Juxtaposition: Embrace

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.

Today's Writer's Almanac Poem: "Flannery's Angel"

Flannery's Angel
by Charles Wright

Lead us to those we are waiting for,
Those who are waiting for us.
May your wings protect us,
may we not be strangers in the lush province of joy.

Remember us who are weak,
You who are strong in your country which lies beyond the thunder,
Raphael, angel of happy meeting,
resplendent, hawk of the light.

"Flannery's Angel" by Charles Wright, from Sestets: Poems. © Farrar, Strauss, Giroux, 2009. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

***

What a great poem for today. I slurp homemade Italian Wedding soup, think of the bread baker that has come into my life - and read Charles Wright's words, marveling at the way it all feels connected.

Soup.

Bread.

Angels.

Amen.

I'm happy to know a real life Raphael, as well, in one Sr. Rafael Tilton!

Joy to the angels in your life that lead you, and the way your quiet prayers inform the journey.

Love! Happy Contemplating!

How Much is Too Much?

This WNYC Radiolab broadcast aired on Minnesota Public Radio February 20, 2009, seems a powerful response (or precursor?) to Tom Friedman's NY Times column that I blogged about earlier today.*

Friedman's question, "What if the growth model we created over the last 50 years is simply unsustainable economically and ecologically?" gets the responding query from Barry Schwartz, "How much is too much?" As a contemplative writer and thinker looking at my own life, my community, and holding data and experiences about the larger world, I ask, "What is enough?"

"What is healthy human capacity? How much can we hold? What is sustainable?"
From the WNYC broadcast we glean a response, based on George Miller's classic paper, "The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two." Turns out the average human is able to hold about seven pieces of discreet information in working memory at any given time. "Any more than that, and, as researcher Baba Shiv demonstrates, our good judgment can be overwhelmed."

Do you have more than seven plus or minus two things to keep track of at this moment in time? This research and presentation begs that we take a look at what we are creating, consuming, trying to hold and sustain.

I encourage you all to listen. Whew. It's entertaining. Informative. Perhaps, life-changing?

Enjoy!
Happy contemplating,
Melissa

"Closer to Fine:" Living in the Questions with the Indigo Girls

There's more than one answer to these questions

Pointing me in a crooked line

And the less I seek my source for some definitive

The closer I am to fine

- Indigo Girls

***

I lead a charmed life. This, I do believe.

Yesterday at this time, I was taking my seat in the Cities 97 Radio Station Studio C to hear a live recording of the Indigo Girls , as they prepare to release their latest CD, "Posieden and the Bitter Bug." For those of you who don't know these two rocking female singer/ songwriters, I encourage you to seek them out. For those who do, I imagine you'll understand my complete and utter joy at being invited to this event.

Goodness! What is it to be able to hear live music? What is to hear live music that you love? What is it to hear live music that has somehow changed your life? Transformed your perception, gave you pause and inspired you to consider something anew? Pierced your heart and made you feel less alone in the world? Yes! How often do we get to pay homage to the sources of inspiration in our life?

My longtime Phillipian friend and volunteer buddy, John Michaels, invited me to this event. Many of you may know John as the radio personality and traffic reporter at KTCZ Cities 97 (as well as several other stations). John rocks. He's funny. He has a great disposition. And John knows how to call out traffic conditions for the greater Twin Cities area, thereby increasing the capacity for people to move from one location to the next - with a little more ease, information, and peace of mind.

On this day, John Michaels helped me in my own sort of daily, blessed journey through relationship, work, service, as I navigated oodles of plaguing questions - all in graced time, with such powerful musical artists singing live before me, and the

loving, funny company beside me.

I'm trying to tell you something about my life

Maybe give me insight between black and white

And the best thing you've ever done for me

Is to help me take my life less seriously

Its only life after all

Yeah

I first heard the Indigo Girls with Jill Mayberger. Road tripping between Omaha and Denver to see my sister, Stephanie, in college, Jill introduced me to this raw acoustic female duo. When she put in the tape cassette of their 1989 self-titled release, "Indigo Girls," I think my life sort of changed. I know something in me shifted sideways at least. "Closer to Fine" played as the first song on the album, and I knew almost immediately that Emily and Amy were two women I had to be connected to, related to, on at least some level.

Well darkness has a hunger thats insatiable

And lightness has a call that's hard to hear

I wrap my fear around me like a blanket

I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it

I'm crawling on your shores

Who talks about the darkness? Who talks about light? How do we navigate the fear? How do we navigate any of this blasted life with all of its questions? What does it mean to wrap fear around you like a blanket? What does it mean to crawl on someone's shores? Whew. When I heard these lyrics of the Indigo Girls for the first time, I am certain I wept with their resonance. On Thursday, in Studio C, in the company of 40 other folks, I wept again.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains

I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains

Theres more than one answer to these questions

Pointing me in a crooked line

And the less I seek my source for some definitive

(the less I seek my source)

The closer I am to fine

The closer I am to fine

Before I left for Cities 97 on Thursday, I was having a lovely lunch at my church, St. Phillips, where I volunteer. Excited about going to see these women perform live, I was raving to Betty Lou and Carol and Dale and Fr. Jules about their music. How does one really explain the Indigo Girls? How does one connect their faith community with their social arts community?

And I went to see the doctor of philosophy

With a poster of rasputin and a beard down to his knee

He never did marry or see a b-grade movie

He graded my performance, he said he could see through me

I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind

Got my paper and I was free

I tried singing this song, "Closer to Fine." I tried to recall the lyrics and their potency and describe this magic of their vocal harmonies.

I tried to find properly labeled recordings of the Indigo Girls on my laptop in my itunes folder. I couldn't.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains

I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains

Theres more than one answer to these questions

Pointing me in a crooked line

The less I seek my source for some definitive

(the less I seek my source)

The closer I am to fine

The closer I am to fine

Instead, I found myself rambling about doctors and philosophers and priests and lesbians and gay people and nuns and what it means to ask so many questions and seek answers. I tried to draw a connection between Jesus and Justice and Emily and Amy and our Catholic faith community and myself. I sighed. I smiled. I tried to communicate in words what seems the ineffable.

I stopped by the bar at 3 a.m.

To seek solace in a bottle or possibly a friend

And I woke up with a headache like my head against a board

Twice as cloudy as I'd been the night before

And I went in seeking clarity.

I sent my church colleagues a link to this song, "Closer to Fine" and then I headed out to the studio. There, before the authors of this potent song; there, before the raw, real, resonant lyrics being performed by these two lovely women, I celebrated. I swirled in my life questions, in my uncertainty, in my inabilities to fully articulate things, and I sang along.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains

I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains

Yeah we go to the doctor, we go to the mountains

We look to the children, we drink from the fountains

Yeah we go to the bible, we go through the workout

We read up on revival and we stand up for the lookout

Theres more than one answer to these questions

Pointing me in a crooked line

The less I seek my source for some definitive

(the less I seek my source)

The closer I am to fine

The closer I am to fine

The closer I am to fine

I do feel closer to fine with such work and words and wonder in the world.

A "Welcome Home from Africa" - Rising Poem....

"There is no disorientation quite like sleep depravataion combined with the jet lag." -Colette DeHarpporte

***

I am home from Africa, having arrived yesterday around noon, from the glorious Accra, Ghana. My heart does a funny leap writing this line, now at 3:47am in my St. Paul, Minnesota apartment, where a Winter draft greets my still-in-Africa-skin, and my body struggles to re-acclimate to the cold, this time zone. Yes.

Today's Writer's Almanac Poem*, by Robert Bly, arrives in my in box, next to my friend Colette's email, like sweet, warm, sort of "Welcome home!" words.

Disoriented, rising at this hour of dark, when my head expects light, I recognize Bly's words alive and at work inside my being: "Navies are setting forth in my veins." Yes. Little ships are moving, porting packages from my heart toward other destinations in the body. African gifts of story, memory, warmth, are being toted through my blood stream as I wake and wonder where I am, and what this air is that moves from outside, through the cracks in my windows, over my exposed South-African-Zanzibarian-Kenyan-Ugandan-Ghanaian-sun-tanned limbs....

I am happy thinking of the Indian Ocean. I am ecstatic seeing Saddam Dzikunun-Bansah's face in my mind's eye, or hearing Dumisani Ntombelas's voice the other side of a line, sending me off with South African parting words. I giggle thinking of Nomi Nkomo's sweet, silly text messages standing in line at customs. I marvel at the Dorothy Amenuke-Art-house-Arthaus dreams still alive and being constructed in real life time in Kumasi -- as well as in my own imagination. I wonder about Ishaka Mawanda and Emily Morris and if they are carrying Africa with them in their now on-safari-in-Minnesota-blood streams...? (Surely, they must understand this poem and the way waking so early in the cold affects the heart, mind, spirit.) I hold the questions of Patrick Kilonzo and Kenyan-Paper-making-collaborations in my rising body -- along with a happy desire to return to the Eastern Cape and squeeze a beloved Auntie Mo Dabula by her 70th birthday....

I read "Welcome Home" emails from State Side family and friends with requests for my American address and imagine the Holiday greeting cards that will arrive at 2338 Marshall Avenue in St. Paul. (Where will these cards arrive next year, or years to come? What is my address? Where do I live?) Hmmmmm......Where does any of us really reside?

A woman named Nozi, who is not my South African Community Development friend from Nquthu, drops me a line wondering how she got onto my Africa-emails-list-serve. I wonder this, too. My head filled with poems and dizzy dawn dreams and so much desire to locate my body in a proper time, place, aligning all of me with what my heart knows. Where does Ms. Motloung live? What is her email address? Where am I? Where are you?

Happy Morning. Happy Rising and Return Journeys to all who read this.

Yes!

Love,

Melissa

*Waking from Sleep

by Robert Bly

Inside the veins there are navies setting forth,

Tiny explosions at the waterlines,

And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood.

It is the morning. The country has slept the whole winter.

Window seats were covered with fur skins, the yard was full

Of stiff dogs, and hands that clumsily held heavy books.

Now we wake, and rise from bed, and eat breakfast!

Shouts rise from the harbor of the blood,

Mist, and masts rising, the knock of wooden tackle in the sunlight.

Now we sing, and do tiny dances on the kitchen floor.

Our whole body is like a harbor at dawn;

We know that our master has left us for the day.

"Waking from Sleep" by Robert Bly, from Silence in the Snowy Fields. © Wesleyan University Press, 1962. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

"Why Africa?" A Response to the Question....

"But why are you going to Africa? What is your purpose in going to Africa? What are your goals? What is your aim?"

These are the beautiful and challenging questions I keep encountering from so many of you -- friends, family members and new acquaintances alike. What follows is my attempt at articulating a response. The first half was originally drafted to my friend Marie Teehan in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. I share this in order to be as transparent in my motivations for this journey as possible... Yes. What an exercise it is!.... I wonder if any of us really knows deeply why we pursue anything...? I pose the gift of this question directly back to you:

"Why......?"

***

Your prayers are really most appreciated, Marie. I'm just trying to honor this inkling I have to travel, serve, witness, build relationships, learn, love.

My aim in going to Africa? Honestly: to honor God. When I left teaching and stepped back from literacy work, a year and a half ago, I just really got intentional about getting clear and healthy: spiritually, financially, professionally, artistically, romantically! Yes. ("How can I love well? How can I create well? How might I serve well? What is sustainable"? -- my driving questions.)

A mantra I adopted and have worked to apply in every aspect of my life, is from Ghandi's playbook: BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE IN THE WORLD.

So. I'm trying not to ask for things from other people, (leaders, lovers, family members) that I myself wouldn't be willing to do. In this case: BE A GLOBAL CITIZEN. BE INFORMED. BE AWARE OF PRIVILEGE. BE COGNIZANT OF RESPONSIBILITY. BE IN MUTUALLY TRANSFORMING RELATIONSHIPS.

Yes.

So. Back to Africa! Back to places I've been invited, back to physically setting out on a journey of love and learning. And the timing is no joke. I will depart after this election. After we elect a new leader. And there will be CHANGE - no matter what. I hope and pray it's Obama at the helm, but I cannot be certain. I can only put myself into this universe of change, and be a kind of "Ambassador of Change" by going to see. Witness. Be in relationship. Learn. Be an agent of Peace.

***

At the center of this entire thing is LOVE. I don't know a more potent and honorable motivation or reason for doing anything --than this: L-O-V-E. Yes! Five years ago, I fell in love with a woman twice my age and half my size with a distinctly different skin color and whole set of different life experiences. Maureen, "Auntie Mo" Dabula inspired the most amazing kind of love in my heart -- and then a journey of transformation, as she invited me to come to her home country of South Africa. From there, I found myself in love with Dumisani Ntombela, Dr. Ernest Darkoh, this character named Vuyisile Nkomo. And the list grew... all through an amazing network of relationships and opportunities centering around a church friend, originally from Kenya, Antoinette Bennaars -- and my friend Barbara Cox at the Perpich Center for Arts Education...Through these friends I met a woman named Emily Morris, and Dorothy Amenuke then Ishaka Mawanda and his friends Paul Baingana and Peter Ngobi and Cecile Aguilar. All of these folks have spoken to my heart. All have presented stories and opportunities to live and grow and learn. And all are ones who I seem to have something to offer in return. And there's nothing more powerful than having something simple and beautiful to offer in exchange, right? It's that mutual relationship business, that is at the heart of seeing a world transformed, healed, and inching forward toward greater peace and justice and wellness....

My goals as an agent-of-change are especially to study the transformational process of healing and forgiveness, as it's facilitated through story-telling. I'm interested in the Truth and Reconciliation process of South Africa as it plays out today in our current global political landscape, but especially so in our current local communities -- right down to our classrooms, living rooms, dining rooms, bedrooms. I want to hold the power of sharing narratives-- being a listener as well as storyteller-- in my immediate community, and in those I will travel to abroad.

I'll take pictures. I'll blog. I'll reflect and pray. Will it do one tangible positive thing for my pocket book? Will anyone become richer, financially? Will I be able to see the library shelves of another school contain more books? Will anyone have greater access to some simple health care? Will anyone have an opportunity to step closer to their dreams? I cannot promise this. I can however, note that I'll be changed, as I'm changed in the process of simply putting myself into the current and letting myself go....I can attest already to the social, emotional, spiritual currencies that presently provide me with resources to move and work and be a better human.

Can that be enough of a "Why?" I hope so.

Your prayers, blessings, well-wishes are most appreciated.

Love,

Melissa

Happy Birthday Thich Nhat Hanh!

Thank you Writer's Almanac for this information! I love this fellow who lives half way around the world and speaks so directly to my heart. What follows are the biographical info from Garrison Keillor's broadcast on NPR, a You Tube Video link, and a Thich Nhat Hanh poem. Enjoy! Happy Birthday to this Peaceful Man!

It's the birthday of Vietnamese monk, writer, and activist Thich Nhat Hanh, (books by this author) born in 1926 in Tha Tien, Vietnam. He became a Buddhist monk when he was 16 years old. During the Vietnam War, he decided that monks shouldn't just stay in monasteries and meditate all day long while a war was going on. So he founded an organization that helped rebuild bombed villages, set up schools and medical centers, and organize agricultural cooperatives. He traveled to the United States to urge the American government to withdraw its troops, and he persuaded Martin Luther King Jr. to publicly oppose the Vietnam War. But both the non-Communist and Communist governments banned him from Vietnam in 1966, and it was just a few years ago, in 2005, that he was finally allowed to return for a visit. Since he was banned from Vietnam, he set up a monastic community in southern France, called Plum Village.

Thich Nhat Hanh has published more than 100 books, books of poetry and Buddhist thought. About 40 of them are in English, and many of those have been best-sellers, including Peace Is Every Step (1991), Call Me by My True Names (1993), and Living Buddha, Living Christ (1995).

***

A You Tube Video Link on "Surrendering to the Now."

***

Interrelationship

You are me, and I am you.
Isn't it obvious that we "inter-are"?
You cultivate the flower in yourself,
so that I will be beautiful.
I transform the garbage in myself,
so that you will not have to suffer.

I support you;
you support me.
I am in this world to offer you peace;
you are in this world to bring me joy.


1989. Written during a retreat for psychotherapists held in Colorado
in response to Fritz Perls' statement, "You are you, and I am me, and 
if by chance we meet, that's wonderful.  If not, it couldn't be helped."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

Fear and hate at Republican Rallies --Toward Transformation?

Friends, Family, This deeply saddens me. It is frightening. So, how to tune this out? Is it responsible or irresponsible to forward such messages? Responsible or irresponsible to tune in or out? The news coverage linked above and in my friend Reggie's message below, features a compilation of (mostly) Gov. Palin's rally's where she repeats this hate-speech, over and over and over again. I don't know...I think it's fair to call it "hate speech" --when you intentionally refer to another as a terrorist and knowingly work to incite the anger of a crowd....Evoking responses like, "treason" and "kill [Obama]".... Yea. It's deeply disturbing, and as Reggie says, "scares me in a profound way." What can I do? To combat fear? Not perpetuate terror? NOT FEAR? BE LOVE? ACT COMPASSIONATELY? PRAY? STAY VIGILANT? Vigilance seems, to me, so fear-based in my mind, but what if my prayers were vigilant prayers? To be tuned into love, transformation, hope, the truth, and simply trust that this kind of stuff doesn't hold, doesn't last, isn't sustainable, since it's not rooted in love.... Prayerfully, Melissa --- On Fri, 10/10/08, Reggie Prim <reggie.prim@gmail.com wrote: Dear Friends, I have not previously sent out any political messages during this campaign, as I know you've seen plenty. However, I have been concerned in the past week about the dangerous turn of events at republican rallies. Inciting hatred and violence are extremely dangerous tactics and are deeply anti-democratic. This scares me in a profound way. Please watch this video and share this with friends. There are historical precedents to this kind of rhetoric that are extremely dangerous. We must remain vigilant and demand that this stop. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXs_u4f2ZD8 Thanks, Reggie Here's a quote worth noting... "What [Palin] does bring [to the political arena] is a noteworthy skill with extreme, often violent populism. As a result, she has succeeded at creating intense loyalty to her personally, and deep antipathy for Sen. Obama--also on a personal level. And while this populism has succeeded only amongst small core of the Republican base, the fervency of Palin's supporters has been amplified a thousand times over by the obsessive media coverage that she enjoys. So, Sarah Palin is not 'fascist,' but that does not mean her language and her events have not had a dangerous impact on our democracy. Beyond adding populism to the campaign trail, Palin has also done something else: she has re-framed the McCain campaign in violent terms--terms that had been used predominantly by right-wing shock pundits on TV and radio." Jeffrey Feldman Palin Rallies Ignite Widespread Talk of 'Fascism' Posted October 10, 2008 | 12:08 PM (EST) http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jeffrey-feldman/palin-rallies-ignite-wide_b_133621.html

What is the Cost of the Common Good?

"What is the cost of the common good?"

"What is the common good?"

"What does it take for a community to thrive? A nation to thrive? A planet to thrive?"

What are the resources it requires to see this into being?"

In an email to my brother in law, Chris Johnson, last Friday, I wrote: "We all need to develop a capacity to talk about the common good and how that is funded!" This gives rise to my questions today. I have a deep deep desire to challenge our society's conversations about the economy, economic policy, economic philosophy, government, taxation perspectives, political party reductions, to a more complex level. Yes.

If we are going to see a shift in the simplistic labeling, understanding and reduction of Democrats as the "Tax and spend" folks and Republicans as "Less government" advocates, we have to encourage a more critical discourse around this idea of the "common good."

What does it cost to sustain the common good?

I've coped this here before, but I believe these are helpful links to promote this thinking, or to increase education on the complexity of this topic....It's JUST A PLACE TO START.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_good

http://www.catholicsinalliance. org/

Sr. Mary Virginia Schmidt, VHM, attended this conference about the Common Good, and gave me the platform hand out. I went to the website and found my home as a Global Citizen. (A Global Citizen who understands her citizenship, her responsibilities by virtue of her faith and being Catholic). Yes. Copied below is an excerpt from this website that provides another lens to view this, and to hold the complexity of this time.

****

"Reading the founding documents of the United States, one has to be impressed by the concept of freedom they enshrine: a freedom designed to enable people to fulfill their duties and responsibilities toward the family and toward the common good of the community."

- Pope John Paul II

Address to Ambassador Claiborne Boggs, December 16, 1997

What is the Common Good?

In a country where everything seems less secure - our jobs, health care, pensions, national defense, the environment, and even our marriages - it is easy to lose sight of the common good and the call to care for our neighbors as ourselves. A culture of the common good is one in which people look out for each other and concern for one another is reflected in our corporations, communities, and government.

A culture of the common good provides for the health, welfare, and dignity of all people, regardless of race, gender, religion or economic class. This central goal of Catholic Social Teaching expresses our faith's understanding that society functions best when decisions are made with an eye toward what benefits everyone, and not just the few. In the words of Pope John Paul II, the common good refers to the "good of all and of each individual, because we are all really responsible for all."

Concern for the common good is deeply enshrined in the values of our nation as well. The first three words of our Constitution's Preamble, "We the people," remind us that the United States is first and foremost a community of human relationships. Unlike many nations, that bond comes not from a common ethnicity or religion but from our common humanity and our shared belief in the freedom and dignity of all people.

This balance between self- and shared-interest should not be understood only as a summons to perform works of charity. While we should work to help the least fortunate, the common good is best served when all are able to make their own contributions to social and economic life. In this respect, our Christian and American understanding of the common good impels us to seek a world where all have the opportunity to realize their full human potential, engage in productive work, and lead fulfilled lives.

The erosion of community life that accompanies this era of greed, materialism, and excessive individualism ranks among the most imminent threats to our national well-being. In fact, one Zogby poll found that "greed and materialism" topped a list most urgent moral crisis in the US. Lost retirement savings due to recent corporate accounting scandals, dissolution of family life under the weight of overworked and underpaid parents, and growing fears about the long-term effects of global climate change are reminders that individual decisions can have painful and far-reaching consequences. In answering this call to the common good, we express our understanding that rising tides should lift all boats - we are better off individually when all are better off as a whole.

"Catholics In Alliance for the Common Good." http://www.catholicsinalliance. org/

In peace,

Melissa

On Rage: Some Thoughts on Recognizing Fire

This is a working draft of a story that I'm interesting in exploring for thematic purposes. Rage, Fear, Love, Compassion, Desire, Anger are so closely connected in my spirit. This is my attempt at simply seeing some of this in a healthy light...

***

I just came from having dinner with my friend April. April is amazing. April is a dancer. She's a choreographer. A visionary. An artist. A seer. A communicator on so many levels. Words. Body. Spirit. Jah! Amen.

April is having an interesting go of things. As a Professor of Dance at a Minnesota university, she's faced some interesting times this past year. In the midst of the dance program being cut, on the last day of her teaching in the spring semester, she fell in her classroom, tore all the muscles in her shoulder, and ended up having to wear a brace for the better part of the summer. She has not been physically free to make dance, to do the one thing she is most passionate about on the planet. She has not been free to do the one things she feels most called to do. It's frustrating. And now, five months after her injury, though she's back at work teaching, she has learned that for her body to heal, she must have surgery. She must have 3 screws put into her shoulder. And again: her body is not allowed to do the thing that her spirit and mind want to do the most: dance, make art.

We are talking this eve, April and I, at Mid-town Market, over a Ramadan Special and Pham Vietnamese Deli dinner, and I hear in this good friend of mine, these words that I find so utterly resonant: "I'm just kind of bored. I can't get excited about anything. Not the election. Not dating. Not getting a new job. No, the one thing I want to do: I cannot."

I start laughing. Not at my friend, but at life. At circumstances. At the jacked up nature of how this world goes. At how these words of hers ring so utterly true in my own body.

For years, I have felt clear. I have been on fire. I have been passionate about what I am to do. I have felt God calling me and pointing me toward one thing: Partnership. One. Person. Male. Lover. Sharing a life. With me. Building something. Committed. One thing. That's it.

And it makes me laugh, at how ludicrous it all is. This desire business. I can do a lot of things. I can teach. I can write. I can temp. I can travel. I can go back to school. I can volunteer. I can babysit. I can clean houses. I can read. I can meet new people. I can go dancing. I can date. I can clean my closets. I can simplify and downsize. I can renovate my house. I can plant a garden. I can pray. I can sell my house. I can budget. I can learn about retirement planning. I can study the economy. I can study politicians. I can meditate on leadership. I can work out. I can be the best woman I know how to be. But can I make a partnership happen? Somehow, it seems it's the one thing that just is outside my "control" - my grasp. And that little fact, has left me dejected in a way that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to give words to. Dejected. Rejected. Feeling utterly outside the realm of God. Outside of God's love and light. That's what it feels like. Whew. Dejected. Ain't no joke, this experience, this emotion.

When April is talking, I recall all of this. I hold the fullness of my past nine month's on this planet. And I feel overwhelming empathy. Whether this is really April's experience or not, I am cognizant of mine.

I recognize, still, somewhere, in the midst of moving to my new apartment, and getting clear about my trip to Africa, this kind of dejection has subsided. Perhaps I've let it go. (Mind you: the desire to partner is still there, but I've gotten back on this track to simply do what I can: Remain positive. Be faithful. Be a good woman. Be as loving as possible, be as studious as possible. Be as engaged and service-oriented as possible. And take my little steps. Hold my little light. Move forward.)

What comes to mind next, in this conversation with April: is my rage. I find myself talking out loud about terrorism. About my own inner terrorist, inner anger. (No lie!) About my disgust with today's news. About Governor Sarah Palin. About John McCain. About the most recent smears that Obama associates with terrorists. About my own desire to blow things up..... It's sort of surreal thinking on this conversation as I write this. I can see myself almost screaming. Mid-town Market. Holy Land Restaurant, and I'm enraged, going off about Governor Palin and the notion of Obama being linked to an angry 17 year old named Ayers who will go on to become a professor and help transform Public education in Chicago. I am pointing a finger and cursing.

Really?

Really.

April, quiet, listens, waits, and then says, "Yeah, how's that feel? Can you see your anger? Can you see it? Can you hold it? Can you hold your rage? What does she look like?" And in this one subtle gesture, she models for me what it is to hold this red hot emotion, as if it were a small child, in my palms.

And I start to cry.

We talk a bit more. I get clearer and calmer about myself. (My feelings of responsibility. My desire to make change. My need to communicate.) I listen to how this woman, my friend April has compassion for Governor Palin and the rest of the candidates, how she has compassion for me. And I am in awe of how she is able to be so wise and calm and tender and detached.

On the way home, driving down Lake Street, still reeling from all of these thoughts, I wonder,

"Where does my rage come from? Is it fear? Is it feeling separated from God? How connected is rage to arrogance? What? Do I think I know what is right? Do I have all the answers? Do I know that I'm supposed to marry? Do I know that Sarah Palin is unfit for office? What do I really know? Who am I? Who is God? How big is LOVE?"

I'm thinking this, and marveling at how alive rage can be in my body and what it does to me, how I feel on fire.

And then I hear sirens.

I'm driving down Lake street and behind me about 4 blocks are red fire truck lights swirling and sirens going off. And I wonder if I'm far enough ahead of the truck. If I can just drive ahead and avoid a pull over. But then I think better of it. We have to pay attention to such things. It's the law. It's good practice. And I ease myself to a stop, pulling to the right. And what happens? The fire truck pulls over the left, across from me and turns off his sirens.

"Oh, really?" I think. You just needed to catch up with me, eh? Just confirm the crisis that is so near, eh? I laugh to myself, and start to pull forward. Then, just because I think the universe likes to really kick my ass, or sort of kick all of our asses, the truck turns across the four lanes between his position and mine, and pulls directly in to park in my pulled over and paused spot.

Really? Really.

I think this truck came to the call of a fire, just like my friend April invited me out this evening and helped me see what has been so powerfully burning within me. Anger. Love. Rage. Desire. Fear. Hmmm.........

I am thankful for fire trucks. I'm thankful for my friend. I am thankful for pulling over. I am thankful for being so close, and yet safe, by these flames.

On Transformation and Change: Permeating all Layers of Psyche, Spirit, Community

The following is excerpted from the Borgmann-family-e-political-discourse. I am responding to my cousin Erin's thoughts on change. It triggered this reflection -beyond the political realm, to the psychological, spiritual, intellectual, mystical.

***

All I can do is remind myself that change is HARD. It's HARD to face what you've "known" or believed your whole life and think about it maybe having been wrong. Even if what you've been isn't wrong, but now you have to be something new, something more, it's a painful, painful process. - Erin Cederlind

***

This made me cry reading it. It makes me cry. Which just means that it has this deep kind of resonance.

If a goal is to really see CHANGE - in this country, in the world -- that change begins in the very core of our beings. In our cells. In our spirits. In our brains and how we store information and our capacity to dialogue and act consciously. And THAT KIND OF CHANGE - is the work of our lives!

I think of myself. I think of having to reconcile the privilege of being raised with overwhelming love and resources - with the recognition of working and teaching in overwhelming poverty and abuse. I think of how that called the deepest parts of me to change my perception, and change my actions, my career!

But then I hold that what has been the toughest thing for me to do, is just as fiercely difficult for my conservative brother-in-law, my homophobic pops, or some of my students and their families....!

I think of Shaylin Burn. A student of mine who was sexually abused for years by her grandfather and uncle. I think of her mother and father's role in her life, as two, seemingly happily married people living in the suburbs, raising their kids, sending them to this urban arts magnet high school, but masking the reality of the deep terror that permeated their family. I hold the knowledge of her parent's ensuing drug addictions. I think of what teaching Shaylin meant to me. I think of how I was taught by her daily.....

Can you imagine she had trust issues?
Can you fathom she had deep doubts of a teacher's genuine concern for her well-being?
Can you see her reluctance to have to change and love herself when all that was modeled for her the first 16 years of her life: was that loving adults violated and abused you, said you weren't loveable-- and then tried to kill themselves?
What do you suppose Shaylin tried to do herself?

This kind of "change" that we all must experience -- is one that strikes at the very core of our comforts in identity. It's EASIER to rest in what we were raised believing and seeing and "knowing' - because it shapes so much of our psyches. To shift our thinking, is to go against the grain! Is to defy what the people who we have loved and trusted have taught us...(Why would they lie!? No one has to be "bad" or "evil" to misguide a person- just human... and that's messy, always - because we all are human!)

I'm not trying to shock anyone with this example, but simply speak to what, for me, are the most extreme forms of transformation, and how difficult this all is for ALL of us.

I pray about it constantly.

peace,

Melissa

P.S. My former student's name has been changed. She is an adult now making her way as a kind of change-agent in the Cities.

Africa Discernings: How I Heard God this past week. Part I.

There are subtle and then not so subtle ways that I hear God talking to me. This past week's experiences were no exception -- especially where my heart has been concerned and a desire to return to Africa has persisted.

How do you hear God? Or how do you perceive the Divine at work in your life? Do you believe in a Benevolent Creator? Who among you gets nervous when I ask these questions? Who among you gets calm? What happens to me when I am writing about this stuff? Why do I write this stuff down? If I insert the word "Jah" or "Yahweh" or "Buddha" or "the open heart" or "Love" - does the question resonate more fully?

As someone who was raised Catholic, it's easiest for me to say, "God." But I get that that doesn't read or bode well for some of your spiritual and practical navigations. I respectfully and humbly submit my notes on such matters. I do so with humor and joy and hope, that, as a reader, you might know compassion and joy and hope as well. Yes. I think compassion and joy and hope are helpful things for my spirit, for your spirit, and for those around us who piss us off. It's best if we can have love rather than getting pissed off, don't you think? More love and compassion, less anger and pissiness. I'm just looking for a way through life that is helpful, rather than harmful. Navigating the love and fear and anger is an important thing to figure out, don't you think?

I digress.

Back to how I heard the Big Love talking to me this past week....

***

It's Sunday, and I'm in Norfolk, Nebraska. I'm at home for my aunt Peg's wedding, and taking an extra day in a long weekend to spend time with my family: my parents, my siblings, my nieces and nephews, my cousins, my aunts and uncles and friends that are in town.

It's good. It's been a long, long seven months since I've been home, and this trip back for a wedding - that has been a long, long time in the making - is well worth it!

Going home is not ever easy for me, as the eldest, unmarried child who travels solo in this rocking family with these rocking parents and rocking siblings and their spouses and significant others. I adore these people, and recognize how profoundly I am loved and cared for by them all, as well as how much I love them all. But often, I'm lonely in this family, and feel like a crazy older sister who is single and has no visible lover, and so by most accounts is on the track to becoming a "cat lady." I don't want to be a cat lady, by the way. (No offense to people with cats.) I want to be the older sister who rocks the casbah in the world by writing and making change and having a hot lover and partner who adores her and makes everyone laugh and inspires significant topics of conversation when he shows up with me.

Yeah. I want to come home with Barack Obama, or some equivalent of a single, young Desmond Tutu -- or even a kind of a Bill Clinton - without the Monica business. (I like leader types. I like especially leader types who love God and have the capacity to balance me out. Yes. I like leader types with scientific minds who like identifying the root causes of unwellness in our world and are seeking ways to heal us. Those with visions of life beyond the borders of the United States also rock.)

Anyway. It's church time. And I'm walking into Sacred Heart with my mom and some semblance or faction of siblings. And my mom says to me,

"Melissa, you are turning 40 this year. It's a significant birthday, a milestone; have you thought about how you want to celebrate this? Your sister is turning 21, also a significant birthday, maybe you want to do something together?"

And I pause for second and then find myself responding,

"I want to go back to Africa. I think I'm supposed to be back in Africa."

Now saying this aloud to my mom is like saying I want to date someone like Bill Clinton. I'm not sure that she really hears me, or can hear me. Like Bill Clinton, Africa --South Africa has it's overwhelming beauty and charm and promise and power. But also like Bill Clinton, South Africa has a kind of tainted image that brings up some kind of pain and scandal. My mom doesn't want to see me off to any place where there is pain and scandal. (That apartheid business was messy, right? And the poverty there ain't no joke. To say nothing of the HIV/ AIDS pandemic. And what my heart has done when it's been on South African soil or in proximity to citizens of the country?! Well it's all taken a gigantic toll on my spirit and psyche that my mom registers. And, ultimately, it all begs for love and attention -- not unlike the messy, screaming-for compassion-and-outrage impeachment circumstances once surrounding President Clinton. Who wants to spend any time dwelling on such things?!)

But my mom says nothing, and this is huge. A gift. And my words just rest there in the air as a kind of uttered dream, and this feels good to my heart. I don't know what I'm saying really in this moment walking into church, just giving voice to this achy space in my body and spirit that wants to speak and honor what God calls me toward....

Africa...South Africa....Kenya...Uganda...Zanzibar...Tanzania...Ghana...
Nigeria...Cameroon...Congo....Libya....Africa...

On this Sunday, the scripture and songs are not-so-subtly speaking to me. This is nothing unusual, however. Hearing God's voice in scripture? Please. That's the whole point! This former English teacher takes it all in stride: literature is literature is literature doing it's job reflecting and opening us up to ourselves and our world. What I note, however, is that the Gospel reading from Matthew is being repeated for the third time this week, and that is unusual.
(Per my bus- riding-routine to work, I'm praying with scripture daily via my pda.) Here I am for the third time this week, reading and hearing about Jesus and Peter, as the disciple is being called to walk toward Christ on the water. What's Peter do? He doubts. He second guesses himself and who God is, and he starts to sink.

When I read this passage on the Monday prior, it wasn't lost on me: Do not doubt God's love! When I read it on Tuesday, it was another gigantic reassurance: Do not be afraid! Step forward! Hearing it for the third time this Sunday, I am mildly blown away.

"Mom," I say to her next to me in the pew, "It's the third time this week this gospel has appeared."

And so I cry. Because I know: I have been doubting. I have been sinking. I have felt wildly like Peter in so many ways: believing, but fearing. And it's just not helpful, the fearing part. Because after all, when we doubt, we start to sink. Who needs more sinking? God sure doesn't. We are better off to trust and to receive and believe in love, than doubt in its source.

And then what happens next is the bigger "Wake up, Meliss and Pay Attention" jolt. A guest homilest rises in the pulpit to break open scripture, and his name is Francis, and he's an Oblate of Francis De Sales.

For those who don't know, Francis de Sales is one of the founders of the Visitation Order, and one of the groups of nuns I spend a lot of time with as a "Visitation Companion." He and the co-foundress, Jane de Chantal, are like my spiritual parents. I tune in.

Brother Francis is funny. He tells jokes. He brings comedy to his role in talking about the missionaries in the world. He likens Jesus' walk on this planet with the walk of the missionaries around the country. He talks about the gift of poverty. Of traveling and learning a new language. Of having to build relationships across culture and class and experience...Of having to ask for help. Of walking outside our comfort zones and following God's lead.

I am moved deeply. I am calmed by this man's message. My sister-in- law, Jodi and I exchange knowing glances after his sermon. Jodi's niece, who has just returned from South Africa, has announced her own intentions to become a missionary. Jodi and I pray for this niece and for the voices of concern and doubt and questions that have come forward. We get the ramifications of anyone making such an announcement to family. We pray.

My mom turns to me and says,

"Where do you think this guy is from? Your dad said there was a visiting priest from South Africa who was in church. Does he seem like he's from South Africa?"

I'm thinking "No, this Brother sounds like he's from New Jersey." But I appreciate that my dad is tuning into such things and asking questions....

And then it's time to sing. It's communion time, and the song the congregation is invited to join singing: Be Not Afraid.

And so in our two pews, our family does what we love to do: sings. My mom and I harmonizing, and the words inspiring more crazy emotion.

You shall cross the barren desert,

but you shall not die of thirst.

You shall wander far in safety,

though you do not know the way.

You shall speak your words in foreign lands,

and all will understand,

You shall see the face of God and live.

And I cry. I sing, I cry. I love. I feel it all. I know the desert. I am in the desert. I am wandering. I am safe, but I don't know the way. I want to return to this land where I've known overwhelming love, but I am afraid. I don't understand this call or why it persists, I just know it's here, and won't take a back seat. And so the words pour out as sung, harmonized prayer with my mom, "Be not afraid..."

And then we are done, and the congregation is sitting quietly in our post-communion contemplations, when Brother Francis comes back up to the mic.

"By the way," he says, "For those of you who don't know, that song was written by a Jesuit for a young nun. I'm sorry, a young SISTER, who was returning to Africa, but was nervous and afraid about her call to go."

Really? I mean really? I started laughing. It's like God was hitting me over the head: "Meliss, just in case you missed the message earlier, and you are doubting this desire, this invitation, yourself, me, here's another clue: Get your ass back to Africa! Quit being afraid! This sister was scared, and so are you, but it's okay. Go."

That's what I heard at least. I'm sorry if it offends anyone, too, when I hear God saying the word, "ass." Translation of God can be hard. I could be way off my rocker here. But the continuing coincidences or serendipitous messages reassure me.

I think I exchanged looks with my mom then. A smile. A knowing.

I will go.

Who am I to doubt or be afraid?

***

By the way, when I spoke to my dad later that day he inquired about the missionary's talk. He had attended the earlier 9am mass by himself and had a different guest speaker. "Did you have the brother from South Africa who sang the end of his homily in Swahili?" he asked me. "It was so awesome. I told your mom that you'd love it."

I appreciate my dad tuning in to such things. He's getting his own message, I think.

An Elizabeth Bishop Poem: On Waking up Together, Love.

Amen!
-M

It is Marvellous to Wake Up Together
by Elizabeth Bishop

It is marvellous to wake up together
At the same minute; marvellous to hear
The rain begin suddenly all over the roof,
To feel the air suddenly clear
As if electricity had passed through it
From a black mesh of wires in the sky.
All over the roof the rain hisses,
And below, the light falling of kisses.

An electrical storm is coming or moving away;
It is the prickling air that wakes us up.
If lighting struck the house now, it would run
From the four blue china balls on top
Down the roof and down the rods all around us,
And we imagine dreamily
How the whole house caught in a bird-cage of lightning
Would be quite delightful rather than frightening;

And from the same simplified point of view
Of night and lying flat on one's back
All things might change equally easily,
Since always to warn us there must be these black
Electrical wires dangling. Without surprise
The world might change to something quite different,
As the air changes or the lightning comes without our blinking,
Change as our kisses are changing without our thinking.

"It Is Marvellous to Wake Up Together" by Elizabeth Bishop from Poems, Prose, and Letters. © The Library of America, 2008. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Solstice Art, Spirit, and Babies....

Friends,

Just a few notes from my weekend of Celebrating the Summer Solstice in and through the Arts. What follows are tid bits from three days of inspired cross-cultural experiences, relationships, and things coming forward with such life-potential!

1. Friday. After work at Ecolab, I had the great privilege of
attending "Hayayo Bibimma" - the Drumming and Dancing ensemble lead by Ghanaian Artist, Francis Kofi. It was amazing to witness the diversity of people and rhythms present. This was also where I encountered a small child I have come to think of as the "Dalai Lama of Dance" - Francis Kofi's son. This 4 or 5 year old was the exclamation point on each performance, moving in the most uninhibited and spirited manner conceivable. Lovely! Thanks to Pam Plagge for the invite and for her commitment to the group!

2. Prior to my Friday evening excursion, I took note of a robin's
nest being constructed atop the electric meter on the back wall of my
house. Right underneath the clamatis vine running up the wall, this
little nest was tucked. When I returned Friday night from the dance
and good post-show conversation, I noticed that one blue egg had been
laid. And one energetic and protective momma bird was busy flapping
and singing about my arrival home and her baby.

3. Saturday. Matt Peiken hooked me up with a free pass to the Walker Art Center's "Rock the Garden" music festival. Whoohoo! I scored a free parking spot 1/2 block from the entrance, and joined my friend, along with 7,500 other folks there for the collaborative production with Public Radio's 89.9 "The Currrent." The bands rocked. Running into a former pretty fellow that I dated was sweet. Better yet, was encountering the Martin Sisters of North Minneapolis Community Organizing days. (Peace Foundation and Folwell Center for Urban Initiative Work props go to both Michelle and Lauren.) It's good times to connect with such ensembles of heart-and-work-and-vision-anchored peeps! Amen! This was part one of my Saturday Solstice
Celebration.

4. Part Two: Later Saturday. At the King and I, I met up with my friends Reggie Prim and Usry Alleyne. I'm telling you, a woman doesn't get much luckier than to hold space with her guy friends as they crack open their dreams, their work-wishes, and talk about next steps. We are all so connected in our journeys, you know?

5. I return late in the eve/ early morning to find Momma Robin has laid egg numero dos!

6. Sunday. The Morning includes church - AMEN! (St. Phillip's gospel / homiletic theme: "BE NOT AFRAID!") My girl Antoinette Bennaars and I share a pew, while girlfriend Ann Shallbetter leads us in song, after her two -week absence and back surgery recovery. GOOD
STUFF!

7. I return home to egg numero TRES being laid in the nest!

8. Sunday Evening is the April Seller's Dance Collective Event, "Cherries." And here, atop latin-music-industry-host Jessica's condo roof top in Uptown Minneapolis, (where there is a flowing water fountain anchoring the space), are DJ Kool Hanz spinning songs, and a
mic system set up for more vocal performances. I take note of several things at this event, as a way to honor the power of the energy, the women, the art, the voices, the cultures, converging and inspiring all cells in my body:

-April Seller's gives voice to her Vision, shares her vulnerability
on the heels of being injured, and what life and making art has
entailed since last piece "V" was performed. Whew. I note the
choreography to the reggae music. I note Pam Plagge's beauty as
dancer, her beating heart, her exposed breast, and the Frida-Kahlo-esque-inspired inking on her body. It's all SO BREATHTAKING! I hear the Tanya Stephens soundtrack about war and no more war...and I cry. And we move into the Spanish/ English song and hip hop reggaetone performance of Maria Isa, and my heart feels like it might burst.

That such a revolution of love, of converging cultures, of art, of communities, of experiences, could be experienced in such a space? In one weekend?! It's amazing. Awesome. Abundance!

9. I return home, and discover Momma Robin has laid a fourth egg.

Abundance. Birth. Life potential, creation is everywhere.

I am thankful for it all.

LOVE!
Melissa

Henri Nouwen Reflection: "The Source of All Love"

The Source of All Love

Without the love of our parents, sisters, brothers, spouses, lovers, and friends, we cannot live. Without love we die. Still, for many people this love comes in a very broken and limited way. It can be tainted by power plays, jealousy, resentment, vindictiveness, and even abuse. No human love is the perfect love our hearts desire, and sometimes human love is so imperfect that we can hardly recognise it as love.

In order not to be destroyed by the wounds inflicted by that imperfect human love, we must trust that the source of all love is God's unlimited, unconditional, perfect love, and that this love is not far away from us but is the gift of God's Spirit dwelling within us.

Fr. Henri Nouwen

"Song" Today's Poem, by Edwin Denby

Song

by Edwin Denby

I don't know any more what it used to be
Before I saw you at table sitting across from me
All I can remember is I saw you look at me
And I couldn't breathe and I hurt so bad I couldn't see.

I couldn't see but just your looking eyes
And my ears was buzzing with a thumping noise
And I was scared the way everything went rushing around
Like I was all alone, like I was going to drown.

There wasn't nothing left except the light of your face,
There might have been no people, there might have been no place,
Like as if a dream were to be stronger than thought
And could walk into the sun and be stronger than aught.

Then someone says something and then you spoke
And I couldn't hardly answer up, but it sounded like a croak
So I just sat still and nobody knew
That since that happened all of everything is you.

"Song" by Edwin Denby from The Complete Poems. © Random House, New York, 1986. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

"First Marriage" by Liam Rector, Courtesy of The Writer's Almanac

First Marriage
by Liam Rector

I made it cross country
In a little under three days.
The engine blew out

About a hundred miles north
Of San Francisco, where I'd
Hoped to start living again

With a woman I'd abandoned
Only a few months before.
The reasons I'd left her were

Wincingly obvious
Soon as I got back
To her, and it didn't take long

Before I again left her.
In a few weeks I'd meet
The woman who became

My first wife, the one
With whom I spent
Almost the entirety

Of my twenties. It took
About twenty years
Getting over her, after

We divorced at thirty.
Broke then, I took
A bus cross-country

And was back in the East
By Christmas, thinking it
Would take three years maybe

To put this one behind me.
But getting over her
Happened as we were

Both in our third marriages,
Both then with children,
Heading for our fifties.

She came cross-country
To tend to me when I had
Cancer, with a 20% chance

Of recovery. The recovery
From all she had been to me,
Me abiding with her as long

As I did, took place finally
When we, her sitting on my bed
And me lying in it, held hands

And watched ourselves watching
TV, something we'd never quite
Been able to do comfortably

All those years ago. So many
Things turn this way over time,
So much tenderness and memory,

Problems not to be solved
But lived, and I resolved
Right then to start living

Only in this kind of time.
Cancer gave this to me: being
Able to sit, comfortably, to get

Over her finally, and to
Get on with the fight to live while
Staying ready to die daily.

"First Marriage" by Liam Rector, from The Executive Director of The Fallen World. © The University of Chicago Press, 2006. (buy now.)

I notice...

Traveling across country. An engine blowing out. Things wincingly obvious. Cancer. Divorcing and remarrying. Taking years to "get over." Occurrences in the speaker's twenties. Cancer in their fifties. 20% chance of recovering.
The lines, "Problems not to be solved/But lived" and " Cancer gave this to me: being/Able to sit, comfortably, to get/
Over her finally, and to/Get on with the fight to live while/Staying ready to die daily."

I wonder...

How those cross-country trips inspired or informed partnership?

How many times do we need to travel across continents to learn about ourselves and our hearts?

When engines blow, who repairs them?

Where does cancer come from?

Can a car have cancer? How about a heart?

What happens if we can't fix things?

What does dying teach us?

Can we learn these lessons in any simpler way?

Happy contemplating! Happy road trips!

Melissa