QueenMab Contemplates...

On Structure: Inviting a Framework for Healthy Living

2011-12-13T14:35:00.004-06:00

Some days I miss teaching. Rather, I miss the rhythms and order of the school day. I crave the structure inherent in a formal educational setting, complete with an early rising, mapped lesson plans, the ringing of the school bell, and allotted time for lunch, further prep and recess. I marvel reflecting on the discipline required by this profession to have learning objectives and a curriculum laid out that guide each class of learners, and me as their teacher/ facilitator. I miss this kind of framework for my daily life, as well as my role in helping co-create this structure.

As a mom who works part time professionally from home -- and coffee shops-- I need this kind of structure for my sanity, productivity, and well-being. However, this marked rhythm of the day often eludes me. With a beautiful small child at the center of my priorities and focus comes the needs of this little wonder and her own body's growing, changing requirements and evolving temperament. Life changes from day to day. As the old adage goes: the minute you get comfortable knowing your child and their needs, he or she changes.

Marguerite is a good little sleeper by all accounts. There is no question we were blessed by a combination of her disposition and some intentional parenting advice that gave rise to a fairly healthy sleep routine. Kiddo goes down consistently between 7:30pm and 8pm and 9 nights of out 10 stays happily put until 7:30am the next morning. (I'll admit that 7:30am is even EARLY for her to wake, and it's more like 8:30am or 9am when her father or I lift her out of the crib.) It's that tenth evening out of ten, however, when baby girl rears her head towards sleep -- is so engaged in some new piece of learning -- that her spirit demands further awake time, or better yet, more contact time with mom, and things have to shift. My life and rhythms have to shift.

This is parenting, this is a role I have prepped for -- consciously, or unconsciously -- all my adult days. This life is hard.

Add that my dear husband's schedule has changed from week to week for the past 105 that we have been married, and you may begin to fathom my knee-wobbling, weary status. "When do you go to work? When are we having a meal together? Will I see you in bed tonight? Are we able to attend mass together? Do you think we might be able to go out on a date next week?" Nothing is ever really consistent. On Thursday, Mr. Kiemde learns about his Saturday's schedule. Planning ahead is virtually impossible. Add some rocking college courses to the mix of our lives and his schedule, and it all adds up to create a challenging life that invites me to live, most often, ungrounded, but in the present moment.

I hold the needs of my husband and daughter in the center of my heart, and respond accordingly. It's not unlike education in that regard, in that I find my priorities falling behind those of the dear ones that I feel called to be present to, and in the case of family, made a lifetime commitment to.

Enter: The Visitation Sisters. Enter these religious women who have also made a lifetime commitment to Love, to one another, and to God, but whose order of the day is grounded in prayer. Four times a day these nuns convene to pray the liturgy of the hours, to tune into what scripture is saying to them, and unpack their lives through the lens of Love, of God, of inspired Word. It's awesome. I believe this is certainly why I feel called, over and over again, to return to the monastery, to be among the sisters and pray.

Recently, I made a commitment to return to a weekly structured prayer time in the vicinity of the Sisters. The Centering Prayer group that convenes every Tuesday morning at 7:45am at St.. Jane House under the auspices of Vis Companion, Brian Mogren, has rejuvenated me.

I rise -well before my body normally wakes- to shower, dress in the dark, and creep out the door to make my way in early morning rush hour traffic from St. Paul to north Minneapolis, in order to join a group of 15 to 20 or so other friends in silent prayer. Some days I'm able to enter the space during a storytelling time, when a member of the Centering Prayer community is sharing a narrative about their faith journey; I listen and am inspired. Then, with the ringing of a singing bowl announcing the start of prayer, and some intentional words guiding our silent meditation, we enter into the quiet. For twenty minutes I breathe in and out with nothing save the goal to empty myself and make way to tune into the Divine Indwelling. I sit within this circle of aligned individuals from various faith traditions who likewise crave quiet, order, an emptying of all personal agenda, except to Love, Heal, Be. In a word, it's "awesome." At the end of twenty minutes (which goes all to quickly for this aspiring prayer-warrior), another bell rings, and individuals speak aloud prayerful intentions that have surfaced in their meditation. Together, we are joined as individuals in the world with all other prayerful beings around the globe as we give voice to what is in our hearts, or even silently, as we offer these thoughts to a benevolent Creator and one another. Together, we slowly recite the Lord's Prayer, and by 8:30am, we are standing to go on about our day.

And this weekly structured activity is like my salvation. This is where I am able to turn over any and all concerns that plague me and give voice to my heart's deepest longings and largest joys. I celebrate that this group exists. I celebrate all that is necessary for each person to convene to actually convene. I recognize that it is not without some significant conversations and intentional actions on the part of my husband and I to make this weekly activity a possibility for me. I celebrate the way that this experience helps ground me, at least momentarily, in world where I feel so wobbly and crave stability and structure. I celebrate the way that this one activity every Tuesday morning inspires me as a wife, mom, and writer, tuning into the many ways that I am called to love, create and serve in this world.

***

I wonder how you are making structure, or find such parallel experiences or activity in your world?

Peace, Happy Contemplating,
Melissa

On Marriage, Love, Stories: An Invitation to Reflect

2011-11-14T22:01:00.015-06:00

"It's my ongoing prayer for all men and women to lead lives that honor the way their hearts and God have called them to love. This includes being able to marry." --Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

I attended a gathering of families and friends on Sunday evening, November 6, 2011, marking the beginning of a year long campaign to celebrate marriage equality. There was food, kid friendly activities, and a short program on the MN United for All Families campaign to defeat the "Marriage Amendment", defining marriage as between one man and one woman. A Catholic neighbor of mine invited me to the event. It was at this gathering that each person present received another invitation. Our host, before her 30 or so guests -- all standing or seated next to each other around the periphery of the living, dining and entryways of her home -- said, "I invite you to tell your stories of what marriage means to you. Don't point or refer to large groups of people in general, tell your story. Make it personal. Share something that can be said in six words, or up to six minutes; think of what you might be able to convey to someone, for example, riding on an elevator with you."

"I invite you to tell your stories of what marriage means to you. Don't point or refer to large groups of people in general, tell your story. Make it personal. Share something that can be said in six words, or up to six minutes..."

The prompt gave me pause, made me smile, and stirred something deep within me that longs to talk about this issue, especially as it relates to my faith, my family, and how I'm called to live love, or "Live + Jesus!" as we say.

Marriage is the transformational vocation I received to live my life committed to one other person, a radical action in any time, in my opinion, evolutionary in its charge. I believe God called me to this institution and to my husband, Francois, just as He called and calls me over and over again to serve others in and through relational ways. Marriage is hard work, no matter who you are or what your sexual orientation is. It's something my partner and I return to daily as we tune into the ways God invites us to love and be gentle and nurturing with one another. I could not do this work without a community of people alongside me, helping model and remind me of Love's mystery, grace and on-going call. The Visitation Sisters, the Catholic women I am a companion to, are such a community of nurturing, religious women, who help anchor me in the ways I've been called to love, partner and serve, as they live their faith and the mystery of the Visitation, fostering mutual love alliances at every turn.

It's my ongoing prayer for all men and women to lead lives that honor the way their hearts and God have called them to love. This includes being able to marry.

Our daughter's godfather is a beautiful Catholic man - who happens to be gay. We chose Zac to serve in this baptismal role for Marguerite because of his gentleness, wisdom, humor, and dedication to his faith. We believe he is a model of God's love in our midst: a God-father for our child in the fullest sense. If Zac is called to marry, and be a father to his own children, we want nothing less for him, as a Catholic family, but to have his heart and calling honored by our larger church and civic communities. We want him to be able to have the love and support that we so need in living out our vocations.

And so we pray. We invite you to share your own stories of what marriage means to you.

******

I share this post here today as a Visitation Companion, as part of my call to write about - and for - women and men discerning their vocations and the way that they may be called in a religious Catholic tradition, as well as in a larger, universal sense -- honoring the Salesian tradition that the Visitation founders - Sts. Francis de Sales and Jane de Chantal - modeled for us.

Fried Green Tomato Church

2011-08-28T13:18:00.004-05:00

by Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

After an incredibly trying church service (in which the newly walking Marguerite Kiemde strutted her developmental stuff, doing laps to the front of the church to the choir, out the side door to the street, around the corner to the front steps, toddling up and back inside, and then repeating the entire procedure with me closely behind, celebrating her steps, trying to stay calm, and avoid any judgmental? stares.) If you can imagine: I came home a bit beleaguered.

(How to parent in church? What does an enriching mass experience look like for a young family without a cry room or child-care center? What fine line exists between cultivating a child's physical/ emotional/ developmental stages appropriately, alongside her spiritual sensibilities? If I am not "fed" spiritually, as my child's mom, how do I ever nurture my babe?... That's another blog in and of itself!)

I turn to how Mags and I made "church" at home, after our early departure from Ascension (post-homily/ pre-Eucharist.) In a phrase we found God in: Fried. Green. Tomatoes.
YES!

This past week on facebook there was a whole strand about this delicious summer fare that included several exchanges from my Aunts Marian and Peg and their Osmond/Colorado friend Audrey Wanke Dummer. I asked for recipe ideas, and I got them. And today, after the above described nearly God-less mass, I came home and adapted these cooking ideas, using fresh green tomatoes from my own garden, and tried to channel as much love and family and Jesus as I could into the experience.

I share these recipes with you now, smiling, with a sleeping baby; both she and I with full, happy bellies.

Fried Green Tomatoes
4-6 hard, green tomatoes
Buttermilk
Flour
Panko crumbs
Cayenne Pepper
Garlic Salt
Bacon grease

I began by frying a half a pound of applewood smoked bacon in a skillet. Once browned and crisped, I removed the bacon, placing it on a large paper-towel lined platter, that I would use for the fried tomatoes. I reserved the hot bacon drippings for frying my green tomatoes.

I cut the tomatoes pretty thin, between 1/8 and a 1/4 inches, salting them, and then soaking them in buttermilk, covering them in the cayenne pepper/ garlic salt flour mixture, and adding panko crumbs for extra crunch, before putting each in the hot bacon fat. I was working this assembly line as quickly as possible with messy fingers, and thanking God for a content Marguerite in her high chair (eating a banana and playing with a clean feta cheese container.)

I fried these till they were golden brown, and appreciated the way bits of bacon adhered to the panko crust. Delish!!

Sweet Onion Relish Sauce
Half of a sweet onion, chopped and cubed
1/2 cup mayonnaise
3 Tablespoons rice wine vinegar
Salt

Note: I totally ripped this recipe off from Paula Deen, when I was doing research for the best item to accompany said green tomatoes. (Buttermilk dressing? Spicy mustard? In a sandwich? I didn't know how exactly I was going to EAT the tomatoes once fried.) This sauce rocked!

Paula adds sugar to hers; I didn't. I prepared this onion mixture and served it next to the tomatoes. Maggie then climbed up on my lap and we gobbled up the dish. (Well, mostly, I gobbled up, and she alternated showing me her shoeless and shoed foot.)

***

"How is this church?" you might persist in wondering. To this query, I respond, channeling my best St. Francis de Sales thinking: that all small actions, done with love, are prayerful ones. I add that when we couple prayerful activity --our intentions directed toward God-- with the company of family, friends, angels, saints, are we not in deed experiencing a kind of church?

Today, I experienced service in a literal way, at Church of the Ascension in north Minneapolis, (in all of its parenting complexity) alongside a more figurative celebration: in my kitchen and at my dining table with my daughter, and the company of women and men who have grown and prepared fried green tomatoes in our family. It was a most nurturing kind of meal that buoys who I am as parent.

AMEN.

"Be still and BE:" Gentleness on the Front Lines of Parenting

2011-08-25T13:16:00.009-05:00

"Be still and BE."

I'm spending time with the St. Francis de Sales these days. His words on gentleness, and examples of this way of being, are continually emerging in my life; combined with the line "Be still and BE" that I received in an email this morning, this all speaks loudly to my heart and mind.

A simple Salesian phrase from the Visitation Sisters' co-founder that feels connected to this line comes to mind:

"All is gentle to the gentle." --St Francis de Sales (LR VI 28)

I believe that when we allow stillness, simple breathing and an emptying of our hearts and minds to occur, that a gentleness may wash over us.

***

In the midst of my scrambling this morning, sad from an exchange with my husband that simply didn't go the way that I wanted, the effervescent Marguerite spilled over a glass of raspberry iced tea that I had left out. The contents landed on me, my white shirt, light green pants, and some of her "new" garage sale clothes that had recently been laundered: white and khaki items now turned pink-colored.

I swore, and then started crying. I don't like my child to experience me in such a state, but it is my humanity at work, and so what else is there, but to then be gentle with myself, her and respond as I am able. In the moment, I placed my 15 month old daughter in her high chair, and took all the soiled linens to the basement and sprayed them with stain remover.

When I returned, she was staring at me, and all I could see were the piles of dirty dishes in the sink, the unwashed countertops, an ajar back door: things that needed my attention. I was even more mad. And still: crying.

I could hear this Salesian priest speak to me: The more mercy we require, the more we receive.

I spoke to the knives in the kitchen drawer: I need a lot of mercy right now! Patience! Gentleness! Please?

And my child stood in her high chair, reaching her arms out to me.

That was two and a half hours ago. It's amazing what moving through moments, consciously, prayerfully, full of angst is all about.

"Be still and BE."
AMEN.

--
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde,
Visitation Companion

Marguerite Meditation...

2011-08-22T21:41:00.000-05:00

by Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

I am daily in awe of this small child that I call my daughter, Marguerite Marie Kiemde. Born May 22, 2010, at St. Joe's hospital in downtown St. Paul, MN, to Francois Kiemde and I, this little girl is rapidly emerging as a fiercely independent, dancing, lunging, walking, willful wonder. I pause this day to reflect a bit on her growth, personality, and all that she's tickling in me.

Social, cognitive, physical, and maybe spiritual developments rattle inside my brain:
--"Hi" is Marguerite's favorite word, used to greet us daily when we enter her room, along with every human being, or creature, who passes by. "Hi. Hi. Hi. HI." She will repeat this single syllable word incessantly as a delighted salutation, as well as a way to mean, "But can I have some more kefir?" Or "Toby, will you give me that toy?" or "Daddy, turn and look at me while I eat my cheese raviolis?!"

--Long gone is the once uttered "Bye bye" as Marguerite seemingly stands firmly in the present and the constant celebration of people arriving, rather than departing. (Note: She will wave when I say "Au revoir", but refuses to speak the b-consonant-sound and word.)

--Her friend Lisa Michaels taught her to "high five" and "blow kisses" one afternoon, and, as Ms. Michaels' insists, "to send text messages." This makes us all laugh and giggle with our communicating wonder.

--Coupled lately with the repeated "Hi" is another favorite word, "daddy." Daddy is everywhere. I marveled -- while sitting in mass yesterday -- that perhaps this was one of the those words and child-inspiring lessons, where I was being invited, through my daughter, to truly meditate on the Divine in our midst. "Daddy" in the apple. "Daddy" in the cat. "Daddy" in the trees. "Daddy" in the picture of me as a baby girl. Daddy, as in a masculine father/ Creator -- a God that I believe completely in, and that she seems to see everywhere, and greets joyfully over and over: "Hi, hi, hi...HI daddy!" She received a ceramic cross plaque at her baptism that reads, "God created everything, butterflies and birds that sing, the sun above and sky so blue, but best of all, God created you." She reads this above her changing table, points to herself, points to the cross and says, "daddy." It makes me smile.

***

--Whilst big sister Gabby visited us for three weeks this summer, other developments surfaced in our family's social interactions. As Mags insisted on pointing repeatedly to my nose one day, I asked, "Can you show mommy your eyes?" To which she immediately responded by placing her finger next to her eye. Gabby and I about fell over laughing, and in awe of what she seemed to understand us asking.

--The emergence of a new dance-like move -before going to bed one eve - delighted me to no end, and has since been seen in her daily movement vocabulary. Little girl tilts her head to her shoulder and then pops her arm and wrist, twirling her hand in such a way: you'd think she was going to attempt some pop and lock move.

--Gabby's morning routine greeting her baby sister undoubtedly was a highlight of her stay, having a developmental impact on Mags. The elder Kiemde girl would come in to Marguerite's crib area, and sing "Hello" snapping her fingers, twirling, shaking parts of her body that aren't possible to move so seamlessly in this mom. Maggie immediately tried to mimic the snap, pressing her tiny thumb and first two fingers together and giggling. (There's nothing quite so inspiring as this kind of non-verbal interaction between sisters. It's priceless!)

--Going down for her daily nap or to sleep at night includes the activity that has me most by the heart strings, as I observe and reflect on my baby girls' relationship with words and images in our book-reading ritual. My daughter's recognition of her own name, written in a book, is what has me baffled lately. We are sitting in her bedroom rocking chair, me holding her on my lap, she holding her favorite nursery rhyme book. I am reading the second page of the text where the line reads: "This book belongs to...." with Ms. Kiemde's name spelled out in cursive letters, and as I do so, she looks up at me, then back at the page, points to the line, and then points to herself.
I am blown away.

--My final note on Marguerite's development stems from her upright, physical movement. While many of you received the video of her first day walking, it's actually her climbing of steps, that has me more in awe and taking note. She bounds up staircases. There's no "on your knees" forward motion, but, with her hands reaching for mom or dad, the most confident approach to going up: one foot on a step following another. She will get so excited about this process, that her whole body will become parallel to the floor with her fast footwork forward. Step. Step. Step.

I have told her father, and other family members: we cannot criticize this child for her big movements. She is excited; let this be every indication that her spirit and dreams in life are large stepping ones; we are not to dash her ambitions or dreams about moving in any direction! (Especially as she boldly proclaims, "Hi daddy!" with each step.)

Happy developmental contemplations -- as we all reflect on our physical, emotional, cognitive and spiritual growth journeys!

Juxtaposition: Embrace

2011-06-09T20:20:00.008-05:00

The above photographs were taken of Francois Kiemde and me during the past week. The first was shot on June 1, 2011, at Bethel College, at Francois' swearing-in-as-a-US-Citizen ceremony. Our friend, Alisa Blackwood Nelson was on hand to help document the day. The second was shot on Sunday, June 5, 2011, outside the Church of St. Philip in north Minneapolis. A reporter from the Star Tribune captured this moment just seconds after Fr. Dale Korogi officially declared my church of the past twelve years closed.

These images give me pause. They strike me as similar in subject matter, given that each features an embrace. In the former, I'm embracing Mr. Kiemde, in the latter, he's comforting me as our daughter reaches out to touch my arm. Both capture emotionally charged moments; one of joy, the other of incredible sorrow. Together, they feel like commentary to me on marriage. The way we support, envelop, wrap our arms around another and communicate presence, love.

I keep thinking of Sr. Mary Margaret's words to me so long ago in spiritual direction: When I fall in love, it will be an experience that challenges me to receive and be held in a new way. She talked about my future partner being someone who would nurture and support me in a manner that I had never known. Looking at this second picture: I see her words come true.

These images communicate the mutuality and gift of our marriage, our tenderness to one another. I'm grateful for the juxtaposition.

Tune into Tonight: CBS Evening News features Mary Johnson and O'shea Israel

2011-06-07T13:36:00.008-05:00

Friends,
This evening on CBS Evening News, our friends Mary Johnson and O'shea Israel will be featured in a story about their tale as mother, son; mother and murderer; mother and forgiven man. I've written a bit at the Visitation Sisters' blog site about how this woman and man have so touched my heart and moved me deeply in expanding my faith and knowledge of the way grace and reconciliation occur. I invite you to tune in this evening and glimpse a bit of the tale of their lives and what has given shape to the way they work in this radical healing ministry of forgiveness and healing. Mary's outreach to the mothers and fathers of the young men and women who commit murder is what marks this ministry as truly unique, a gift to all who suffer in this realm of violence, death. Theirs is truly an inspiring tale to take in!

For more on Mary Johnson, O'shea Israel and "From Death to Life" healing ministries:

Peace, Blessings!
Melissa

Abundant Blessings: Home and more!

2011-06-04T20:22:00.011-05:00

It's been sort of a red-letter month. (Or should I say a red-letter year?) My husband and I closed on our house, celebrated our baby girl's first birthday, Francois Kiemde was sworn in as a US Citizen, and just last night, we threw our first party, of what, I can imagine might be many.

RED. LETTER. TIMES. People!

My heart swells considering all that has occurred in our brief marriage and life together, all that has had to happen for us to be right here in this place. In a new dwelling. With beautiful girls that round out our family and expand the love we give and receive. Me, blogging for nuns in north Minneapolis, married to a baker from Burkina Faso, West Africa, and living in an old house in the Lex Ham neighborhood raising a family. If I ever, in my wildest imaginations could have fathomed that at 42 years of age, in June of 2011, that my life would look like this, I would have laughed heartily and said, "No way!"

But here we are.

And God is good.

Last night's soire is something that marks for me the flurry of life since my 40th birthday. (After selling my home of 15 years, going to Africa for 6 weeks, volunteering at my parish and finishing a book for teachers, returning to the public classrooms I left as a researcher, then meeting my husband, getting married 8 months later, and having a baby girl. It's been a whirlwind). Last night's party was truly a sort of ushering in, and anchoring of this new phase of life: marriage and motherhood, with a definite tribute to the abundance of love and support my husband and I have known in creating a home together.

Nuns were here. New neighbors came. Old arts education colleagues emerged. Our parenting friends and mentors joined us with their tikes. Fellow African and French allies honored us with their presence. Longtime loves convened with food, drink and stories. We were surrounded by a groundswell of good spirited people moving throughout our home: singing, drinking, dining on grilled yummies, being agents of love and blessings.

In short: it rocked.

Twenty four hours later, I need to just mark the fullness of it all, in this simple way, composing a post of gratitude. I extend this note to all who were able to join Francois, Marguerite and I in person at 1196 Selby, and say "thank you" to those who have been prayerfully blessing us from afar. We know and feel your love and support.

I'm really not sure any of these good things in our life would be happening without such a community of friends and people around us.

So: Thank you!

On behalf of Francois, Marguerite, and myself:
Love!

***

(Stay tuned for more pix!)

Celebrating a Door: Meditation on Home-Closing

2011-04-27T20:18:00.014-05:00

We are trying to close on a house. Trying, I tell you. This is our first home as a family, and it is no small thing. The dwelling proper; the process of purchasing it; the path leading up to and through this very moment: none of it is without beauty, intensity, frustration and grace.

Our offer on the home was formally accepted on Ash Wednesday. We planned to close Easter Monday; the 40 days in between were not lost on me as a sort of prayerful opportunity to journey through Lent to this new dwelling, new way of life, so-to-speak, right? Acknowledging this alignment of purchasing the home with a Catholic, Christian journey toward Easter was silly initially; but at this juncture, let me tell you: it is crucial that I have this season to draw on, as I moment-to-moment, work to make my way through to the end and trust that a new life is here!

We were slated to close Monday. Easter Monday, as I said. The hour passed, however, when we were to be at the Title company. Underwriting still had our file late that afternoon, and we were not cleared to even close! (Confession: in some dark, scary part of our minds, a lingering thought existed that our financing would fall through, that we wouldn't actually be able to purchase this house. Why book a moving truck? Why pack a box? It was dark, I tell you.) But the hour passed, and around 5pm on Monday, we were given a list of a few more "To-Do's" so that we could close on Wednesday. Hooray!

****

It's Wednesday evening friends, as I write this, and let me tell you: we still do not have the keys to our house! But let me relay what has happened in the meantime.

Francois and I received a tiny gift in the wake of the delay, a gift that I'm happy to share with each of you.

In lieu of today's planned 2pm closing meeting, I went to the property with our realtor, Arlo, to check on the updated repair items. (We had requested a few things be addressed in our purchase agreement and wanted to follow up on them.) There, at the house, we had a surprise, when we met the carpenter responsible for doing 90% of the renovation work on the property. Jack is his name. Lovely fellow. Jack had stories about the house, its original layout and some of the changes they made to improve the place. ("Did you know the main floor had a full bathroom, but the door was right off the kitchen?" and "The back entryway used to be so narrow, you had to pass through sideways." and "They converted it from radiator to forced air heat and put in these vents." and "Let me show you how to get furniture up the third floor staircase." These were stories and information we wouldn't necessarily have ever been privy to without this chance meeting, eh?)

One of the frustrations around the renovation work that was completed was the realization that the original door to the basement was thrown away. We were informed, during the inspection phase of this process, that this door was long gone. As the new owners, with a small crawling child, we were put on a path to finding a new "salvaged door" or having one made especially to fit this unique space. (Menards estimated this cost initially between $300 and $400 - without the mill work completed.) We were set to ordering a custom made one - again for our daughter's safety, when I met Jack, today.

I asked him, "Hey, by any chance, do you know what happened to this door off the kitchen?"

He hemmed and hawed a bit, and then said, "Well, I think it might be in a dumpster on Burlington Street."

Of course!

Forty five minutes later, belly deep in renovation debris, (house siding, pink carpeting, kitchen cupboards, mountain dew cans, a fire place rack) someplace over in East St. Paul, Jack put his hands on the missing door! We wiped it down, put it in my car, and returned it to the porch of the property.

Had the house closed on time, would I ever have met this person? Would I have learned of the previous layouts? Would I have discovered the plumbing changes and trim "tricks" that this carpenter employed? Gleaned his sense of craftsmanship and pride in his work? No.

It was a gift! A "door" on many levels, don't you think?

****

For the record: I think this process of closing on a home is stressful for every single person involved. Everyone. From the loan officers to title people, agents, the underwriters, to say nothing of the seller and buyers, friends, family, people standing by to help. But in the midst of it all -- circumstances that feel jarring, violent at times with the anger, anxiety, frustration, uncertainty -- there's something awesome at work...

Do you agree?

Stay tuned for scenes from the next instillation of this Easter saga!

Contemplatively yours,
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

Love: The Biological Directive

2011-04-20T12:09:00.004-05:00

My friend Pat Black posted these words on my facebook page this morning. I have to share them with more people. I plan to return and comment later. After I shower. And tend to household chores.

Humberto Maturano is a biologist. I love this guy's mind and what he brings to the understanding of the living. He describes love as a biological directive. He describes love as separate entities charged with their own self maintenance and life as joining and tying their individual maintenance with that of anothers. He suggests that in the evolution of complex beings, anything that is more than one cell, that love is the force that joined them. One can not move forward in life without the other's well being and maintenance also moving forward. Our edges of self are no longer an intact barrier to other. So I now think of failed love affairs as ones that could not bring this third being into life. This place where they overlap and become one. This new place that brings sustenance and the maintenance of being to two instead of one.

Maturano views this as a physiological relationship. He is not viewing it through a emotional lens since it is basic to life not just mammals.

Thoughts? Responses? I welcome them!

Teeth

2011-04-12T11:11:00.011-05:00

Ms. Kiemde is cutting teeth -- four to be specific. Her top front teeth are coming in, followed by two tiny pearly whites flanking each side. Are they incisors? Eye teeth? I'm not certain of the proper names for these cuspids, but I am certain of what they are inspiring in my almost eleven-month old baby girl. I am observing new behaviors in this child. A new level of cranky. Fiesty. Furious. Feeling her power. Do you remember what your gums cracking open felt like? Having our insides split a bit to make way for new growth: it's difficult. The surface itches, aches, throbs. We bleed when we get new teeth.

I think the same might be said for most developmental processes in all humans. Teething is akin to growing, to adopting new ways of being; it's learning. Just as it is difficult to literally "birth" new teeth, I believe it is as hard for us to make way for any new thing to come forward in our lives. We itch. Ache. Throb. Maybe bleed a bit, too, in some regard.

Today, my prayers are for any and all who are teething - literally and figuratively. I am praying for babies, adults, teens, elders. I am holding images of new cuspids and precious gums in my child's mouth along with the way I am learning to practice being calm when I'm angry; a smile and deep breath are often just as difficult to come forward as these teeth.

I hope this finds you with patience for all that is trying to break the surface; I send good thoughts for all that is trying to emerge and become a helpful, visible new part of your being.

Happy Contemplating!
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde,
Visitation Companion,
Mom, Wife, Lover, Writer, Contemplative at Work

Marguerite's Speech

2011-04-06T13:14:00.006-05:00

Your baby's ability to vocalize is improving, and he may say his first word any time now. - BabyCenter

Ms. Kiemde is ten and a half months old and knocking our socks off!

In the past week, she has started to repeat the word "Daddy" -- incessantly. These consonants come easily to her, compared with the "M's" in say, her name, my name, and MOMMA!! It's all good, and highly entertaining. She has uttered audibly and distinctly the word "momma" on two occasions. Two, count them:

1. Whilst trying to teach Marguerite not to throw her food or utensils all on the floor when she's done, or bored, I instead invited her to "hand me nicely" the object in question. Last Sunday, during our first attempt at this behavior guidance, following Mag's 2nd tossing of her spoon, I picked up the object, placed it back on her high chair tray and said, "Can you give it to momma?" Jody Tigges was sitting next to us. Maggie took her spoon and with a big smile, put it sweetly in my hand and said, "Momma!" I about died. Ms. Tigges was a witness. I tried not to respond in an overly dramatic way, but said, "Thank you." and smiled. I believe Maggie and I were both grinning ear to ear.

It was our first request/ response "dialogue" or "conversation" - where it seemed she understood clearly my query and I got clearly - on two levels- her comprehension through spoken and physical gestures.

PARTY TIME!

2. Last night in the car, coming home from a visit to our new home, Maggie was practicing her daddy speech. As a way to let her know I heard her, and as a way to participate in the conversation, I was repeating back her syllables, this time, pronouncing "daddy" with various emphasis and alternatively, singing it. In turn, Marguerite played with her pronunciations, even becoming melodic in her expression, following my soprano song of "daaaadddy". Following a pause in the middle of the "daddy" litany, she then said clearly, "MOMMA." Our friend Ann Shallbetter was in the car and I think was nearly as excited as I was by this surprise in the conversation. It's so great to have a witness!

By the way, Marguerite has been repeating proudly this game of "can you give it to momma?" at almost every play interaction/ meal. She has been so proud of herself, beaming at the interaction, and then enthusiastic to repeat the gesture.

We are in love.

For those of you who haven't seen our little pumpkin lately, (or on Facebook) I hope you enjoy these recent snapshots posted. One is with her godmother, Marianna, (above right) and then a few are from last weekend's play date with Geert Bennaars-Mawanda. Smile!

Mealtime!

Who doesn't covet a sippy cup?

Toys!

On Sanctuary: A Poem by Nikki Giovanni

2011-02-17T21:38:00.004-06:00

by Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde, Visitation Companion

Art Sanctuary
by Nikki Giovanni

I would always choose to be the person running
rather than the mob chasing
I would prefer to be the person laughed at
rather than the teenagers laughing
I always admired the men and women who sat down
for their rights
And held in disdain the men and women who spat
on them
Everyone deserves Sanctuary a place to go where you are
safe
Art offers Sanctuary to everyone willing
to open their hearts as well as their eyes

“Art Sanctuary” by Nikki Giovanni, from Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea. © Harper Perennial, 2002. (buy now)

Today’s poem from The Writer’s Almanac speaks to me as prayer. In critical response fashion, I take note of lines, phrases, images that stand out:

person running
mob
laughing teenagers
sitting down for rights
spit
art
sanctuary
open hearts and eyes

I am reminded of the summer night I saw a man running out from behind the neighbor’s across from St. Jane House in north Minneapolis followed by another person carrying a gun. The poem takes me to stories of pre-1964 southern lunch counters where people with brown skin were not allowed to eat. Simultaneously, reading this, I recall being an awkward thirteen-year old in the seventh grade and feeling the jeers of 8th grade elders (Lisa, Mary, Steph, Jamie?). I can see movie stills in my mind’s eye of Harvey Milk being assassinated as San Francisco’s first openly gay city official. I sit and imagine a beleaguered and weary Christ on Good Friday. (He was spat upon, right?) I note the way the poem provides a through-line of text for these anachronistic memories, moments.

I appreciate Ms. Giovanni’s words. I am thankful for the pride, sorrow, fear, anger and elation that her piece evokes.

I wonder how the author’s compassion was born? (It is compassion she shows in the poem, yes?) What did she see in her life or experience that inspired an alignment with the victim, the tortured, the other? What particular cruelties does she know first hand? I want to ask her how she makes sense of suffering. I want to know what art in particular has provided safety, sanctuary for her. Could she have been sitting in front of a painting that calmed her breathing, opened her heart? (Or listening to song?) I wonder if she’d let me sit alongside her? I want to know if she’s ever seen Brother Mickey’s “Windsock Visitation“? Has she ever contemplated the respite extended by Mary and Elizabeth?

I want to know a lot reading this poem. I am grateful for the places Nikki Giovanni takes me with her words. It is my prayer, today. This poem is a sanctuary.

Amen.

“What do you want for me, God?”: An Introduction to My Vocation Story

2010-10-27T16:51:00.010-05:00

by Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde, Vis Companion

Note: the following was originally written for and published at the Visitation Monastery Minneapolis blog site. This is the first in a series of vocation narratives, or memoirs, offered by Melissa here.

Vocation does not mean a goal that I pursue. It means a calling that I hear. Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am. I must listen for the truths and values at the heart of my own identity, not the standards by which I must live—but the standards by which I cannot help but live if I am living my own life. – Parker Palmer in “Let Your Life Speak”

We all have a vocation. Each and every one of us. Whether we are religious or lay members of the world, we have a calling --something we have wrestled with consciously, or unconsciously, and found ourselves immersed in --- a "life telling us who we are," as Parker Palmer says. These days, I'm thinking a lot about my vocation and what my life has told, tells me.

In the Spring of 2002, whilst teaching at North Community High School in North Minneapolis, my life was sort of “screaming” at me. Immersed in a high poverty setting, (where I lost half of my students every year), attending to the development of relevant and hopefully inspiring curriculum for my students --as well as the content of their individual life narratives, gifts, skills and areas for growth - alongside my own -- well, let's just say I was a bit achy and itchy in my soul for what might be next. I wasn't wholly satisfied with my work in the classroom and the system in which I was operating; so I started writing letters to God. In these journal letters, I described my circumstances as a public school educator and I posed questions. "What do you want for me, God? What do you want me to do? Where do you want me to go? You know my heart, my longings and my desire to serve Love. Please guide me."

I was called to be an educator, without a doubt in my mind or heart. But surely, God would not want me to continue in a fashion where I was daily filled with despair -- left with less hope and offering a diminishing amount of love, promise, and life-giving energy to myself and others?

In my writing and beseeching, there are stops and starts, almost self-conscious pauses. Was I feeling badly for the outpouring of words on paper? Was my prose too filled with complaint or dissatisfaction as I described the conditions of my life? Surely, I had been so abundantly blessed in my birth and journey to date -- given so much from loving parents and in and through my catholic faith, educational opportunities and work -- that I wouldn't be abandoned. (Was that my fear – rejection or abandonment from God?) I couldn't stop short in my writing and queries to the Divine, I had to continue in my prayers wondering about my next steps in this journey as a woman of love on the earth.

In an entry recorded on Saturday, June 1, 2002, I wrote, "I know if I were born a man, you would have me be a priest. Because I am a woman, do you want me to pursue becoming a nun?"

I remember writing the question down, and then immediately closing my journal. It was a terrifying notion, this nun business. First of all, I wanted to be married and have kids. I loved men and dreamed of partnering with one and having a child or two someday. (I longed to parent - beyond the scope of the classroom, beyond working with and nurturing the beautiful young people in my classroom who I was privileged to teach. I longed for giving birth and the gift of raising a babe from infancy to adulthood.)

In an entry recorded on Saturday, June 1, 2002, I wrote, "I know if I were born a man, you would have me be a priest. Because I am a woman, do you want me to pursue becoming a nun?" -Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

When I considered my calling to the priesthood, it felt so giant, real, awesome, but seemingly beyond my gender -- according to the church powers that be. I had reconciled my desire to preach --to lead a congregation in contemplative, prayerful thought and action -- through my work as a classroom teacher. My love for scripture and desire to break open sacred texts for inspiration and life lessons translated well, on most days, to my tasks as an English educator. Considering my recorded journal question, “[D]o you want me to pursue becoming a nun?” I wondered, too, how I could turn to another religious vocation because of the seeming limitations of my gender? I simply thanked God for making me female, so that I never had to choose between marriage and a life as a celibate priest. I set my journal down and went about my life.

For the record: At the time, I didn't really know I was doing discernment work. At this juncture, I had never even heard the word "discernment." But that would all change.

On Sunday, June 2, 2002, following mass at the Church of St. Philip in North Minneapolis, I was standing up on the alter, next to the piano with the rest of the choir members I sang with, when a small woman with gray hair and wearing a large silver cross approached me.

"Melissa, Hello. I'm Sister Katherine of the Visitation Monastery of North Minneapolis. We are having a 'Come and See' weekend for single young women. We are wondering if you want to come and see about being a nun."

I about fell over. I was wrapping microphone cord around my arm at the time, and believe I almost tripped at Sister's invitation.

Not only is God not subtle with me, but my life circumstances have never been, as they speak loudly trying to get my attention. Of course I would put my query out to the Beloved regarding my vocation, and of course I would receive this direct response! But the very next day? Whew.

*****************************************************************************

Stay tuned for the unfolding of this vocation narrative, as I relay my discernment process, given the entrance of the Visitation Sisters in my life.

Humility and Gentleness: A Reflection on Scripture*

2010-10-20T16:17:00.006-05:00

by Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde, Vis Companion

I am preparing for 12pm mass this Friday, October 22, 2010, at the Visitation Monastery. Goodness, how I look forward to this experience in the living room of the Vis Sister's home! It's not like any other service I am able to attend. (I have written of this in the past.) Today, I turn my mind and heart to the scripture readings for this upcoming liturgy. I consider how this text is speaking to me.

I slow my mind down. I read. I work to defer judgment. I make note of lines that stand out. I connect these words to lived experiences. I register what emotion they elicit. I wonder to myself. I pose questions. I speculate on what Love's message is for me. I consider my faith community and possibilities of this text for the world at large. It's a prayerful, critical response process to the Bible, this holy and sacred literature.

I notice.....from Paul's letter to the Ephesians:

"live in a manner worthy of the call you have received,
with all humility and gentleness
preserve the unity of the spirit
through the bond of peace"

I notice....from the Gospel according to Luke:

[Jesus said to the crowds]:

“Why do you not judge for yourselves what is right?
If you are to go with your opponent before a magistrate,
make an effort to settle the matter on the way;

When Paul speaks of living in a manner worthy of the call a person has received -- with a humble and gentle nature, my mind goes initially to St. Francis de Sales, our co-founder. St. Francis so beautifully exemplified gentleness in his life and expressed his motivation for living his faith out this way. He spoke of this virtue as flowing from and modeled by our Trinitarian God:

"I would rather account to God for too great gentleness than for too great severity. God the Father is the Father of mercy; God the Son is a Lamb; God the Holy Ghost is a Dove;" -St. Francis de Sales

Next, Desmond Tutu flashes in my mind. I am reminded of how struck I was in the Spring of 2008, when I saw him on two occasions speaking in the Twin Cities: his sweet, spirited, and simple demeanor. He exemplified humility and gentleness, a peaceful presence in the midst of some charged circumstances and challenging questions - posed to him in the large venues in which he spoke. "What do you think of Black on Black crime?" asked a young man in the Red Wing juvenile detention center. "What are your feelings or thoughts about President Bush?" asked the contentious (?) MPR host, Kerry Miller. Oh, goodness! To each, the archbishop leaned in, smiled and offered a response from his first hand experience that was kind and thoughtful. I can only imagine St. Francis' thoughts about Archbishop Tutu's responses, which were so poised, honorable, and filled with integrity, humility, and characteristically gentle humor. (But this story is an entirely other blog.)

I hear St. Paul's words as the writer extends them: "preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace" and consider the South African Noble Peace Prize winner an exemplary model of what Paul writes.

My heart leaps a bit thinking how connected Luke's words are in the Gospel reading to those scribed to the Ephesians. The peace process that we know of in our souls, in our most core, essential spirit, strikes me as what Christ wants to remind us of, and what Paul invites us to align with, given our blessed and unique calls.

"You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and the sky;" Jesus says, "Why do you not know how to interpret the present time?" and “Why do you not judge for yourselves what is right?"

Christ validates our intuitive knowing, alongside of, or stemming from, our way of moving through the world based on our observations. And then He challenges us to apply these ways of knowing - and being - to our communications in charged and challenging spaces.

"[M]ake an effort to settle the matter," He instructs. It feels connected to Paul's validation of our vocations, our callings here, as Christians, as people of love, justice, peace: "[L]ive in a manner worthy of the call you have received... bearing with one another through love."

Do you know of the Truth and Reconciliation hearings of a post-apartheid South Africa? Can you recall the role Archbishop Tutu played in these public sessions where victim and perpetrator convened, crimes were confessed, and forgiveness extended? Years of violence, civil rights violations, racist separatist laws were acknowledged. Human rights violators began to look compassionately at their own cruel actions. Can you fathom this kind of work abroad? How about in your own community? Does your imagination and faith allow for practical applications of this kind of merciful, honorable, and gentle work? In your church? Home? Your own heart? Do you believe you have a calling to be such a person of peace, justice, reflection and reconciliation?

I stop here and smile, my heart full of possibilities where these texts are concerned, and how they might be realized in my immediate life. Any grievance I have filed against another, any angry action I have taken against another, I have room to see. I close this reflection imagining St. Francis' spirit alive and guiding me, the sweet laugh and peaceful model of a living Desmond Tutu inspiring me. I will continue to try to live my call as a woman of hope, peace, justice, prayer, and action.

How does this scripture speak to you today?

Happy Contemplating!

*This was originally written and posted at the Visitation Monastery Minneapolis blog site.

Speaking to the Fears of Same-Sex Love and Recent Suicides: A Prayerful Response

2010-10-04T11:11:00.018-05:00

The past month's headlines reporting the suicides of young people - who have chosen to end their lives because they are perceived as gay - has caused the deepest sorrow in my heart. I have been praying about how to respond.

My prayer is informed by my own life experience. My best friend committed suicide six weeks before we graduated from high school. The death of Greg Schulte has shaped almost the whole of my life, career, vocation on this earth to date. I have worked in many ways - since the events of March 28, 1987 - to be a person of great love, using the gifts I believe God gave me to inspire others in their life journeys; I have worked to cultivate young and old people's perceptions: to see and believe in themselves as beautifully, perfectly made and with a great purpose on this planet. Namely: to love.

When young people kill themselves in such alarming rates, I am called again to revisit my vocation, my response, my work.

My brain, heart, spirit go to my daughter. I look into the face and eyes of Marguerite Marie Kiemde: this beautiful five month old child conceived by François Kiemde and me. I don't want her journey as a young person to include such encounters with self-loathing, hate and fear that inspire such death. I don't want Marguerite - or any of her peers - to encounter the taunting, teasing, tormenting because they might be viewed as homosexual. I don't want any more young people to want to die and to act violently on this desire to not want to continue living.

I try to go to the root of this horrible phenomenon of young people committing suicide. I pray about the best way to address this, transform it, see a way toward a life-giving and loving response and solution.

I read. I listen. I pray. I talk to friends and family who are gay and those who fear homosexuality, and judge same-sex love and relationships as sinful.

I hold the news of these suicides alongside the recent release and mailing of a DVD by our archbishop in Minnesota who is working to define and defend marriage as that natural and appropriate for heterosexual men and women. And I pray. I hear a larger message about a call to partner and commitment, delivered I believe with the most sincere of intentions -- as one extended in love -- but also conveying a message of diminishment to all gay men and women who love and respond to their call to partner. I feel diminished in hearing the message.

I try to hold the contradictions. I wonder about how these messages of our church are connected with the deaths of young people? Is it possible our church leaders are part of the root problem inspiring a desire to die?

Ellen De Generes spoke recently to the bullying of gay young people on her TV show. I wonder how much of a problem this hate of gay children is with just younger people taunting them, as compared with their parents, teachers, priests, elders sending equally hateful messages that torment?

"Respect the person" is a phrase uttered repeatedly by our church and community leaders about our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. This is a form of the "hate the sin, love the sinner" mantra coming from a number of our Catholic priests and bishops, Christian leaders. And I have to say: It's simply not enough. I have to back up and challenge the sin that is being identified in the heart of homosexuals. I ask: "What is it? The sin of loving someone of the same gender? The sin is desire? The sin is attraction? The sin is acting on your desire to love and connect?"

I keep hearing Sr. Eileen Currie, my spiritual director at Sacred Heart Jesuit Retreat Center in Colorado: "Who do you think gave you your desires?" After a brief pause, she answered emphatically: "GOD!" I can hear all the non-procreative arguments about the root of this desire to physically love someone of the same gender being wrong. And I hold firm: That any intentional alignment with another, of any gender, honoring the intimate soul and being of that person, is nothing, save for a generative and loving action. Period. Heterosexual. Homosexual. Love begets love. It fuels and inspires our every waking moment. If it can be honored, seen, as in fact what it is: the most natural and beautiful gift God gave us. The sin of our leaders, teachers, adults, preachers, is not seeing this, in my humble opinion. We diminish and trample on the dignity and gifts of whole faction of God's creation. It's rampant in our society, culture. And, then, it leads to this. Death.

Why does anyone want to live when all they see and experience are messages of how bad they are? When they are told their call to love is inferior, or rather, intrinsically evil and wrong?

I'm with Ellen. I'm with so many trying to create space to dialogue, educate, be in relationship, transform this fear-space and culture that perpetuates the desire of a person to die. I don't want this walk of fear, shame, death, tragedy for Marguerite, or anyone else's child. I pray for Love.

In peace and prayers,
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

On Immigration Labor: Colbert Quoting Matthew 25

2010-09-25T22:22:00.005-05:00

I wonder who caught this on C-Span 3, (or YouTube or Facebook or any television news source...?) It's Stephen Colbert speaking at the House Judiciary Subcommittee on Immigration, Citizenship, and Border Security. In the following excerpt from the transcript, he shares why he's there:

"At the request of Congresswoman Lofgren, I am here today to share my experience as an entertainer turned migrant worker and to shed light on what it means to truly take one of the millions of jobs filled by immigrant labor. They say that you truly know a man after you’ve walked a mile in his shoes, and while I have nowhere near the hardships of these struggling immigrants, I have been granted a sliver of insight."

Mr. Colbert had prepared comments which you can see and read in their entirety. It's this moment, when he's asked why he has chosen to come and talk about this topic today, that I find truly inspiring.

"people who don't have any power...we invite them to come here, and then ask them to leave...an interesting contradiction...the least of my brothers...."

My friend Bridget O'Brien posted this on Facebook; again, it moved me. (Bridget is a Notre Dame theology doctoral student, Maggie's godfather - Zac Willette's friend.) This video gave me pause, as any Colbert work does. I wondered watching it:

"Is this real? A comedic skit? More of Colbert's brilliant satire?"

After watching more closely: I realized this was citizen-smart-Christian-catholic-Colbert acting according to his conscience. And that rocks.

Thoughts?

Happy Contemplating!

Seasons of Love: Today's Prayer

2010-09-19T07:52:00.009-05:00

Amen.

Tending to our Interiors: Introducing Inspiration from Fr. Richard Rohr, OFM

2010-09-01T16:58:00.010-05:00

Note: The following was written for the Visitation Monastery North Minneapolis blog. I post it here to invite readers of "QueenMab Contemplates..." to follow this series on Fr. Rohr.

"There is nothing to prove and nothing to protect. I am who I am and it's enough." — Richard Rohr

After I left my ten-plus year post in urban education, I spent a year cleaning people's houses. I got paid to tidy, scour, tend to the dust and grime that we all accumulate in our living spaces. For twenty four hours a week, I would scrub, sweep, polish a family's home or single person's pad, making my way through bathrooms, kitchens, dens, bedrooms, laundry rooms, office spaces, attics, basements. It was privileged work in many ways - as I was privy to the interiors of others' "sanctuaries" - so to speak. I came to think of this period in literal and figurative ways; I was cleaning out not only the inside of other humans' homes, but tending to my own interior spaces: of heart, spirit, mind. It was sacred work on many levels.

During this time, I listened to a lot of Fr. Richard Rohr, OFM, founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation, on CD. I'd go into these sacred spaces, broom and bucket in hand, and -- (if it wasn't a Bob Marley kind of morning, or Neil Diamond flashback afternoon that I was having) -- I'd pop in a recording of the Franciscan priest from New Mexico. Viola! I was on retreat while at work. Every action of soap and sponge and elbow-pushing-arm, became a contemplative, active prayer of sorts. I was, in the words of Fr. Rohr's, putting to use the most operative word in his organization's title, being a person of contemplation AND action. What I encountered in my heart and mind whilst listening to "Jesus and Buddha: Paths to Awakening" or "The Great Chain of Being: Simplifying our Lives" conference or "True Self/False Self" made its way literally through my interior life and into exterior action.

During this year of prayer and manual physical labor, I made significant changes in my life. I worked to simplify or downsize in all respects of property and ego; I let go of everything I thought I knew for certain; I felt freer and more happy than I had ever been - as I cleaned and contemplated and wrote blogs as prayerful prose for the public. It was a revolutionary year of my life.

I've recently become re-acquainted with Fr. Rohr, as a friend hooked me up with his daily meditations sent via email from the Center for Action and Contemplation. It's exhilarating to re-discover this spiritual teacher/wise counselor and touchstone. As a prolific writer and speaker, Fr. Rohr has many books and CD's published to inspire our lives; he's not unlike the Visitation's co-founder, St. Francis de Sales, or the many holy people who inspire our hearts, minds, souls, and bodies.

In the days, weeks, months to come, I will be re-posting some of Fr. Richard Rohr's words as they so move me; I will be working to apply them, through a Salesian lens, to my own life. I invite you to join me!

Peace to all this day.

Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde,
Vis Companion

Baptism: A Call to Commitment

2010-08-12T10:44:00.004-05:00

The following reflection from Fr. Henri Nouwen is a nice reminder of how our baptismal calls invite a commitment and follow through to live love and faith in community, in relationships -- but, first and foremost, within ourselves. How are we committed to our own hearts? Our own minds? Our own gifts? How do we honor these things that God/ Love/ Creator has given us? How does an act of honoring the Divine within become an external expression, honoring the Divine without? When we recognize our sacred centers, how can we not see the sacred center of each and every other being? And when we are doing that, how can we avoid peace, reconciliation, transformation of any woeful circumstances? Our baptisms into this larger earth community, into this larger church of all creation, invite us to continually find love and beauty in all that surrounds us, and seek ways to honor and be sanctified to one another. .... This is my prayer today, as I consider baptism, parenting, my role and work within community..

In Peace, Blessings,
Melissa

Baptism, a Call to Commitment

Baptism as a way to the freedom of the children of God and as a way to a life in community calls for a personal commitment. There is nothing magical or automatic about this sacrament. Having water poured over us while someone says, "I baptise you in the Name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit," has lasting significance when we are willing to claim and reclaim in all possible ways the spiritual truth of who we are as baptised people. In this sense baptism is a call to parents of baptised children and to the baptised themselves to choose constantly for the light in the midst of a dark world and for life in the midst of a death-harbouring society. - Fr. Henri Nouwen

The Baptism of Marguerite Marie Kiemde: Annointing Love "Priest, Prophet, King!"

2010-08-12T10:14:00.025-05:00

Some days being Catholic is tough. Claiming membership in a larger faith community that's hard on women, diminishes gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, and has a whole bunch of scandal stemming from a secretive, hierarchical male-dominated structure where sex abuse of children has taken place: Ah! Please! It makes me want to run. But this is my church. This is the community of humans and traditions and rituals and beliefs I was born into that I find, at its core, is the best Love-Mystery-Truth-Transformation-thing going. So I stay in the church with my husband, and I work to create and see realized the kind of faith community that I want to be part of.

Enter: Marguerite Marie Kiemde's Baptism! On Sunday, August 8, 2010, François, big sister Gabby and I, along with our larger catholic faith community at the Church of St. Philips in North Minneapolis, welcomed our baby girl into this fold. And it was a blessed and inspiring experience -- reaffirming my own baptismal call to love and live within a human community, consciously seeing the Divine Light of Love within all.

What follows are photos taken by our dear friends Brian Mogren and Michael Benham. We hope they convey a fraction of the Spirit and promise that we experienced on Sunday, and that the captions might hint at what were the most inspiring elements of the day for me.

Enjoy!
Love,
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde and Family

Presiding guest priest number one from the University of St. Thomas
(There were four priests on the alter this day.
Perhaps to top the three presiding at our wedding? Or to witness Ms. Maggie's welcoming?
*chuckle*
Blessings! )

Pre-service picture snapping

Baby K gets shy?

Our Kiemde Clan: François, Melissa, Marguerite, Gabriela

Putting on the baptismal bonnet

Tuning into the baptismal rite

Fr. Jules Omba Omalanga begins the ritual

The St. Philip's Kids Choir, lead by Nadege Ouevi, sings to welcome in Marguerite Marie

Getting her rest in before the big moment
(And completing a bowel movement?
This child will go to baptism in the fullness of her blessed humanity!
God loves us in all of our stinkiness. :-))

Tracing the sign of the cross

I cannot be any more pleased to hold this child and participate in this liturgy.

How beautiful are these young people?
A key part of this service for me centers around hearing the voices of children singing.
A choir that Marguerite will be part of - someday!

Annointed "Priest, Prophet and King!" Yes!
Hope in our church.
(Can you imagine our daughter's future?
Your own in any faith community?)

In the arms of Godmother Marianna Toth

Love.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit!

Embracing the Light!
(A favorite moment in the service,
when François puts the candle in our littlest girl's hands,
and she won't let go.)

What do they see? So many precious eyes!
Including photographer Michael Benham

Singing "Wade in the Water."

Melissa's spiritual director, Sr. Mary Margaret, VHM
(Another honorary Godmother.)

Dear friend, Vis Companion, photographer, Brian Mogren

Toni and Geert Bennaars-Mawanda

From Left to Right: Godfather Zac Willette, Godmother Marianna Toth, Gabby Kiemde, François Kiemde, Melissa and daughter Marguerite Kiemde

Welcomed into this larger faith family of priests, prophets, kings, queens, and lots of nuns!
Left to Right: Marianna, Zac, Gabby, François, Melissa and Maggie, Sr. Mary Frances, VHM; Sr. Jill Underdahl, CSJ; Sr. Joanna O'Meara, VHM; Sr. Mary Margaret, VHM; Sr. Mary Virginia, VHM; Sr. Karen, VHM; and Sr. Jean.

And again: In full color!
Left to Right: Marianna, Zac, Gabby, François, Melissa and Maggie, Sr. Mary Frances, VHM; Sr. Jill Underdahl, CSJ; Sr. Joanna O'Meara, VHM; Sr. Mary Margaret, VHM; Sr. Mary Virginia, VHM; Sr. Karen, VHM; and Sr. Jean

Another new member of the catholic community at St. Philip's:
Nina Nakagaki!

Maggie recognizes someone with her kind of humor: a goofy Michael Benham.

Embraced and smiling by her Visitation Sister, Mary Virginia

Singing and faith ensemble sisters Toni, Ann, Melissa with babies Geert and Maggie

New moms in the community: Can we trace the cultural lines present in this photograph?
There's a child here born in Guatemala; another of Ugandan/Kenyan/Dutch descent; one hailing from Asian-Nebraskan parents; and finally a West African-European-Midwestern American infant.

LOVE!

On Being Fed: A Reflection on Mass and Mealtime at the Monastery -- with Ms. Marguerite!

2010-07-25T00:26:00.011-05:00

It had been a while. A month at least, since I had stepped foot in the Visitation Sister's North Minneapolis Monastery. And goodness how my bones were missing the place! (While I have the privilege of writing and posting blogs for the sisters from my perch in St. Paul, it's not daily that I have the good fortune to spend time on the ground floor with these beloved women. This last month was a special exception, too -- for not being explicitly, physically present with my Northside crew -- as I had been blessedly holed up with my newborn daughter, Ms. Marguerite Marie Kiemde. Suffice it to say, our eventual visit to the Monastery last Tuesday evening was a special, sacred time re-connecting with my dear spiritual sister clan, and introducing Baby Maggie to the nuns.

In reflecting on the experience of taking my new little girl to meet the sisters for the first time, I back up and find myself asking:
What does a visit to the Northside Monastery entail?
What does my daughter glean from such an encounter?
What good energy eeks out and over and upon a child in this environment?
Who does she meet?
What gets discussed?
What does she learn?
How might she be changed?

And it occurs to me:

These are questions I could pose for any woman or man coming to the monastery for the first time!

As I work to compose this reflection, I note that what Maggie Kiemde encounters and is nurtured by, might be similar for those visiting and possibly discerning further alliance or membership with the blessed Salesian order.

On this particular evening, there was an intimate gathering of people for mass and the following dinner meal. Besides the sisters, my husband François, baby Maggie, and myself, we had one other lay visitor and our dear priest. Brendan was an Americorp volunteer, originally hailing from the East Coast, and returning to the monastery for mass and nourishment - having found the Salesian charism a welcome space for him in his Minnesota tenure. As a graduate from a De LaSalle institute, he felt at home in the monastery. I shook his hand and felt instantly like I'd known him for years. (He physically resembled another friend completing his Masters in Divinity out East.) Fr. Jim Radde, our Jesuit presider, as an old friend newly acquainted with my husband, was warm and deeply contemplative as he said mass, inviting us as usual into a spiritual space piercing both my heart and mind. ("What does it mean to really love yourself? How do fear and self-doubt impair our abilities?")

With our daughter Marguerite calm and resting in her baby carrier, I found myself at peace in the Fremont Avenue Monastery living room. In this chapel space, with these women, and in this configuration of blessed humans listening and reflecting together on scripture, I was at home. I took inventory of my bones, my limbs, noted my breathing, and exhaled realizing how much I crave this kind of experience, this community.

Our evening flowed from a mass with communal reflection time and space -- where each was invited to give voice to his or her prayerful thoughts, questions, hopes-- to a dining experience complete with charged, inspiring conversation.

Over a blessed meal at the table in the sisters' dining room, I heard from Sr. Mary Frances about a latest leadership initiative involving Northside community members. I took note as Fr. Radde, S.J. challenged Brendan about his peaceful communication practices as the young man prepares for employment with Pax Christi International in Belgium. I chimed in with my own questions and theoretical and applied knowledge of story-telling when Fr. Jim brought up his passions around restorative justice circles. I smiled as our own circle of stories intersected and overlapped while we enjoyed our pot roast and vegetables. Sister elaborated on the Leadership Initiative. Having come from a recent convening at St. Jane House, she shared some of the goals of the diverse group of participants:

"We are teaching principles of Salesian Leadership and inviting the members to pose their own goals for change. They will create action plans over the course of the next ten months."

Father disclosed his sadness having learned he wouldn't be making a long-planned trip to Uganda, but eeked of hope and enthusiasm around how his study of narrative practices would be persued in local urban classrooms. My daughter slept, my husband smiled and sighed. The sisters fawned over the resting presence of our little girl. I moved back and forth in my mind between Maggie's life here as a child, and an imagined space in proximity to the newly acquainted with Brendan going to Belgium. Oh, where would she be twenty years from now? Where might any of us be? How would we be "living Jesus," as the Vis sisters say?

What a room of people! What an experience of faith and community and love and hope! What a way to be fed!

As I close this reflection out, I'm grateful for the sisters' presence at 16th and Fremont (and 17th and Girard) in North Minneapolis. I'm mindful of how lucky my child is to even sit in the same space with these women, their friends, and to have a mom and dad who find such sustenance in visiting them.

Perhaps Marguerite will be called to be a nun someday? Perhaps she'll follow suit in some way as her namesake, Visitation Sister: St. Marguerite Marie Alacoque? Or maybe, she'll find her way in some fashion as her parents, living Salesian spirituality in their own subtle and intentional manners in the lay world? Regardless, Maggie is blessed, as we all are, to be in any proximity to this sacred monastic space called The Visitation Monastery in North Minneapolis.

LIVE + JESUS!

Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde
Visitation Companion

Breastfeeding Blues: Love and Letting Go

2010-06-16T13:34:00.011-05:00

Note: The following contains anatomy-specific-discussion and descriptions of breastfeeding. Perhaps not for all readers.
***

My breasts are in mourning. Actually, almost my whole body is. After weeks of intense discernment regarding my daughter's "milk acquisition skills" I have decided to let go of this desire, this plan to breastfeed; it's a decision that has been nothing short of excruciating to make. I have milk. I have nipples. I have a beloved and brilliant baby girl. But somehow, we cannot make all of these blessed things work together to create a space of nourishment and mutual satisfaction. In fact, it's almost been the opposite: frustration, tears, seeming torture; ultimately resulting in a release of this expectation of myself (and the world?) to feed my child from my body.

Oh. Blessed be.

I sit to type this, and she cries. She knows the sorrow as well.

It's a tradeoff we have to make. Sanity, calm, a bit of the known, vs. insanity, anxiety, and a complete rollercoaster ride of daily, hourly emotions. In the end, it's not that hard to choose this route, but Good God, have the past 28 days been DIFFICULT!

My milk didn't come in initially. Not unlike many women who have c-sections, I waited six days after Marguerite's birth before I found myself with any fluids that might resemble substantial nourishment coming from my breasts. In those first days after her birth, we waited. I admit: I doubted a bit. I watched as my little girl lost more than ten percent of her body weight. I feared. We both cried. (Me, probably a lot more than she.) My husband stood by, as calmly and positively as possible, with his commitment to us both. The blessing and brilliance of Maggie's first week with us was that her dad might be a main provider of nutrition via this "SNS" method: whereby a small tube was taped to his finger, and our little girl sucked formula from the tip of his middle digit. (This was in lieu of a bottle, which we were trying to avoid for the sheer fact of "nipple confusion.")

But alas! Another detail that gave us a challenge, besides my lack-luster-milk-producing-breasts, was the fact that I had relatively flat nipples. Introduced by the lactation expert in the hospital as a solution to said "flat nipples" was a brilliant invention known as a "nipple shield." Cone-shaped silicone with a wide brim around the protruding false nipple, it was something I came to refer to as a "Mexican hat." All that lead up to its use, I affectionately referred to as the "Mexican Hat dance." Oh, blessed be!

The nipple shield was nothing short of a gift and curse to my nursing experience. I constantly wondered if my daughter would authentically latch on this man-made device. After a week of the SNS method, delivered solely by Daddy Francois, we resorted to introducing a bottle, as Baby Marguerite was still not quite getting the taste or sense of the silicone nipple without any milk coming through it. For nourishment's sake, sanity's sake, our collective well-being, a home-health care worker and lactation specialist advised on day 6 of Maggie's life to introduce a bottle to her. "Play around with bottle nipples," she said, "and continue to provide the breast to her as an option."

We followed the lactation consultant's advice, encouraged that our brilliant baby took quickly to a third form of nutrition via a "Nuk" nippled bottle, and hopeful that my milk would eventually sustain her via the old fashioned delivery method.

But enter CONFUSION! Enter frustration! Enter torture! As my "duct work" took its time, never fully flooding my breasts with the "milk and honey" promise land that I had believed would be undeniable for her. While Marguerite slowly gained her birth weight back by formula and pumped breast milk, we attempted to follow our lactation consultant's advice at each feeding.
Eight to fourteen times a day during the next two weeks, I would:

1. Acknowledge my baby girl's hunger cues.
2. Express milk from my nipple.
2. Introduce my bare nipple.
3. If baby didn't latch to bare nipple, I would introduce nipple-sheilded nipple.
4. If she still didn't latch, I would introduce Nuk-Nipple bottle with milk. I would get her to start sucking.
5. After a short period of satisfying suckling, I would remove the nuk-nippled bottle from her mouth, holding the silicone nipple shield carefully in place, and slip this into her mouth for her to continue suckling. (In the meantime: I'd pray that she remained calm, didn't scream, didn't feel like I was constantly tricking her or that I was destroying my chances to ever truly get my baby girl to trust me.)
6. If she still didn't latch, then I'd just give her the bottle and feed her until she was satisfied. (Register time here for these six steps: Anywhere from twenty five minutes to an hour and half.)
7. Then I would pump if she hadn't fed directly from me, so I would have something for her next meal, and continue to produce milk for when she did latch to my nipple shield and or hopefully, eventually, nipple. (Because she was going to latch eventually, right?!)

It just got to be too much. One in every seven feedings, the "Mexican Hat dance switcheroo" worked, and Maggie latched onto the nipple shield. When this happened, all was right in the world. World peace was possible. Maggie and I came up with solutions to the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. We had dreams about the West Bank and Gaza Strip that included white doves and fully honored people of all nations and races and religions and creeds. We were happy and calm and felt aligned with all that was right in the Universe.

When it didn't work, we both cried. I felt worse, like I was a failed mom and teacher, and that I was slowly, but surely, destroying any and all trust that I might have built with my new born daughter, as I tricked her with these inconsistent, alternating methods of possible milk acquisition.

The hope and promise of latching could have killed me. I'm telling you, it was so amazing when it did occur! Marguerite's brilliant little face nuzzled next to my skin, her red lips pursed around my own body part, and her tiny cheeks and throat working to reveal her slurping and swallowing. She was being fed! I was at the source of her satisfaction! We were doing as God and Nature intended!

But when it didn't work, every six of seven attempts, there were voices re-enforcing the tiny failed fact of my body and ability learned during labor: not all things I hope for and desire naturally are possible. (As my cervix had failed to ever dilate so that I might deliver my daughter from my body vaginally, perhaps my ability to breast feed was going the same way?) Undoing these voices of doubt takes a lot of work! Especially when reason and data proves that your hope may be false. As a woman of faith, I work in these small margins of possibility; I longed with all of my being to continue trying to breastfeed! However as a woman of practicality -- and a deep need for sleep -- I had to weigh reality and options for my daughter and I to move forward both as happy humans.

In the end, it was weighing Marguerite's need to master three different nipple skills that completed my discernment around breastfeeding: In order to feel successful and for this endeavor to be sustainable, Ms. Maggie would need to be able to move from latching on a Nuk nipple every time to a nipple-shielded nipple to my bare nipple. The sheer fact that I couldn't get a 100% success on a shift to the nipple shield from the bottle, was staggering. Facing my daughter's screams and outpouring rage and frustration as she watched me pull a working bottle from her mouth to insert a siliconed nipple, on 90% of these attempts, was enough to secure my decision. Yes, I wanted to breast feed -- but did she?

In the quietest of spaces, when I took this and other prayerful, beseeching questions to God, I heard one thing resoundingly:
There are many ways to nourish your daughter Melissa. Your food will not be literal, but something that shall sustain her in another life-long way.

I must trust this. Maggie and I join the ranks of children and their moms who provide nourishment via bottles. We are choosing happiness, finding it as we experience calm and hope in the spaces of other possible tasks and goals we will eventually conquer.

She is being fed. I am in love and finding lessons in letting go.

Marguerite Marie Kiemde's Welcome to the World

2010-06-07T19:29:00.016-05:00

Friends, Loved Ones:
On Saturday, May 22, 2010, at 2:05pm, Francois, Gabby and I welcomed Marguerite Marie Kiemde to our family. The following are photos from her first few weeks with us. We share these with incredible joy for her arrival and presence among our burgeoning clan. Our hearts burst daily with love for this little one. We feel so lucky to welcome her, and to have such a community of faith and support to likewise embrace us all. Merci! Merci beaucoup!
Enjoy the photos! Post a comment! Stay tuned for more!
In love and creation contemplation,
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

She's here!
Introducing Maggie to her Grandma Borgmann, who shares the same blessed birthday:
May 22nd!

Meeting Grandpa and Grandma Borgmann
Marguerite would not be here without the support of Doula Colette DeHarpporte

HELLO WORLD!

With Auntie Jody Tigges

Olga Nichols arriving to feed us and swoon over Baby K

Cousins Izzy and Sylvia make Mag's acquaintance

Doll introductions are in order!

The Borgmann-Johnson-Kiemde's convene over Memorial Day weekend

Auntie Toni comes for a squeeze

Introducing Geert to Marguerite. "Touch nicely." lol

Melissa and Marguerite...Who looks sleepy? :-)

Sr. Jill Underdahl makes our girl's acquaintance

Auntie Ann in the house!

Sister Joy on food detail for Mom and Dad. We love the dishes!

Word.

A favorite position for these two loves in my life!

What I see when I look down...

Patio Club Pal, Cynthia stops by...

bringing her daugher Iris, born just six weeks before Maggie...
They are sure to be pals! :-)

Our first family outing to church: The Visitation Sister's 400th Anniversary Mass
(Photo courtesy of Brian Mogren)

Introducing Marguerite Marie to Vis Sister (and Melissa's longtime spiritual director):
Sr. Mary Margaret!

"Babies:" A bit of Inspiration for Kiddo Kiemde!?

2010-05-20T14:41:00.011-05:00

Week 39. Day Four of contractions, intensifying from cramps on Monday to squeezing on Tuesday to bowl-me-over "Here we go!" pangs on Wednesday, to today's on-again-off-again rollercoaster "Let's do this!" lower abdomen ouchies! I distract myself sitting on my blue ball, working on blog posts for the Visitation Sisters, and imagining a delicious Davanni's pizza is about to arrive any moment and assuage my cravings. (If a pizza can magically be delivered, might a baby come on out and enjoy the party? Please!)

Something else to distract and entertain for the time being: A clip from this documentary about BABIES! Watch. Laugh. Giggle. Sigh. Weep. Imagine my child will soon join this beautiful ensemble of babies!

LOVE!
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

Blessingway Poem by Becca Barniskis

2010-05-18T01:38:00.009-05:00

On Sunday, May 16th, sixteen women and one small boy gathered in my St. Paul living room to extend blessings over me and this child that I am about to birth. Lead by doula Alisa Blackwood, these women shared prayers, good thoughts, and poems aloud. The following is one poetic piece that arrived via email that afternoon. I share it now as a source of inspiration for not only me, but all expectant moms. I am grateful to the author, Becca Barniskis. Love!

Dear Melissa:

It is spring and your baby is coming.

As holy as God.

But more accessible than he.

Smoother, cuter, able to fit into your arms.

I wish for you a mind of prayer

when your baby decides he is ready.

I wish for you deep strength

and patience for yourself and your body.

I wish for you courage

to not doubt what your body is capable of doing.

And when Baby arrives

may you be awake and enlarged

by the experience.

May your love give you the energy

to figure out who Baby is

and what he needs.

May the journey be joy-filled.

You are a mother.

You are made to mother.

You will mother this child in the best way.

Love,

Becca

****

Becca Barniskis lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota, where she works as a poet, teaching artist and free-lance writer and consultant in arts education. She edits the Resource Roundup section of the Teaching Artist Journal and is a founding member of Artist to Artist.

She is the mother of Earl and Lulu. And someone I claim as dear friend.

Making Way for Baby K!

2010-05-15T23:54:00.014-05:00

As we head into week 39 of this journey, Francois and I are enthusiastic to share more images from this period of preparing for Kiddo Kiemde. The following provide a window into our world making way for our son or daughter, revealing some of our cleaning, organizing, nesting instincts, as well as the amazing support of friends and family. (Oh! If we only had pictures of all of you who have been helping us along this path!) Do you know how excited we are to meet this child? Do you know how thrilled we are for you to share our joy? We recognize none of this would be possible without faith, family, our larger community and circles of support.

BLESSINGS! GRATITUDE!
Melissa, Francois, Baby Kiemde

Perhaps many new parent's friend? Target Store, USA!

Home with a baby crib to assemble!

My guy and directions!

Be Still My Heart! I love watching Francois in action!

The Living Room Corner BEFORE:
(On the heels of our documented "Spring Cleaning" work, we have some more re-arranging to do in order to make way for the baby and crib.)

From the office to the Living Room: The bookshelves find a new home!

Baby K's Crib! Yes, where those bookshelves once stood, is now our child's sleeping spot!

In case you are desiring a glimpse of me.
(Here at 35 weeks, just days before Kiddo K sinks into my sciatic nerve, and keeps me from walking properly upright. LOVE!)

What would Baby Prep be without a Baby Shower? Friends Jody and Ann arrange for many church friends to convene at St. Jane House. Here is some of the decor!

Friends from St. Philips, Kathryn, Mom Toni, Baby Geert and Leslie!

How to graciously receive so many gifts? This is my challenge!

Ann Shallbetter returns from St. Jane House to
Golf View Home to help organize the many gifts...

So much stuff for this lucky boy or girl!

A first official "toy box!"

Organizing clothes by months, sizes. Here, a container of new and gently used baby items from Friends and family, many courtesy of Gina Woods Mann.
Merci! Merci! Merci!

Meet our doulas: Colette DeHarpporte and Alisa Blackwood!
Oh, the support!

My "Rejoice" stone, received at the closing Discernment Workshop Ritual with the Vis Sisters: How could I not connect this with our child's upcoming arrival!?

Turning back to the Office/ Bedroom/Baby Room transformation:
Clearing wall space for Baby shelves.
(Do you see the original screen prints that must come off the wall? *sniff*sigh*smile*)

More help from Ms. Ann in making this transformation happen!

Channeling her Martha Stewart!

Watch out for a woman with power tools!

Can I get a "Woot Woot!"?
(Francois will be so proud of us!)

Shelves and desk spaces re-assigned. Printer to shelf, changing table to desk top.
Does it work? We shall see!

Part of the Baby K Libary: Books representing many cultures and traditions. It's never too early to start considering our child's literacy!

Precious toys!

Entering the multi-faceted space...

Office, Changing table, Baby Monitor...

There's that sweet crib again!

Can you see him or her resting their beautiful head?

Little details...

Mint chocolate bunny -- to represent the sweet and gentle spirit of this new life...

From the crib to Gabby's bed, over the desk, and just beyond those windows:
The Missisippi River.
Blessings!

Claiming Connection: Finding Family, Hope and Faith with a Man who Committed Murder

2010-04-27T11:50:00.012-05:00

The following was originally written as a blog for the Visitation Monastery of North Minneapolis. I post it here to share with friends, family, outside the Visitation Community and network. I welcome your thoughts or responses.

On Saturday, April 17, I sat in the living room of St. Jane House in North Minneapolis and listened to Oshea Israel tell his story of what shaped him as a young man who committed murder at the age of 17. Seated next to him were his brother and mother, and present across the room was a grandmother. None of these people were biologically, blood-related, but all claimed him in the fullest sense of familial relationship. Included in this configuration of chosen kinfolk was Oshea's dearest male alliance -- someone who shared the experiences of incarceration and an aligned sort of upbringing; a Visitation Sister on the day before her 82 birthday - who had only recently adopted Oshea as grandson; and then the most-staggering of all maternal figures: the mother of the son whose life Oshea took 17 years prior. In the wake of Mary Johnson losing her own male child, she found the space and grace and God-given ability - during the time after his murder - to genuinely forgive this boy who killed her son, and then claim the murderer as her own heir.

It was an experience nothing short of mind-blowing.

What makes us family?

What calls us to radical spaces of love and forgiveness?

How many of us find ourselves in close proximity to murderers and former felons and forgivers?

How do we locate ourselves inside such circles?

Who among us claims such alliances? And why?

By the end of the afternoon, I found myself kissing Oshea's cheeks, squeezing him in solidarity and support, and marveling about what, if anything - save experience - separates us? He could be my brother. He could be my cousin. He could be me. Yes. Or rather, I can fathom being him.

I don't write such things lightly. But listening to Oshea's narrative, honoring intensely an interrogated past, I find myself completely humbled by his courageous examination of what has shaped him. In this space, on this particular Saturday in April, I have the privilege to hear him disclose such a tale as he pours out details about what gave way to birthing this murderous mentality. And I get him. I can hear him. I can fathom all that he reports about his loving biological mom; a nurturing, present step-father, and a desired alliance with his often absent, distant dad. I quake with compassion as he confesses the tiny but gigantic detail that gives rise, in his recollection, to a desire to kill when he was only five. Oshea shares the significant moment when he overheard his mom state that she was raped by her own father. He identifies that at that point in time he knew he wanted to kill, and would kill. He reflects on the choices he started to make from that tender age onward, giving rise and shape to an identity as "fighter" as "boy capable of murder." He is conscious and takes responsibility for this journey that lead to another young man's death. He also recognizes and knows that this is not his true identity. He has the wisdom and faith and courage and humility to claim that he has a soul larger than this horrible crime, but knows he is loved and has love, is love, and has a Divine purpose transcending this experience.

I marvel listening to Oshea. I am in this privileged space where I find an alliance and deep resonance with this man's tale. I have deep regard for him, am humbled by his tale, am proud of his capacity to receive forgiveness and to reject this label that reduces him to one of his darkest moments. Oshea Israel inspires me.

I think that if Oshea Israel can transcend label as "murderer," then what can I overcome? What are my darkest moments in this life to date? What do I shake from my skin and bones and refuse to let define me as a 41 year old woman? I return to Oshea and see his beaming smile, feel his large spirit and seemingly boundless hope for the future, and I claim a similar kind of faith. He is loved. I am loved. We are love. We are one in God's creation.

I don't think these experiences or opportunities to sit in the presence of "the other" - a former felon or convicted killer or simply someone seemingly so different - come often for many of us. I imagine or speculate that what I'm sharing might seem beyond the comfort zone of many. But I can't be sure. I just know for me, the opportunity to be invited to such a space with the Visitation Sisters, at St. Jane House, to convene with compassionate inquiry and active listening guiding the day, is a privilege -- as it takes me to these further spaces of reflection and awareness of God's grace, love, mercy. I begin to see more distinctly our inherently inter-connected natures. I find myself alive in love and wonder. I want to support Oshea in his journey beyond jail, in his walk as a man of integrity, examined life, of forgiveness, of incredible wisdom and witness to Love. I want to be similar in my own trek on this planet: also inspiring and living a radical kind of loving existence.

If I shirk my darkest moments of reductive identity markers, and claim the beloved nature of my soul, then what might I be capable of as a member of this human race?

Who might I be as a woman? As a wife? As a mother? As a teacher? What might I inspire or have the courage to do?

I extend these questions to each of you prayerfully on this day. I invite you to reflect on your darkest moments, to see your most beautiful selves, as the Divine sees us all. I urge you to open any closed spaces where you might reject or fear an invitation to experience life beyond your comfort zone. I encourage you to come and hear Oshea and Mary speak, and listen deeply to the way their story shapes or inspires your own.

In prayer, contemplation, love,

Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

Visitation Companion

"Treating Cancer in the Catholic Church" - Fr. Pat Malone, S.J.

2010-03-28T16:02:00.008-05:00

The following is a journal entry from Jesuit priest, Fr. Pat Malone, posted on his CaringBridge website. Fr. Pat offers us all very life-giving words as he applies lessons from his personal battle with cancer - to the deep unwellness manifesting in the Catholic Church. I took the liberty to give his entry a title; I offer it here on Passion Sunday as part of my own attempt at prayer, contemplation, compassion, and love during this entrance into Holy Week.

Peace,
Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

Mistreated

In a 2007 article, Fr. Andrew Greeley wrote, “The Catholic Church is in deep crisis (always has been, always will be) and desperately needs reform (when has it not?)” ‘Crisis’ is too mild of a term for the current situation. Here are lessons from this health adventure that apply to the Church’s problem, and anyone else confronting deep disaster.

Recognize what is killing you.
It could seem rather routine to recognize cancer, but, as those involved with this health journey know too well, it can disguise itself, continuing to reek harm. (When medical people were not sure of the source of the problem, some suspected it was a painful, incurable nerve disorder. When the results returned with the correct diagnosis, a doctor beamed, “Good news. It’s leukemia.”) It is more difficult to recognize that which destroys our sense of decency, especially when such action requires we give up long-standing practices. One self-exam may this: what’s our reply when the innocent suffer because of us?

Something fundamental has died, or is on life-support, when the immediate response is anything but utter shame, remorse, and outrage that this occurs at all, in an organization that has as its creed to love God and neighbor. When our instinct is anything else, we need a very long retreat. There is a critical need to remember that this problem is universal. It may be right to question the motives of those who constantly probe. It is certainly true that these problems are not exclusive to a church, nor do they represent anything but a small percentage of priests and others who work with children.

But the soul of the church suffers fatally when the instant response is anything but rushing to the wounded (in this case, to the parents). Then we see the appropriate response is not to explain but to ask: how can we be forgiven? What must be done to move forward with hope? Such a first move would reveal the absurdity—and the deepening of the pain—of speaking how this problem occurs everywhere, and this overload of attention is unfair. Both may be true, though both point to how people hold a faith to a higher standard, and both may be needed for any formidable structure to see what is destroying it from within.

When our proclamations focus on the evils in the world while ignoring our own at home, part of our reason to be gets buried. We lose more than integrity; we risk forgetting why we have religion: to re-unite, to transcend the natural drives to satisfy ourselves first, to be on fire with a closeness that created it all, to find redemption is the worst of situations. In most religions there is an additional fundamental: that we must make this world more sane for the most vulnerable. When we put anything above the need to protect them, respect them, build them up, we may have a formidable structure, but it is not holy, nor life-giving. Good news: it can always return to this central belief.

Secrets keep us ill.
All patients have unique reasons to rejoice when they arrive at the day of discharge, though most would see the end of wearing flimsy gowns to be as liberating as able to breath again. Even Gitmo prisoners get pants. Those wicked gowns are thin and flimsy for a reason: no space for cover-up. They expose the signs of disease, danger, or distress. Without them (so patients are told) healing cannot occur.

What has most rattled the world, believers and non-believers, is not that an organization has criminals and disturbed individuals within its ranks, but that those who could put the individuals out of harm’s way did not always do so, sometimes until a public outcry demanded it. The way forward was to conceal. There is a place for discretion, especially when it helps the wounded find a new normal, but secrecy too often feeds on itself: it makes it easier to stay clandestine the next time, and the next time. When we do not speak of the corruption, we do not stop it.

Secrets keep us ill. They perpetuate shame; simmer our grudges, lock us into bleakness. Keeping things secret helps us to rationalize the worst of our behaviors. They make it possible to deny that any of us can do horrific things, especially to the weak. They block us from accepting that we can act contrary to the most cherished ideals of our better selves, or that we will sometimes do the expedient rather than the right thing. Worst of all, secrets convince us that we either do not need redemption, or its beyond our reach.

Ask a nurse how to heal from the hidden decay and dangers in our lives: Take responsibility for self-care. Let others see it, name it, help evaluate its problem. Stop making it worse by pretending there’s no need for a painstaking cleansing. Don’t let your disease make more people ill. Use what is good in your body to help fight it. In this case, use the church’s under-rated tool (handed down from the Jewish faith) of reconciliation. Use it to see hear how others have paid a price for one’s lack of self-care. Use it because it gets easier to openly speak the truth the next time, and the next time.

Welcome visitors.

Listen to those who know you are not well. Welcome their questions, even if you have no answers, even if you don’t know why they ask it. Let yourself be available, candid, trusting. Do this not because it is comfortable, but because it keeps us from getting unaccountable, gruff, and removed from the day to day realities of the people around us. Welcome and listen to them, knowing we learn most about ourselves when we have interruptions.

Our hope for healing may be in how much we allow others to show where we are weak. We do not always see what is obvious to others. We may know we obsess over some small points; they may see the big points we are blocking. We may have grown accustomed to our manageable mess. They may see the mounds of chaos that surround us. We may be convinced we have the answers to this terrible tragedy. They may show us we are avoiding the tough questions.

Receive the full strength of women.
It’s a scary thought to imagine a hospital without the dedication, leadership, and joy of women. Now we know this absence is a frightening scenario for any institution. Its hard to imagine that the skewed priorities of preserving an institution’s reputation over the well-being of a damaged child could occur had there been at least one grandmother in the conversations. Men are certainly able to avoid the trappings that come with holding moral authority. They can be kind care-givers. It is just that the current betrayal of trust requires us to no longer impede anyone who can restore guidance, credibility, and confidence to a hurting institution. Golda Meir wrote, “Whether women are better (leaders) than men I cannot say - but I can say they are certainly no worse.”

We need the wisdom from those who have moved civilization forward when others have gone to war. We need the perseverance from those who have stayed with the sick, the uneducated, the hungry. We need the passion from those who know the sting of being ignored. We need the love of those who stay focused an organization’s core mission. Dorothy Day wrote in her autobiography, The Long Loneliness: “I loved the church for Christ made visible. Not for itself, because it was so often a scandal for me."

This week, followers of this Christ enter into their High Holy days, and hear again—to confirm Andrew Greeley’s point—stories of betrayal, angst, and innocent suffering. May this eternal love become more visible, trustworthy, and humble in this vessel that desperately needs reform. May our own encounters with life’s fragility help us to make the church ever closer to what its founder intended; a place where the mistreated, the ill, the sinner all find healing.

Week's End Assignment: Passion Reading!

2010-03-27T12:05:00.009-05:00

If you are anything like me, you are tense navigating this past week's news. You might be celebrating the passage of Health Care Reform, while holding the conflicting responses emerging in a polarized nation's warring verbiage. You recognize the complexity of financial costs associated with such Health Care legislation, and hold these dollar amounts alongside images of uninsured friends and family members, (maybe former students and their relatives) with whom you are in direct relationship. You work diligently to defer judgment about enraged people's responses bombarding your email inbox, Facebook page and television screen, and try to navigate calmly the barrage of words, posing your own critical questions:

(What does health care cost? What does it mean to lead as a democratic nation? How do we model liberty and opportunity for all? How does a government's allocation of tax dollars reflect the priorities of a nation? Where is creation and wellness in this financial picture? Where is education? What is life-giving? What results in death or further destruction? What research and experience do we all need to read, reflect on, or engage in?" )

Perhaps your heart aches with anger and outrage over the headlines announcing the current pope's connection with the sex scandals in the Catholic church. Perhaps you align yourself compassionately with a stance of forgiveness and mercy for all perpetrators, while seeing the past sins in not recognizing the need to acknowledge the many victims. Maybe you struggle as a catholic or religious person who wants to celebrate the tenants of his or her faith in a life-giving, liberating fashion. You want freedom and joy and radical love to be known -- and justice for all people, regardless of their beliefs or skin color or economic standing. You wonder about how you move forward in faith, in hope, in love for all that is at hand in these messy human circumstances. You try to trust that something powerful is at work in the collective conscious of a church -- or in a politicized nation and impassioned people.

You pray.

If you are anything like me, you want to not be so tense. You long to release anger, frustration, and see each headline, email, television broadcast with Love's eyes.

Here's an assignment that I gave my praying, searching, spiritual self this morning, given all at hand. Perhaps you will find this helpful?

Read Passion Sunday's scriptures: Luke 22: 14- 23:56.

If you can make space in your brain, meditate on the story of betrayal. Move closer to the suffering of Christ. Hold fast to the tensions present in the innocent being tortured. Marvel at all the human dimensions that this enfolding drama extends -- while recognizing the radically transformative outcomes - of Divine proportion -- that are possible in this Passion tale.

Then find yourself in this story. Locate your current leaders. Consider present lawmakers alive and in this narrative. See the uninsured and abused. See how you are all connected, all one. And let your heart, mind, and spirit be softened, as you let go of your need to know everything, be in control, or be right.

Let Love lead you.

The Conversion and Calling of Oscar Romero – Alive and Inviting us to North Minneapolis?

2010-03-24T16:28:00.012-05:00

The following was originally posted at the Visitation Sisters of North Minneapolis blog site.

"I do not believe in death without resurrection. If they kill me, I will be resurrected in the Salvadoran people."
-Archbishop Oscar Romero

Today marks the 30th anniversary of the martyrdom of Salvadorian Archbishop Oscar Romero. As I hold this man's legacy and witness to the gospel in my prayers, I think about Romero's story. I meditate on his conversion experience. I think about how he went from being a bookish sort of fellow, intentionally removed from any sort of gospel activism, to one who became immersed in prayerful action for an oppressed and impoverished people, unpacking and applying the tenets of liberation theology. I am moved as I contemplate what transformed his heart, his spirit, his presence in the warring nation of El Salvador. I imagine the night, just three weeks into his appointment as archbishop, that he traveled from the capitol to a country side church in Paisnal, where one of his priests had been murdered - along with two other parishioners - for standing with the peasant farmers in their desire to create farming cooperatives. I see the people gathered around Romero, quietly beseeching his support, and I ache fathoming what anger mixed with compassion must have started a fire in his own heart.

As I contemplate Romero's presence among the terrorized people in this rural community, I wonder how any of his experience inspires or relates to my own - so far removed from Central America? How does his life and witness to Love inform my own call to live as a catholic in this global community? Where am I being invited to stand in solidarity? What spaces of poverty or injustice am I called to witness first hand? How am I being invited to recognize the struggle that calls for the immediacy of Christ's presence?

"God needs the people themselves to save the world . . . The world of the poor teaches us that liberation will arrive only when the poor are not simply on the receiving end of hand-outs from governments or from the churches, but when they themselves are the masters and protagonists of their own struggle for liberation." - Archbishop Oscar Romero

Romero's conversion hinges upon his knowledge and first hand experience with the poor. It's his relationship with the victims of violence, his proximity to the peasants and priestly people struggling to live in peace, that informs his transformed ministry and leadership in El Salvador.

Today in North Minneapolis, the Visitation sisters are going about their daily lives of active prayer and communal ministry. They rise for early morning prayer at 7am, attend mass at 8am with neighbors and friends; go about their days with a commitment to open the door to whoever rings the bell, inviting them to be their vocational calling and "Live Jesus!" They pray again at noon, 4:45pm and 8:15pm. In each internal experience of prayer, the sisters will tune into how they are experiencing Christ alive and calling to them through their neighborhood. They, not unlike Romero, are witnessing to the transformational power of relationship, of proximity to the poor and those living on the margins. They are following in the footsteps of their founders, Francis and Jane, and finding alignment in the gospel narrative of Mary and Elizabeth: visiting and tending to the love wanting to get born in each of us.

In our urban ministry, the Visitation Sisters of North Minneapolis choose to reach out in a special way:

to companion and affirm those who are impoverished and lonely — those living on the fringes of society.
to support those committed to a ministry of peace and justice by sharing our Salesian spirituality with them.
to educate and network with those who, in being materially secure, seek ways of growing in faith, hope and love by bridging with people in our multi-cultural community.
to provide spiritual formation for those affiliated with us in a variety of ways.
- From "Ministry of Prayer and Presence"

Tonight, a group of people ranging in age from 20-45 will convene under the auspices of the Visitation sisters in a space devoted to discernment. These young men and women will be dwelling inside the questions of calling, of vocation; they'll be prayerfully focusing themselves, at least for two hours, on the invitation to live their gifts and honor their divine purposes. They will, not unlike Romero, be invited to "come and see" the love on fire within their own hearts for a ministry, career, calling -- in possible proximity to the poor.

I hold all this information as I pray through my writing this day, marveling at the juxtaposition of the beloved Romero, the presence of the Visitation sisters in North Minneapolis and the way a whole host of men and women are entering into this space of intentional reflection.

Please join me in prayer for all that is at work on this day, and in the many to come, as the spirit of Romero is felt alive and resurrected in the people of Salavador, as well as those many miles beyond: in the hearts and minds and actions of the spiritual beings in North Minneapolis.

Peace and gratitude,
Melissa Borgmann Kiemde
Visitation Companion

Desmond Tutu on Human Rights

2010-03-18T00:37:00.009-05:00

I came across the following writing by Desmond Tutu this week when a friend in Cape Town, South Africa, posted a link to this Washington Post article on her Facebook page. For the past couple of days, I've returned to Archbishop Tutu's words, and been inspired by the simplicity of his message; the largeness of love conveyed in his writing.

I've boldfaced passages that struck me in particular. Let me know what strikes a chord in you.

In love, peace, solidarity,

Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

In Africa, a step backward on human rights

By Desmond Tutu

Friday, March 12, 2010

Hate has no place in the house of God. No one should be excluded from our love, our compassion or our concern because of race or gender, faith or ethnicity -- or because of their sexual orientation. Nor should anyone be excluded from health care on any of these grounds. In my country of South Africa, we struggled for years against the evil system of apartheid that divided human beings, children of the same God, by racial classification and then denied many of them fundamental human rights. We knew this was wrong. Thankfully, the world supported us in our struggle for freedom and dignity.

It is time to stand up against another wrong.

Gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people are part of so many families. They are part of the human family. They are part of God's family. And of course they are part of the African family. But a wave of hate is spreading across my beloved continent. People are again being denied their fundamental rights and freedoms. Men have been falsely charged and imprisoned in Senegal, and health services for these men and their community have suffered. In Malawi, men have been jailed and humiliated for expressing their partnerships with other men. Just this month, mobs in Mtwapa Township, Kenya, attacked men they suspected of being gay. Kenyan religious leaders, I am ashamed to say, threatened an HIV clinic there for providing counseling services to all members of that community, because the clerics wanted gay men excluded.

Uganda's parliament is debating legislation that would make homosexuality punishable by life imprisonment, and more discriminatory legislation has been debated in Rwanda and Burundi.

These are terrible backward steps for human rights in Africa.

Our lesbian and gay brothers and sisters across Africa are living in fear.

And they are living in hiding -- away from care, away from the protection the state should offer to every citizen and away from health care in the AIDS era, when all of us, especially Africans, need access to essential HIV services. That this pandering to intolerance is being done by politicians looking for scapegoats for their failures is not surprising. But it is a great wrong. An even larger offense is that it is being done in the name of God. Show me where Christ said "Love thy fellow man, except for the gay ones." Gay people, too, are made in my God's image. I would never worship a homophobic God.

"But they are sinners," I can hear the preachers and politicians say. "They are choosing a life of sin for which they must be punished." My scientist and medical friends have shared with me a reality that so many gay people have confirmed, I now know it in my heart to be true. No one chooses to be gay. Sexual orientation, like skin color, is another feature of our diversity as a human family. Isn't it amazing that we are all made in God's image, and yet there is so much diversity among his people? Does God love his dark- or his light-skinned children less? The brave more than the timid? And does any of us know the mind of God so well that we can decide for him who is included, and who is excluded, from the circle of his love?

The wave of hate must stop. Politicians who profit from exploiting this hate, from fanning it, must not be tempted by this easy way to profit from fear and misunderstanding. And my fellow clerics, of all faiths, must stand up for the principles of universal dignity and fellowship. Exclusion is never the way forward on our shared paths to freedom and justice.

The writer is archbishop emeritus of Cape Town, South Africa. He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984.

Making Way for Baby K....

2010-03-15T00:56:00.014-05:00

It's time to clean! Spring is here, (or pretending to be with today's glorious sunshine) and I have some serious fever for clearing space! Tidying! Making way! Organizing! (Perhaps you recall my past Queen Mab documentation of transforming spaces when I was readying 1188 Juno for the market?) In the spirit of simplifying and capturing my own cleaning process, I give you this blog entry.

***

Today's Challenge: Prepare our two bedroom apartment for a new child, as well as his or her nine year old older sister to join us for the summer -- all the while maintaining some kind of office/ writing space for moi.

Today's task: Preparing the second bedroom to be not only an office and Gabby's bedroom when she visits, but also a baby room. How to accomplish this? By simply beginning to sort out all the paper work, bills, old files, writing samples, and bags of wedding cards/ programs/ info and clean, dust, remove, recycle, and reassemble.

What follows are snapshots from today's first step in making way for Baby K.
Enjoy! Stay tuned!

Melissa Borgmann Kiemde

Start of Day, entering the 2nd Bedroom/ office...

Evidence of a room that needs to be cleaned! The bed and desk need to be tended to...

What do you see that needs to get addressed on that desk?
Note overwhelming files on top and baskets desiring attention below...

See the files boxes, gift bags, old computer? Can you imagine Baby Kiemde's crib
in the right corner? This is what Francois and I are
thinking and dreaming....
But first: we must clean the shelves!

Maybe you want to note the striped basket as a target object for my sorting and transforming process. Key: get that basket emptied, to receive our incoming mail!

The "Wedding Corner" which includes cards, invites, programs, thank you's, and all sorts of "Wedding Prep" paraphernalia trying to hide beyond the foot of the bed...

To clean it all out, we must first SEE it.
The process of pulling out the baskets and files for sorting...

Mid-way through the process: Paper Recycling is in full effect, along with lots of stacking related documents for next step filing!

Evidence of Work! Two bags of recycling, one stack of sorted folders, documenting teaching/ collaboration work, and those wedding items consolidated for storage!

Aha! Now look at that guest bed and desk top!

Project Corner Clean Sweep: Accomplished!

Yes, a sweetly organized desk. (Perhaps you note less paper and office items in those baskets?)

Computer monitor removed, striped basket cleaned, and a new system for filing cards/ pictures put into place! Amen.

Yes! Red filing box is gone. Next steps: Open that door, and organize in there;
Move the book shelf out to make room for the crib.

STAY TUNED!!

Leaning toward New Life

2010-03-11T00:55:00.009-06:00

My grandfather is in the nursing home dying. He is no longer eating, refusing food, and taking only water for the most part, in tiny sips or doses from a sponge, when he is able. His mind remains sharp, but his body is in rapid decline.

I hold this knowledge in my own limbs as I move through my day, acting as normal as possible, but knowing death is imminent. It's a precious time. A sacred time. These are days, moments of privilege and re-ordered priorities, as family members recognize the closeness of Francis Liewer's passing.

Last Friday afternoon, in lieu of driving directly to Omaha, Nebraska, from St. Paul, Minnesota, to see my siblings, my husband and I changed routes and instead pointed our car to Norfolk, to St. Joseph's nursing home, where my grandfather had just been moved. It was a happy choice we made, shifting our course, and going to my hometown. My mother's voice the other end of the line -- tearful, weary, breaking in a rare occasion, after spending eight days next to her ailing father; Francois and I knew we were being called to grandpa's bedside.

At six months pregnant, I am not only emotional, but my body is larger than it's ever been, carrying baby and new weight, readying and making way toward giving birth. Tending to my grandfather's health brings all aspects of our human bodies and vulnerabilities into fuller awareness. Grandpa's thinning skin, his clammy fingers and touch, the bulging bed covers where underneath, I know, are further apparatus to aid him in blood and bodily fluid flow. I sit next to him at St. Joe's, hold his hand, moisten his dried, cracking lips with a damp cloth, and marvel at the proximity of age, death, wisdom, angels. Inside my own belly, baby Kiemde kicks and rocks, rolls over. The nearness of new life is almost enough to make me buckle: Grandpa's, my child's.

My dear friend Sr. Jill Underdahl recently wrote to me saying that, among other things, "St. Joseph is the patron saint of happy deaths." As a sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet in St. Paul, Jill shared this information about her order's namesake, expanding my prior knowledge of the saint. "Because it is imagined that both Jesus and Mary were present to Joseph at the time of his death, Joseph's death is called 'happy.'" This information makes me smile. In addition to being patron to carpenters, fathers, the universal church, Joseph is busy tending to the dying.

In my previous investigations regarding St. Joseph, I discovered a much cruder kind of patronage placed upon him: that of happy home sales. As I put my Juno Avenue house on the market two years ago, I did much research on this matter, and found a way to move beyond the superstitious "buy-a-St. Joseph-statue-and-bury-him-upside-down-in-your-backyard" action, to my own prayerful, ritualistic way of placing his figure in a sacred spot where I paid some serious homage. I looked on Joseph as father, foster father in some respects, tending to baby Jesus, holding this precious, innocent life: protecting, loving, guiding, nurturing the child from youth into adulthood. I meditated on the many ways that that kind of parenting, that kind of care could be akin to the process of letting go, releasing something, anything beloved, and letting it evolve, become anew.

Selling my house became a seriously spiritual action. I believe St. Joseph oversaw this process. My grandfather passing, is another spiritual action. Here again: I see, (hope, imagine, pray,) Joseph is overseeing this!

As Grandpa releases his body, lets go of his limbs, these human bones and muscles and sinewy tissues that make up his earthly form, and becomes pure Spirit, (as I so believe), St. Joseph is there. As his physical body betrays him in its functioning, I imagine a larger kind of liberation occurring. The tethers of his skin and bone form are retracting, and allowing something inside him to open up, be born anew.

In a few short months, I will give birth to a new baby. At this time, my husband Francois and I have discerned that our child will be delivered at a hospital in downtown St. Paul; it's one bearing the name of "St. Joseph."

Last Friday, holding my grandfather's hand, I looked into his eyes, and asked him if he was aware that we were expecting a baby.

"Yes. You are due on May 5th,"he announced. While he had the date wrong, his knowledge of the correct month Baby Kiemde is to emerge made me beam.

"Grandpa, I have a request: I want you to be there, at the birth,"I said, placing his hand on my stomach. "We will be at St. Joe's, just as you are now, with this saint overseeing things, but we'd like you there in your spirit, pure soul form. Can you promise this?" He smiled when I asked the question. "When our baby is born, he will know you; she will see you, and probably scream and cry. But you will witness this all, and help him or her come forward."

He grabbed my hand again before I left, and squeezed.

These are moments of life I'm clinging to as I lean toward all that is imminent, on the verge of shifting, coming forward, getting born.

In peace, prayers, contemplation,
Melissa Borgmann Kiemde

Bearing the Beams of Love: A Journal Entry from Fr. Pat Malone, S. J.

2010-03-08T14:02:00.013-06:00

The following is a journal entry from Jesuit priest, Fr. Pat Malone, published on his CaringBridge website, where his journey battling recurring leukemia is documented. As a guest presider at the Visitation Monastery in North Minneapolis, I have had the great and good fortune to hear him speak and break bread with him. His homilies always inspire me. These CaringBridge entries are not unlike his homiletic musings. As Pat delves into his own suffering, humanity, he aligns his journey with some larger notions of Love -- with others who have known the intensity of extreme life circumstances, and gleaned some kind of wisdom. His words move me deeply; they are guiding me in my own journey through this season of Lent. I am grateful for having made Pat's acquaintance and extend to you his most recent writing on love, posted below.

Happy Contemplating!
Melissa

***

Journal Entry
Sunday, March 7, 2010
4:32pm

When I served in Peace Corps, I carried a conviction, even if I could not own up to it, that some of these volunteers—and some nearby nuns—could not possibly be as tender as they appeared to be. It is a ruse, and they will explode with snarliness or self-interest when the situation gets too tense. Yet they never did, even in the most wearisome of circumstances. This was true even when their best efforts at helping poor communities were thwarted at the last minute by others’ greed.

On the contrary, the more demanding and unfair the situation, the more these ordinary souls showed tenderness, tolerance, charm. It would have been understandable had they let slip some sign of contempt, or sarcasm, or self-entitlement. Yet they plugged along with an apparent trust in humanity’s goodness. None of these inspiring souls was trying to make a statement; none was naive to the odds that future projects could be just as vulnerable to failure. Yet they could not keep from evoking a rare mix of pragmatism and joy.

If they were formidable forces—a title they would laugh at—it was not because they insisted but because they invited. You trusted them. You wanted to hang with them, whether it was for a round of tea or for a big project, because you knew that they must trust that things will work out. It would be years later that I would understand that the great value of working in extreme environments is not what was accomplished, but what was absorbed from those who seem to be grounded in love.

It would be years later that I would understand that the great value of working in extreme environments is not what was accomplished, but what was absorbed from those who seem to be grounded in love.

In her book, Holy the Firm, Annie Dillard writes: “Angels, I read, belong to nine different orders. Seraphs are the highest; they are aflame with love for God, and stand closer to him than the others. Seraphs love God; cherubs, who are second, possess perfect knowledge of him. So love is greater than knowledge; how could I have forgotten?”

Most of us earth-bound pilgrims can easily forget the proper order of things, but there seems to always be individuals nearby who ground us in ancient truths. We will not pick up on all their cues, and they will certainly not showcase their great insight. All we know is that we like to hang with them. We wonder how they maintain such tenderness in a world that seems to revel in crushing it.

We humans do not love well. Perhaps the temptation to put knowledge or other attractions above love is too great. But if there is any lasting lesson from Peace Corps that carries over into this health adventure, it is that even if we do not love well, we do it better than any other action. When I have to come off as knowledgeable, people will get hurt. That never works well. When it is vital that I be necessary, I will get in the way. When it is critical that I be outraged, I will get exhausted. When I have to be taken seriously, I become a burden. When I am overly suspicious of others’ sincerity, I am as useful as an Internet troll.

When I have to come off as knowledgeable, people will get hurt. That never works well. When it is vital that I be necessary, I will get in the way. When it is critical that I be outraged, I will get exhausted. When I have to be taken seriously, I become a burden. When I am overly suspicious of others’ sincerity, I am as useful as an Internet troll. But when I try to love, I will sometimes succeed.

But when I try to love, I will sometimes succeed. I will certainly absorb the goodness in others that before may have seemed too unbelievable. I will be less on an automatic pilot to be suspicious, more inclined to notice those who are grounded in something other than human attractions. I will quit trying to analyze if another’s disproportionate kindness is genuine, and more disposed to see such extravagance in the least likely of places. “The most important question any of us will ask,” Albert Einstein wrote, “is whether we believe that the universe is a friendly place.”

A Jesuit companion scribbled in a get well card, "In the end, of course, its only love that will resolve everything, so let's keep practicing." We practice not in the delusion that we will do it perfectly, but because nothing else resolves. Love does not remove horrors. It does stop us from, at times, hurting people out of misplaced frustration. It does not rough out unfinished business. It resolves. It integrates. It is gives a proper perspective. It gives to us, as it does to burning seraphs, a chance to be light.

Love does not remove horrors. It does stop us from, at times, hurting people out of misplaced frustration. It does not rough out unfinished business. It resolves. It integrates. It is gives a proper perspective. It gives to us, as it does to burning seraphs, a chance to be light.

The human love we receive is not always pure, welcomed, understood, or well-timed. The same is true for what we throw out there. But enough times in our lives we receive lovethat boggles. It is the love that burns out even the most entrenched parts of our cynicism. Such a purging is not sweet. Arrogance does not leave us without a fight. But receiving such over-the-top gentleness eventually heals even the deepest of wounds. That has been the lasting lesson from this health journey. As William Blake wrote in the poem The Little Black Boy, "And, we are put on earth a little space, that we may learn to bear the beams of love.”

It takes time a lifetime to fully bear these beams. So we don't forget, some folk take 40 days each year to get re-grounded in this ancient truth. It is a prayer that we will place love as the formidable force of our lives.

-May my love be the primary motivation when making decisions.
-May my love be humble, helping me put others before self.
-May my love be courageous, not waiting for others to love me first.
-May my love be healing, not afraid to enter the world’s suffering.
-May my love be genuine, with no effort to persuade or manipulate.
-May my love be enduring, tolerating the ebbs and flows that accompany all relationships.
-May my love be holy, without limits, without preconditions, without scrutiny.

Fr. Pat Malone, S. J.

Our Wedding Celebration in Review: Melissa and Francois Kiemde

2010-02-19T15:10:00.040-06:00

Queen Mab Friends, Family, Readers -- Far and Wide:

Perhaps you were able to be with us physically on our wedding day; perhaps you joined us in prayer from afar; either way, we hope you enjoy these images documenting what was an amazing experience for us. Gratitude goes out to each and everyone of you who helped us bring forward this blessed day -- one celebrating love, commitment, community. We recognize how truly fortunate we are to join in this blessed sacrament of marriage. We wish that each and every person called to loving commitment would have such an opportunity. What an honor it is; what a joy, now, to share these pictures with all of you.

Blessings to all this day! Here's to celebrating many seasons of Love!

Melissa and Francois

Rehearsal Dinner and Wedding Prep Site

Hello Dress!

Hair and Make-Up Artist Extraordinaire: Rhonda Jackson!

Blessed shoes

Across town at St. Jane House, the Groom and his bridal party prepare themselves...

Beloved "Gabby Love, Love!"

I love this man's laugh and smile!

Daddy and his little girl

Beautiful Frederic and Handsome Francois

Bouquet (and all flowers) arranged by Antoinette Bennaars-Mawanda; Engagement Ring handed down by the Liewer/Arduser Great Grandparents; Gold bands: Kay Jewelers

Seeing each other for the first time

Ms. Sassy and Ms. Sassy: all dressed up!

The Kiemde Clan

Kisses for dad!

The Borgmann Clan and newest members...

To the Walker Sculpture Garden!

We know the beauty and abundance of the "Cherry in the Spoon.."

Wedding Party, from Left to Right, Back Row:
Aaron Borgmann, Usher; Francois Zongo, Groomsman; Ben Borgmann, Usher;
Middle Row: Marianna Toth, Bridesmaid; Stephanie Johnson, Matron of Honor; Melissa Borgmann, Bride; Francois Kiemde, Groom; Frederic Nassa, Best Man; Joy Chaney, Bridesmaid;
Front Row: Gabby Kiemde, Groom's Girl

Our Wedding Party ROCKS!

So does our photographer, and her eye: Alisa Foreman, Shadow Lake Portraits

More poses in front of Frank Gehry's "Standing Glass Fish"

Loving the Art!

Artwork: "Five Plates, Two Poles" --
and a Bride, Groom and Bouquet?

Back at the church, we add bridesman, David Mann,
and Usher, Matt Peiken to our Wedding Party Photos

The Music!
Thank you to the St. Olaf International Choir, along with other Church of St. Philip singers and musicians, who all nicely round out our wedding ensemble

Nadege Ouevi sings a prelude tune in French

Let the wedding-aisle-walking commence!

Thank you Mom and Dad for getting me this far...

Our trifecta of priests: Fr. Dave Liewer, Fr. Dale Korogi, Fr. Jules Omba Omalanga

Sr. Rafael Tilton, OSF, proclaiming the Word...

Before a beautifully peopled prayer space...

Ann Shallbetter and Julie Strahan lead the congregation in music

Jeffrey Bissoy reads from Corinthians

Collaboration, singing, "The Lord is My Light!"

Our unity candle ritual becomes a COMM-UNITY ritual

Love this Light!

Francois and Melissa light their candle from the community flames

Fr. Dale Korogi delivers a beautiful homily (always!)

Sr. Jill Underdahl, CSJ, is the first to read her prayers of the faithful,
written for this occassion, alongside Zac Willette.

Can you tell we love their words?

More beautiful musicians!

I love this man so much!

Breaking the bread (Thanks to Lee George who baked our eucharist)

The community blessing

Procession out! Gabby Leads the way....

Our wedding cake, courtesy of Carolyn Sawyer and Mark Wenzel

What a feast! Thank you to all of our blessed guests who made this banquet possible, bringing food to share with the entire community. And Merci to Mark, Olga and the nuns, for laying it all out so magnificently...

Pot Lucks are really amazing, you know?

Center pieces and decor, courtesy of Olga Nichols and Brian Mogren: Team Ambiance!

What's a table without roses, candles and champagne? Ha!

And the Open Mic commences with Bridesman, Emcee Extraordinaire, David Mann

Zac Willette, our master of ceremonies from the Rehearsal Dinner, returns to toast us after his beautiful words on hunger, love and abundance, the night before.
WE LOVE THIS MAN!

Julie Landsman warms us with her words

Brendan Teehan sings, "Sweet Melissa"

Friend Jody Tigges with her toast

Berato Wilson, Former North High Writing as Performance Student and Teens Rock the Mic poet graces the stage and silences the guest with his original poem

Delaney Melissa Teehan, God-daughter and toastmaster extraordinaire!

Another sung toast: Beautiful Brent Floren

Our dear friend Colette DeHarpporte with a reflection on love by Jesuit, Pedro Arrupe

Kathryn Kaatz with wise words for us all

Our best man, Frederic Nassa, honors his longtime friend, Francois Kiemde

Groomsan, Francois "Jr" Zongo, toasts baker/ mentor/ friend/Groom, Francois "Sr." Kiemde

And the matron of honor toasts her sister Melissa

Nephews Noah and Trent Borgmann round out the musical toasts right before....

Parents of the Bride, Beth and Steve Borgmann, sing their toast
to love and one another:
"You are My Sunshine!"
(such fine harmonizing by these two!)

Can you hear Francois laughing?

How about Melissa giggling?

Our toasters are so entertaining; we are so fortunate!

It's unanimous: We love the Open Mic Tributes to Love!

Bring on the Band!

The good, bad, funky: Hookers and Blow!

People of all ages will rock out

Guests from Francois' family in Madison: Sister Agnes Kiemde,

and former countryman, Saidou Kabore, with his wife Veronica

Hello musicians...

Yes! We love the music!

More boogying! Kathryn and Larry get down!

Two crazy cats find one another to dance it out...

Happy, dancing family of Liewers

Wedding Reception hosts: John and Mary Michaels

Much love and gratitude for our journey ahead....
Merci Beaucoup!

One Tribe! One People! Meditating on the Black-Eyed Peas' Tune...

2010-02-07T11:19:00.004-06:00

My friend Emily Burt-McGregor tagged me in a facebook post last evening as she referred to this Black Eyed Peas video. I had never seen or heard this tune, but found myself playing it and smiling. The song's lyrics made me tap my toes, nod my head and sing back to the screen, (my apartment windows, Marshall Avenue, the Mississippi River -- the world):
WE ARE ONE PEOPLE! ONE TRIBE!
ONE PEOPLE!

Do you agree?
Amen.
Happy Contemplating!
Melissa

Blogging for the Visitation Monastery in North Minneapolis

2010-01-30T13:10:00.010-06:00

Family, Friends, Fans of "QueenMab" -- Far and Wide:

In the days, weeks, and months to come, I'll be devoting much more of my time to a new blog and website. The Visitation Sisters of North Minneapolis have asked me to write and host a blogsite for them as part of their vocations initiative to find "seven visionary women to be a prayerful presence in North Minneapolis." It's an absolute honor and privilege to be part of this campaign.

As many of you know, these nuns are near and dear to my heart; they've kept me not only breathing and upright over the course of the past decade, but cultivated a deep spirit of gratitude, expanding faith, and sense of hope as I've made my way from teaching at Minneapolis North High, and moved out into the world, trying to honor a calling to make change, build relationships, love, create and live well.

You have been with me through the "Teens Rock the Mic" and "Juno Collective" days; helped me host delightful, artful writing and teaching humans from abroad; followed along and aided in the transformation and sale of 1188 Juno; trekked through Africa with me on a six week journey at the start of my 40th year; and been witness to Francois Xavier Kiemde's courtship of yours truly, alongside our subsequent marriage.... Together, we have cracked open poems and scripture; asked contemplative questions on topics of leadership, governance and global citizenship; and meditated on the mundane. I invite you now to join me on this next adventure with the nuns! Come along as we search for these seven new women, explore the daily interactions at the monastery, and inhabit another contemplative realm where faith and action intersect.

Your good thoughts and prayers are deeply appreciated as we commence on this journey -- as I attempt to honor the fullness of these women's lives in this blog-writing venture....Who knows? Maybe you are acquainted with one of these women we are seeking? Perhaps this life of prayer and service speaks to you?

Love, Blessings,
Melissa Borgmann Kiemde
Visitation Vocations
www.visitationmonasteryminneapolis.org

"The Long Way Here" - Another Immigrant Narrative from John's Hopkin's Surgeon

2010-01-05T10:42:00.004-06:00

The following was recommended to me by a friend in response to the posting about my husband's own immigration narrative. I share Dr. Kofi Boahane's story with incredible regard and awe for what he endured, (what people endure) to reach their dreams....Watch, consider the questions it raises, maybe say thank you for where each of you are today?

Some questions this video inspires me to ask:
Where would Kofi be without his persistence?
What would have happened had his chemistry professor not co-signed his loans?
What relationships are necessary for any of us to "succeed" or see our dreams into being?
When have you been "detained" from moving forward in life? What have the consequences been for you?
Who do you have to thank for where you are?
Who takes time to really get to know a colleague born outside their immediate community?
How do we celebrate the gift of our journeys to this moment, this place, and honor our respective paths?

Happy Contemplating...
Melissa

Immigration and Epiphany: A Sunday Meditation

2010-01-03T18:20:00.008-06:00

NOTE: The following is an introduction I wrote for a reflection delivered at mass today at the Church of St. Philip in North Minneapolis. My husband and another parishioner were asked to speak as immigrants in this country, and share from their perspectives about what it has meant to journey beyond their places of birth, in the hopes of resettling and making a better life for themselves. Because Francois had to work, he asked that I deliver his narrative in his stead. We followed fellow parishioner, John Allagh, from Nigeria. John spoke beautifully of the Bible as "Immigration/ Migration Handbook," and challenged us all to consider how we are immigrants, on a journey. On this day, I fell in love all over again with my faith community and the large spirit of love, awareness, culture, diversity, justice and injustice that play out in the world and local community. I was moved deeply by and reminded that we are a people of radical hospitality and welcoming at CSP, striving to realize and celebrate our common humanity.

***

Sunday, January 3, 2010.

Homiletic Reflection

It’s powerful to hear people’s stories - their first person account or witness of their lives. As a former English teacher, and writer myself, my livelihood is wrapped up in narratives. I can’t think of a more incredible privilege, too, than listening to a person reflect on what they have encountered, and how they make sense of their journeys. Last week at St. Philip's we had Cece Ryan offering her first person account and meditation on questions of the Holy Family, and this week, we have the awesome privilege of hearing John Allagh, and a tale from my husband, Francois Kiemde.

As Fr. Jules has said, "Today’s service is dedicated to Immigration." Stories of people going on journeys, crossing borders and oceans in the hope and desire of resettling, of a making a better life for themselves somewhere else, and realizing their dreams…..

Today is also the Feast of the Epiphany. Of wise men encountering and recognizing the Christ Child in their midst.

As a contemplative person, I wonder,

“How do the two intersect? What does it mean to be an immigrant? What does it mean to experience the epiphany? Or to have an epiphany? How can hearing stories and reflecting on journeys trigger insight? Expand our minds and hearts to fuller knowledge of Christ in our midst?”

These are my questions as I close out today’s homiletic reflection time and space with my husband, Francois Kiemde’s story. As I read you his reflection, I invite you to consider your own tale of crossing borders, of seeking experiences and being a person of hope and opportunity, someone likewise recognizing the Divine in their midst…

Note: For a copy of Francois' narrative, please email us.

Merci!

"Holy is His Name" - Note (and News) from Clive, IA

2009-12-22T10:27:00.007-06:00

The following was originally written as a faith reflection and update for my Norfolk Catholic high school classmates. I edited it to post here as a spiritual reflection; I share this with all of you as friends and family invited to witness Francois and my marriage. Happy holidays!
***
Hey Friends!

I am holed up here in Clive, Iowa, where my car broke down yesterday, and I wake to read emails, eat my oatmeal, and try to enjoy the delay (and expense) in returning home to Minnesota....*chuckles* sigh*smile*

Part of my morning routine is perusing scripture and wondering about how God is talking to me each day.....Today's Gospel* features "the Magnificat," or "Song of Mary"-- a text that inspires a canticle I adore: "Holy is His Name."

Mary is speaking and rocking my world with her words about God, about child, about being blessed, about the power of Love. Spending time with the text this morning, I keep hearing Ann Shallbetter and Julie Strahan singing this at my wedding. I am standing, holed up in the Children's room at St. Philips, leaning into the speakers to hear my friends sing this song as prelude to walking down the aisle. Or: I am standing alongside my dad last Sunday, at St. Margaret Mary's in Omaha, where my brother in law, Chris Johnson sings this song with his church choir. And my heart is happy. It's such a beautiful tune, inspired by such a powerful text....

I wonder what words each of us might be inspired to utter in the face of faith, this season's experiences? I wonder what I might be inspired to say, given the miracles and blessings of God's love?

For all of you who may not know yet, I share this piece of news that has me feeling blessed this Christmas season:

Francois Kiemde and I are expecting a baby! It's so exciting, it's so fast, it feels like such an overwhelming miracle and mystery...ALL OF IT! Meeting him, connecting in our faith, and finding the blessed capacity to commit to communicating and loving each other the rest of our days, and then conceiving this baby....It's all so much larger than me. I feel a bit like Mary,

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; the Almighty has done great things for me, He has filled the hungry (me!) with good things --(a baker and baby!)

I invite each of you to celebrate with us at this good news, and to keep us and this growing child in your prayers. (We will be having an ultrasound in two short weeks, and simply ask for a healthy child to be born....Can you imagine Mary asking for a healthy ultrasound? It makes me laugh as I write this... ) By the way , we are due in late May.

I also invite each of you to celebrate in the spaces where you are "holed up" this season, and to see how any miracles are manifesting your midst.....God is good. I am grateful for all of you in my life.

Peace, Advent blessings,

Melissa, on behalf of Francois and child

****

Gospel

Lk 1:46-5

Mary said:

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;
my spirit rejoices in God my savior.
for he has looked upon his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him
in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm,
and has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel
for he remembered his promise of mercy,
the promise he made to our fathers,
to Abraham and his children for ever."

Mary remained with Elizabeth about three months

and then returned to her home.

Inctivus, Advent, Incarnation...

2009-12-21T00:23:00.017-06:00

I wonder who among you has seen the recent film entitled, "Invictus"? Starring Morgan Freeman, as the newly-released-from-prison/ newly-elected-to-office President Nelson Mandela, alongside Matt Damon, playing South African Springbok Rugby captain, Francois Pienaar, the film places us squarely inside South Africa's transition from Apartheid rule to a free, Democratic nation. The time and period in our world's recent history is not without incredible charge, strife, and division among people. It's a time and period that calls us all to deeper reflection and contemplation of what it means to be united in the face of incredible adversity, diversity, conviction.

Enter Mandela. Enter a leader who exemplifies a radically new kind of authority and governance: one that is deeply acquainted with the victim, with the experience of the oppressed and marginalized, and yet is one who leads from a transcended space of love, compassion, and forgiveness. Enter Pienaar, another leader of sorts, who is called into this space to inspire his peers beyond their comfort and convictions into a place of equally transcended and transported action. Mandela and Pienaar are two starkly contrasted men who this film centers around in the name of delivering a narrative of hope and promise, of victory over fear and ignorance; it's a tale about the unity of people in spirit, mind, body.

On one hand, Invictus is an American film examining the post-Apartheid times and circumstances of our South African brothers and sisters. As a Clint Eastwood Production, it comes to the American public in this package and presentation that, for me as viewer, invites me to receive it within this lens. The Dirty-Harry-Unforgiven-Gran-Torino Eastwood delivers this story in a way that I must embrace as gift, as he - and the film's creators - present us with these larger questions around leadership and unity in the midst of deep divide. (How are the film's themes applicable to the American public? The larger world? It's rich!)

On another hand, Invictus is a David and Goliath sports flick, giving us an underdog team in the Springboks that strives to defeat the giant opponent in New Zealand's All Blacks. It is Hollywood flexing its American muscles inside a biblical metaphor. It's a film that culminates in sweet victory, a virtual miracle of sorts unfolding before our eyes when we all consider the human odds of Black and White camps and convictions, experience and athleticism, going into battle.

And now, a week after seeing the film, still reviewing a number of its moving scenes in my mind, I hold the fullness of the film's lessons about transcendent leadership and possibilities, inside of this Advent season. Invictus comes to me this day in a much larger light, one where its characters are considered inside of a faith perspective; that where a divine presence enters our midst and is seen in the most obscure places. Mandela as a President emerging from South Africa's apartheid prison. Pienaar as post-Apartheid athlete unifier. The uncanny, unfathomable, seemingly impossible, becomes possible, tanglible, quite real in this tale. There is an incarnation witnessed in this film as the should-be-conquered and conquerable reveal themselves to be as the movie title states: Invictus, Unconquerable.

I can see a Christ-figure born in each of these men: Mandela as compassionate intellectual posing questions of unity and leadership, inviting the black majority of South Africa to reconsider its battles with the former white majority rule. ("Why overturn the Springbok green and gold?) Pienaar, as athletic leader who wrestles with his privilege, his comfort, and ventures to see inspiration and possibility through the "other's" perspective. The rugby captain actually traveling to the new president's former prison cell at Robben Island, and contemplating what captivity has taught him about the human spirit, about compassion, about the invincibility of an unjustly accused and condemned man.

Whatever lens you choose to view this film through, I invite you to simply view it! Consider how its characters and circumstances speak to your heart. Consider these questions:

What does it mean to lead? What is at the center of your beliefs and actions? What inspires nations and its citizens? What creates hope and optimism in your own home? What is possible in the face of great odds? What is trying to get born in you today, in your work, on your field, in your lab, in your mind, within your family or community? How are you called to respond? Do you see yourself as unconquerable? Do you know that beauty and the divine dwell within and all around? Do you recognize your own capacity to forgive, to transcend those who have caused you the greatest grief or injury?

This season, I invite you all to see this film and meditate on its themes and many questions.

In peace and contemplation,

Love,

Melissa

Transcending Cynicism: A Bit on Rumi before Marriage

2009-11-24T21:27:00.007-06:00

I spent the better part of yesterday on a date with Rumi. You all know the Sufi Mystic, yes? Poet. Scholar. Teacher. Big souled, larger-than-any-one-faith gent who lived in the 13 century. The Beloved of Sham's. ---Shoot! I claim him as My beloved, after all of our dancing and screaming and giggling together! If you read his poetry, then you know what I'm speaking of. This fellow, Mr. Jelaluddin Rumi, has a capacity to engage. To nail a point on the head, to expand your breathing with a question, and invite your imagination into the realm of the truly inconceivable, impossible. Rumi's voice and words, (in my apartment: translated by Coleman Barks) make me think anything is possible. And when I fight what Rumi is saying, the way his words resonate deeply within me, still: he fights back. He sort of kicks back, in the gentlest of ways -- with each line of poetry or prose simply saying, "surrender."

I went looking for a simple poem to include in my wedding program. I ended up with fifteen. I of course whittled it down, but goodness, what a process!

The one I'm choosing to post here, and share with you all today, wasn't really a finalist for the wedding program, but rather: one I put a bookmark on as I thought of you. As I imagined the "other" in my own body, the visitor who shows up to read my thoughts, the contemplative friend who holds similar queries about the world and faith and poetry with me: I thought of you. I thought this poem fitting to extend to you.

In this poem, Rumi draws on Old Testament figures, while combining them with the mundane and contemporary. He speaks to the smallest being within each of us, and holds our fears and insecurities up before our critical, fleeing minds, and then asks us to hold still. He invites us to see our brokenness, but accept it humbly, and then courageously step forward. He identifies our darkest, cynical selves, and seemingly slaps us silly with a simple consideration: to have faith -- or to at least fake it. He invites us to consider our fullest sense of being, living, loving, honoring. Whew. I love him.

Read on! Enjoy! Let me know what you think!

The wilderness way Moses took
was pure need and desolation.

Remember how you cried when you were a child?

Joseph's path to the throne room of Egypt
where he distributed grain to his brothers
led through the pit his brothers left him in.

Don't look for new ways
to flee across the chessboard.
Listen to hear the checkmate
spoken directly to you.

Mice nibble. That's what they need
to be doing. What do you need?
How will you impress the one
who gave you life?

If all you can do is crawl,
start crawling.

You have a hundred cynical fantasies
about God. Make them ninety-nine!

If you can't pray a real prayer, pray
hypocritically, full of doubt
and dry-mouthed.

God accepts
counterfeit
money
as though
it were real!

- Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks in "The Illuminated Rumi"

Happy Contemplating!

Love,

Melissa

Poetry on Palestine and Israel: Check out Sunday, 10/25 in D.C.

2009-10-24T00:43:00.003-05:00

"We need authentic, honest discourse in the American Jewish community. It must start today and it must be about Palestine and Israel.

" - Kevin Coval, excerpted from the Huffington Post, 10/24.

I'm posting the following as an act of support for the poet activists speaking out on behalf of dialogue on a complex issue of our time. How to address Israel? How to understand the US's role? How to unpack the many narratives told by Palestinians, Israelis, World Leaders, Military and Peace figures? I received a letter earlier in the week describing a truly sad and unfortunate censoring of these poet activists, Kevin Coval and Josh Healey, who were originally invited to come and speak at JStreet. I know Josh through his work at Madison's First Wave Spoken Word program, as well as meeting him at Brave New Voices International Youth Poetry Slam. I encourage any and all who are able to tune in to this important dialogue, and participate on Sunday.

Peace,
Melissa
***
WE WILL NOT BE SILENT: POETRY ON PALESTINE AND ISRAEL

with Kevin Coval and Josh Healey

Sunday, October 25
4:00-5:30pm
Busboys and Poets, Langston Room
2021 14th St, NW (near U Street Metro station)
Washington, DC

This past week, Kevin Coval and Josh Healey were censored and un-invited from this weekend's J Street conference in D.C. as a result of attacks in various right-wing blogs and online magazines. In defiance of these McCarthyist attacks, and J Street's subsequent accommodation, Coval and Healey have decided to proceed with the original event.

They will share their poems and dialogue about Israel/Palestine, identity and justice, and (especially now) free speech. No longer part of the J Street gathering, this event is open to the whole community: conference attendees, artists, activists, youth, elders, Jews, Palestinians, gentiles, and anyone down to build.

Free event. All-ages, all are welcome.

For background on the situation, see:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kevin-coval/searching-for-a-minyan-ou_b_327597.html
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1122325.html

For more info, contact jewsthatareleft@gmail.com

* * * * *

"Ancestors:" A Meditation

2009-10-16T11:56:00.006-05:00

It's my grandmother Borgmann's 95th birthday next week. Our family is gathering from all over the Midwest - and beyond - to celebrate this matriarch of our clan who resides in Osmond, Nebraska. Ninety five years. What has someone seen in 95 years? Whew. What have they lived through? Makes my head spin trying to imagine.

Grandma Adeline's youngest child, my aunt Marian, has been compiling memories of Grandma B. As the last in the brood of 11, Marian is sort of the family historian. She began a book project for her mother - that includes a chapter devoted to each of her eleven children. These pages swirl in my mind this morning. I can see the pictures and bios of all my aunts and uncles, each of my cousins making an attempt to document their lives. It's an act of deep regard, reverence, I think. The book is a way to honor Julia Adeline Schilling Borgmann's time on the planet. It's a way for each and everyone of us to take stock of where we come from. In the same vein, I think it is also an equal invitation to consider where we are going.

Where will we be at age 95? How many of us will be around? What will we have witnessed? What will we have created? What will we have let go? What will our homes and hearts, families, careers look like? Where will we reside?

Enter: Today's poem. Harvey Ellis' work, "ancestors," shared this day on "The Writer's Almanac," thrusts me smack dab into the middle of all these questions. I am surrounded by contemplations of not only Julia Adeline, but of her spouse, Johnny. I can see the sapia-hued photographs and skin tones of Edna Bell Arduser, Great Grandpa Liewer, the scads of boxed images of my mixed-German-ancestry. I wonder if a picture of Clara or Matthias is contained anywhere - as the original owners of my engagement diamond? I know Great Grandpa Henry is there -- the boxer who rode the train from Cincinnati. I return to Grandma B, and recall her own train ride tales over the US landscape. I can hear her deep, baritone voice, tell me about traveling from Reno and back, with a divorcee, (whose name was Rose?). I recall my own awe-struck silence listening to her first hand account of meeting Amelia Earhart at a Chicago Luncheon while visiting a cousin. I see her sewing and making sandwiches for a Jewish family she nannied for on the east coast, prior to her own married and mothering days. I try to fathom my own life, with her alongside me. Her blood and marrow in my own bones. Her parents - and all of my other Borgmann/ Schilling/ Liewer/ Arduser ancestors - filling out the sinews of my body. Their lives informing mine. Their steps, tracks, train rides, boat-rides, guiding mine.

It's something to consider, you know?

I invite you to read Ellis' poem copied below. Drink it in. Meditate on your own ancestry. Who is beside you? Who is breathing within? How are you moving and stretching and making things happen today? What parent, aunt, uncle, great-great, do you want to draw on in your journey at this moment? You know they are close by.

Happy Contemplating!

Melissa

ancestors

by Harvey Ellis

my ancestors surround me
like walls of a canyon
quiet
stone hard
their ideas drift over me
like breezes at sunset

we gather sticks
and make settlements
what we do is only partly
our own
and partly continuation
down through the chromosomes

my son
my baby sleeps behind me
stirring in the night
for the touch
that lets him continue

he is arranging
in his small form the furniture
and windows of his home

it will be a lot like mine
it will be a lot like theirs

"ONE:" The Fight Against Global Poverty

2009-09-30T21:55:00.000-05:00

This website inspires me. I got turned onto this work when my friend Ibe Kaba posted a link to the "ONE" organization during the G20 Summit in Pittsburgh, on his facebook page. The idea of this summit being hosted somewhere on the continent of Africa is being proposed. This notion excites me. Check out the mural. Check out the website. Sit with these basic questions:

What is the fight against global poverty?
What does this mean for me?
What does it require of you?
What must each of us get conscious of?
How is each and everyone of us an agent of change?

Peace, Love, Contemplation, ACTION!
Melissa

On "An Invitation to be Heard": Tuning into the Truth of Poetry. Story. Experience.

2009-09-18T15:01:00.011-05:00

What does it mean to share stories? To read them aloud to one another? To record them, write them down in the first place? What does it mean to speak a personal narrative into the air? Why do people share tales? What experiences inspire reflection and acts of private and public disclosure? Love, heartache, loss, betrayal, birth, death, faith, miracles, desire? What happens when we share our tales, and really hear ourselves and one another speak?

In the coming weeks, I will have the privilege of helping facilitate "Listening Sessions" at the Church of St. Philip in North Minneapolis. As part of our Social Justice committee work, we have discerned a call to hold two evening sessions inviting people who have left the church to return and share their stories. We are creating space for former parishioners to gather and reflect. We are asking those who choose to come to respond to three simple questions:

What called you to the St. Philip Community initially?
Where are you now and what do you like about it?
What would you like to share with us about the circumstances that have caused you to change churches or stay away?

As I prepare for these evenings, I'm tuning my heart, mind, spirit to these questions. I'm meditating on this action of being deeply attentive, validating, and acknowledging of all that I hear. I'm listening to my own inner voice, and how I react to circumstances and people throughout the day. I'm practicing the hard work it is to defer judgment, and simply receive information. I'm reading poetry.

Our goal in having these sessions is to do the work of story-telling: of truth-telling, sharing, hearing, acknowledging, and reconciling. Our goal is to tune in, not unlike the poet, to the heart of matters, to details, to the Divine at work and in our midst. As I ready myself, I'm re-reading poems. I'm struck time and again by Mary Oliver, Rainer Maria Rilke, William Stafford. Today, I tune to an old favorite by William Stafford, and realize that his poem holds lessons around why I am called to do any of this work of listening, sharing stories, responding. I invite each and everyone of you into this poem - into reading it as an act of prayer and meditation. And I ask that you please keep these "Listening Sessions" in your heart.

Thank you.
Enjoy!
Happy Contemplating!
Melissa

****

A Ritual to Read to Each Other
by William Stafford (1960)

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park.
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give --yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

On "Particle Physics" - Posting a Poem for Quantum Love?

2009-09-17T00:13:00.004-05:00

From Today's Writer's Almanac, a poem that perplexes and pleases me. A Quantum physics poem, to be sure. Or is it a baseball poem? Or lost love poem? Hmmmm.....
Critical response questions follow. Read on.

Particle Physics
by Julie Kane

They say two photons fired through a slit
stay paired together to the end of time;
if one is polarized to change its spin,
the other does a U-turn on a dime,
although they fly apart at speeds of light
and never cross each other's paths again,
like us, a couple in the seventies,
divorced for almost thirty years since then.
Tonight a Red Sox batter homered twice
to beat the Yankees in their playoff match,
and, sure as I was born in Boston, when
that second ball deflected off the bat,
I knew your thoughts were flying back to me,
though your location was a mystery.

"Particle Physics" by Julie Kane from Jazzy Funeral. © Story Line Press, 2009. Reprinted with permission. Information about the WCU Poetry Center.
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Questions:
What would it mean to be fired through a slit together?
You and me?
Have you ever wondered what makes one polarized?
What gives you a charge?
Know anyone to turn on a dime?
Can you fathom the speed of light?
How would it feel to never lay eyes on her again? Or him?
Would you ache?
How are baseball and physics and love all connected?
(Have you seen "Bull Durham"? I wonder if Susan Sarandon reads such poems or blogs?) What is your location?
Who do you love?
What have you lost?
How can we win home runs in love?
What do particles do when they divorce?
What do particles do when they love?
What are you and I made up of?
What does our matter say to these queries?
To this poem?
Can we ever put our finger on mystery?

Happy Questions and Contemplation!
Love,
Melissa

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