow knee boots; I have my epic hiking boots; and a pair of cleaner, newer sneakers mostly reserved for doing active things that don't involve the wetlands.

Last time I planted in the Barataria Preserve, the ground was fairly high and dry, but after some thought about the recent rains and high water, I decided on knee boots. I was thankful that I did. Once past the spoil bank, there was several inches of standing water in the marsh.



Just before lunch, I discovered the hard way that it was a floating marsh, which is called flotant here. How did I discover this, you might ask?

I fell through it.

One misstep, and down I went. I was stuck in the mud up to my chest, with water up to my shoulders. I had an instantaneous moment in which I thought that I should be claustrophobic or scared or something, but it passed immediately and I focused on getting my legs out WITH my boots. I was certain I had lost one, but I managed to get myself and my wellies out. I had noticed all morning that the ground was shaking beneath our feet whenever a big, loud boat went by. I mean, they do call it trembling prairie.



I have entertained the idea of acquiring hip waders for some time, but most of the field work I do here is shallow enough for knee boots or in water so high that hip waders can't help me. I guess today it didn't really matter what footwear I chose anyway.

Today, I swam through an oil slick.

I'm having a fantastic week. Today was day 2/5 of planting projects. Plants! All week! Doing conservation!



Today's project was putting about 800 gallon buckets of bullrush along the edge of Blind River in St. James Parish. This was to protect a bulkhead from further erosion. I love planting in water! The river was really high because of recent heavy rains and a strong south wind earlier this week, so the banks were flooded. The ground was a mixed bag-- really mucky and easy in some places, really hard and requiring a dibble or sharpshooter in others.



As we were really struggling to get the rushes to stay. in. the. ground. along this particular area, I imagine we looked pretty funny from shore. We would just stand still in one spot for a while, basically treating the root ball like a pogo stick trying to get it to stay in the thin layer of mucky soil in water that was chin deep. So I'd look around a little bit because I couldn't see what I was doing anyway.



I was startled at one point in this stretch to notice something almost reddish to my right. At first, I thought I was bleeding. I checked my arms to see if I had nicked myself or something, but nothing. It kind of dissipated. I finally got the rush in the ground, and stepped sideways to plant another one, when I noticed I was in a pool of oil, all rainbow and shiny.



As soon as I moved, it began to break up slowly and spread out. It was really bizarre, because I imagine oil and water to look kind of blobby like when you pour vegetable oil into water. I suppose without the limitations of the bowl or measuring cup, the oil spreads out very thinly. The edges looked so strange.

I didn't think much of it at the time, because we still had a bit of work to do and I really enjoy that work. On my drive back to New Orleans, I began to contemplate good and bad things that happened to me during the week, because it's Tuesday-- we have house meetings on Tuesday nights that generally begin with our highs and lows. High: I have five days of planting projects IN A ROW! Low:... wait a second, swimming through oil was messed up. Really messed up.

Full disclosure: I didn't actually say "messed up" in my head.

The more I thought about it, the more angry and sad I got. This is almost definitely not oil from that epic oil spill several years ago that is still producing tar balls and mats down along the Gulf. It's far more likely that this was just a leak from someone's boat, or an example of one of my biggest fears in South Louisiana: some slow leak of an oil pipeline that no one is watching.

Was swimming through oil good for me? Probably not. One of the few things I'm cynical about in this world though is health risks. We risk our lives every day by exposing ourselves to highly processed foods, cell phones, plastics, and sunlight. This alone will not give me cancer.

Just nightmares.

I'm sad that this is the reality of this environment, and so many others. I'm sad that I have to put myself in situations like this, that are questionable to my health, to do some good work. I'm really, really sad and angry and frustrated and helpless about how much we rely on oil and gas in the world. I mean, I'm really guilty (two roadtrips across Canada, a roadtrip around the eastern US, a roadtrip to get to Louisiana, even just driving to the site today was an hour to Thibodaux and another 45 minutes to get to the park where we planted; I've flown once a month every month since December till this month, and will be getting on a plane again next month).

Witnessing human impacts on this planet is exhausting me. It is really hard to convince myself to get up and work when it feels like I'm fighting a losing battle. What's easy here, is to get completely overwhelmed. Things are bad here. Really bad. And not just here.

All I can do is focus on the little things. Like each blade of bullrush now planted along the banks of Blind River. And all of the bitter panicum, phragmites and cordgrass we're putting into the ground on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain tomorrow, and all of the sand live oaks going in the ground later this week. And all of the people who have listened to me talk about the wetlands here in Louisiana, and here on this blog. Thanks for reading this. Change won't happen all at once, but I can still add a little bit at a time, and so can you.

I'm a young adult who wants to stay with the church!

I don't really know where to start with this one, but I have some feelings I want to put in writing while I'm on this crazy spiritual journey of vocational discernment. It's been an interesting few years navigating my relationship with my church and The Church, especially this past year as a mission worker. I've had some really great GREAT conversations this week with wonderful people working for the church all over the country, some at the national level, that leave me feeling hopeful.

Some of these conversations have surrounded the fact that I'm going to General Assembly as a Presbyterian Peace Fellowship intern, to sit in on the (Immigration and) Environmental Committee (parenthesis are mine) and get sent to the Presbyterians for Earth Care lunch. Or, in one pastor's words, I'm a big ol' "Presbyterian hippie". True, and I'm growing quite fond of that as my angle from which to approach the church.

One of the conversations this week had to do with my fears of growing out of my "young adult" age group before I can really embrace being part of it, and contribute to The Church as one of those elusive young adults.

I've also had several conversations this week about environmental and food initiatives at Presbyterian camps and conference centers. One was a conference call with a lot of people doing great work in really lovely places, all directors at different camps around the country. I introduced myself something like, "I'm Colleen, and I don't currently have a camp or garden, but I am (doing all sorts of environmental work with YAV) and (have a long history in camping ministry), and I'm a young adult who wants to stay with the church!" to which people responded with some Amens and Awesomes and even a Bless You, Child.

That last one was kind of the opposite of what I was going for with the whole trying-to-be-successful-at-being-a-young-adult-in-the-church thing, but I appreciated the sentiment.

After the camps phone conference, one friend on the call, who works for the national church, followed up with me individually. We talked a lot about what the national church is doing to hang on to and connect with young adults, and he offered me personal encouragement and support.

And I do feel encouraged and supported. I'm feeling really hopeful about what this denomination is doing, and I want to be part of it. I'm still floundering on a local level, but I'm not giving up. I'm still enjoying learning, and exploring different faiths and worship styles, and being part of a lot of good work happening through different congregations. Doing environmental work for the church is really exciting. I feel like I'm part of something big, some change in the conversations: for the environment, kind of reversing this idea that God created earth and left us in charge to do whatever we want; for the young adults, that we still matter after we're too old to be in youth group but before we're old enough to have kids in youth group. I'm not even quite sure what it is yet, but it feels good to be connected to a lot of good people doing good work. My relationship with The Church is getting pretty good, which motivates me to keep working on my relationship with the church/ my church despite the many challenges that entails.

Ten Things I See Every Day in Louisiana

Yesterday morning, I left New Orleans early for Thibodaux for a BTNEP meeting, where smart people talk about good coastal conservation and education. I really, really like that organization (plus they were great hosts for Paddle Bayou Lafourche, the highlights of which were shown to the group, including our bayou yoga which everyone seemed impressed by).

As I drove just over an hour to Nicholls State University for the meeting, I noticed all sorts of things that I'm really enjoying about the springtime drive. Magnolia trees have finally blossomed, and I smell jasmine nearly constantly. I have come to love the winding roads along the bayou, and the sun was shining and the clouds were so fluffy against the bright blue sky. I laughed as I saw a car drive by without a front bumper-- a common sight in and around New Orleans, where people are terrible drivers. It made me think, what things do I see every time I leave Zimpel Manor?

In New Orleans
1. cars without bumpers
2. live oaks lining the streets
3. busted up streets and sidewalks due to said live oaks, among other things
4. people sitting on porches
5. fleur de lis bumper stickers (often on windows because of said lack of bumpers)
6. shotgun two family homes
7. streetcars
8. people standing near intersections, asking for money
9. people exercising on the neutral grounds
10. beads in trees

In South Louisiana, including but not limited to New Orleans
1. bayous
2. sugarcane farms
3. drive through daquiri shops
4. Catholic Church
5. Baptist Church
6. A different Catholic Church
7. Another different Catholic Church (bonus: St. John the Baptist Catholic Church, which confuses me every time)
8. GIGANTIC live oak trees off in the middle of old plantation land, totally unencumbered by power lines or houses, covered in Spanish moss
9. roadkill armadillo
10. people fishing in ditches and bayous along the side of the road

ok, ok, ok, more about South Louisiana because that was a lot of Catholic churches:
11. person playing or blasting music that includes some combination of accordians, fiddles, and/or French language (ok, today I was that person)
12. farms stands full of things that don't grow in New Jersey till July or August
13. old plantations
14. burning piles of tree trimmings or crop residue (sometimes it's just old junk, too)
15. unintelligible signs that I have no shot of pronouncing correctly (French? French pronounced in English? French spellings of German names? NO ONE KNOWS. Well, someone knows, but it isn't me.)

Truth is, I see and hear and smell and enjoy many more things than this every day. I'm constantly looking around, seeing and learning and experiencing new things. All kidding about roadkill armadillo  and missing bumpers aside, Louisiana is lovely.