Life Cycles

Standing in community: Balm for heartache

I have been carrying around an enormous amount of ache in the last 24 hours, and going unnamed or processed it feels harmful to my own spirit, or certainly not helpful for my psyche and my capacity to parent or partner well. I turn here to identify this sadness and describe what has (or is) transpiring, with the hope that in doing so, some of this will be transformed and or eased.

A couple of weeks ago, at the end of a discernment class that I help co-facilitate at a catholic, urban spirituality center, two participants requested some special prayers for a newly born child who was on life support. While I had no connection to this babe, my friends did, and entering into the sacred space of quiet and love-filled silence required nothing, save for my sincere intention. Yesterday, at lunch, with two mom friends in relationship with this child's parents, and one of the catholic nuns we all work with, we learned that the child passed away. She had been taken off life support on Wednesday, began breathing on her own, and then abruptly died on Thursday.

In the same lunch/ work space, with  this news arriving via text message and shattering the calm and ease of our cohort, came tears and a request for further prayers. Sr. Mary* lead us quietly in a beautiful reflection on this child's passing, imagining her ease into Heaven, her arrival into the arms of ancestors and angels, and asking the God we all believe in to hold the family closely, guiding them in their grief and gratitude for this little girl's brief life.

I sat at our corner table, feeling tucked and safe with my friends, but wildly open and vulnerable in my heart and whole body. Days away from celebrating my own daughter's second birthday, and thinking of the small being growing inside my own belly, (for those who may not know I am 10 weeks pregnant) I thought I might crack in half with sorrow for this kind of loss of life.

Within moments of this news, Sr. Mary shared a tale from her own northside community that involved another kind of ache and loss simultaneously being experienced across town. She told us of a mother who she has known for years who was, that afternoon, giving her newborn daughter up for adoption. The why of it was not fully disclosed, but details of this mother's other, OLDER children --  six and 8 years,  begging for their mom to bring the baby home - were again enough to send me over the edge.

Yes, the mom is an addict.
No, this wasn't the first child she'd given up.
Yes, she was in darkness and despair.
No, the older kids were not doing well -- stepping into a space to caretake for their mother.

I immediately thought of a lesbian couple I know who have adopted three children -- all with special needs, two from the same mom, both of them born addicted to narcotics. I saw their sweet faces and robust smiles and snapshots of arms wrapped around their tiny frames -- all so loved.

I was angry and grateful and overwhelmed all in one breath.

"Man, is God busy today" were the words that came quietly out of my mouth toward Sister Mary. She nodded and smiled, "yes."

My friends processed a bit of their own immediate grief over the death of the daughter that they knew personally, and tears flowed as they considered the way their own children's knowledge of this passing would bring them so much closer to their own mortality and questions of life, death, vulnerability, God, uncertainty, and the fragility of life.

I listened to these moms reflect on ways that they would parent through this time, addressing their 4, 5 and 7 year olds' fears, and considering the larger community that they have in common and will journey with as adult friends.

We moved through our lunch and planning meeting in stops and starts, and I personally was grateful for the distraction of our work tasks at hand.

After my colleagues left, I turned to email and other to-dos, and almost immediately got another note that was a blow to my heart and mind. My long time friend, colleague and teaching mentor sent an email to share that her sister had died suddenly the day before, completely unexpectedly - and so no, she wouldn't be able to make our monthly date for dinner.

WHAT?

***
Today, at ECFE (Early Childhood Family Education), we gathered in a circle with Teacher Todd for songs and stories and up on the whiteboard behind him was a penned obituary for the guinea pig that had died a few days ago. (Even this classroom pet was not safe from the cycle of life playing out!) 

The levity in my morning, and balm for all this ache and woe, came in fact from one small child named Lily, who confided in me near the guinea pig's cage while feeding the other remaining pet a carrot: "She went to guinea pig heaven, you know?" I nodded, in awe at this child's capacity to state so clearly what had happened and why the cage was a bit emptier. After a brief pause, she looked at me, shook her head, and uttered one more word, "Shoot."

Next to this large classroom cage, with one lonely guinea pig being plied with straw and carrots --like any good family-survivor-in-mourning household would be --I acknowledged my own broken, grieving heart and gave thanks for this space.

"Shoot" is a very appropriate response for it all.

***
Thanks for being on the receiving end of this reflection. Please keep all families who know loss and death at this time in your thoughts, as images of love, largeness, community,  life-cycles, especially birth, buoy us, and remind us of the circles that envelop and permeate our existence, and perpetuate and transform our hearts and minds.

LOVE,
Melissa

*not her real name.

Fried Green Tomato Church

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.

Abundant Blessings: Home and more!

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!)

Teeth

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

On Sanctuary: A Poem by Nikki Giovanni

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

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*

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

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

Seasons of Love: Today's Prayer

Amen.

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

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

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

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

Week's End Assignment: Passion Reading!

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.

Quincy DeShawn Smith's Death: Prayers

The following was written as a prayer request and sent via email on December 13, 2008, while I was traveling in East Africa. I post it here now as I pay tribute to the lives of former students who have been killed in North Minneapolis. The information and picture copied below my words were sent via the Peace Foundation's "Peace e-lert" list-serve.

***

Friends,

I am here in Uganda, reading emails, and have learned of this news about a former student of mine dying from the use of a police taser.

Please pray for Quincy. For his family. For the police. For all his friends. For the teachers and students he worked with. For the community of North Minneapolis - and beyond, that mourns this tragedy.

***

Quincy DeShawn Smith, 24, was killed this Tuesday after a struggle with the police in which he was tased. Quincy, once a North High School star football player, was also known as 'Q the Blacksmith,' a beloved DJ on KMOJ radio for almost two years. Although he had thousands of caring fans, none loved him more than the children he worked to nurture throughout the community.

As a teacher's assistant at Harvest Prep in North Minneapolis, students and teachers remember him as a tremendous role model with a caring heart and loving smile. Quincy will be greatly missed by his family and friends, as well as the entire community. He touched everyone.

(Vigil: 3:00pm @ 1000 block of Knox Ave. N)

On the Death of Toua Xiong

Originally written as an email to my friends and family, the following was published in Insight News and picked up by other bloggers. I post it here now as I honor former North High students who have been murdered.

On the Death of Toua Xiong

August 8, 2006

I don't watch the news. I listen to MPR. I don't watch television news though, unless it's focused on global or national events. These local reports depress me.

So tonight, I am clicking the channel to find something as I wind down, and happen to hear the words "Arrest of a 20 year old in the murder of a North Minneapolis Pizza Delivery boy."

Next thing I know: a photo of Toua Xiong, the most sweet, innocent boy I may have ever taught at Minneapolis North Community High School, is being flashed up on the screen. He was the Pizza Hut delivery person killed on Sunday night.

And my god! This is the second former student of mine murdered --in what? A month? That I knew!! That is dead. Innocent young person. Marcus White. Now Toua Xiong.

And breathing is hard, you know.....?

This kid was so quiet. So sweet. Mid-height. Thin. So thin. So squeaky, squirmy, sitting next to this pack of Hmong boys in the back of my classroom with all their notebooks filled with car drawings; he was always drawing pictures and asking questions....Quiet questions. Needing to be near my elbow when he whispered them.

....When we were doing that Midsummer Night's Dream Unit, he played Mustardseed, or some such precious, few-lined character...And to ensure he got a good grade, submitted all of these drawings of the characters as he had envisioned them....

And then when I lead the Teen Group at St. Phillips - he delivered our pizza one random Monday night. I remember this whole awkward struggle I had leaving him a tip....(I didn't add right, and he returned to the church basement to have me recalculate the amount I'd written in...I was so embarrassed...)

And now he's dead.

I just ask for your thoughts. Prayers...We need peace. We need to be in relationship...

I suppose I need to ask some question...But I'm tired..And so angry.....And so sad...

So: please pose them out there....and have kind thoughts.....And hold this......It's not okay to have this happen.

Melissa

On the Murder of Marcus White

The following was originally composed as an email and sent to friends and family upon learning about the murder of former student, Marcus White. I post it here now, paying tribute to the four young men I taught at North High who have been killed in North Minneapolis.

Sunday, June 16, 2006

Friends, I am devastated. And writing as a way through this...as prayer...request for prayer and community...

I have logged onto my email from my friend Suzann's home in Pleasant View, Utah. (After a morning of watching CNN, learning more of the sitaution in Lebanon and the war being waged there with Israel, the Hezbollah, Hamas, and calling for the world's response... That news, followed by the "Secret State"report depicting the assissinations of three people who worked to cross the border of North Korea in the name of freedom, democracy, education...)

And now this. The Peace Foundation e-lert informing me of the latest Vigil: for Marcus White, 19 year old young man who was shot and killed Friday.

Marcus White, former student of mine at North High, with this beautiful smile and desire to always have the "right answers" when it came to class work...I amseeing him ask about his mid-term, Spring Semester, when he had to memorize and perform a scene from Mid-Summer Night's Dream. He was either Lysander or Demetrius, one of the young lovers.....One of the
Young LOVERS!!?!

.....The last time I saw him, I was walking into the Visitation Sisters' house on Girard, and he shouted a "Hey Ms. Borgmann" from across the street, just kitty-corner from the North High football field...When was that?.....

And I have photos of him on my hard drive at home - wearing a Peace Games T-shirt and a funny crown on his head...We were in the Sculpture Garden at the Walker...there for the Peace Games...Teens Rock the Mic poets were performing.. and our friends from South Africa....

My God!

I'm in shock. Sad. Devastated.....

I didn't know if this was one and same "Marcus-White-my-student" - until I found this Star
Tribune Article, and looked up his age....

I just wrote Michelle and Sondra at the Peace Foundation to confirm this, but now I know this is
true...

What's going on in our world? Where are we pointing our eyes, our hearts, our minds? What are we focusing on? How are we called into this? How do I sit here, north of Ogden, and do anything?

Sas, (my dear girlfriend from Sacred Heart and Norfolk Catholic, whose home with Brook, her husband, and son Ben - that I'm at now) ---She and I were up late last night, discussing so many of the issues present on the planet...(You know, those delicious deep,
philopophical, spiritual conversations I relish..) And we are asking ourselves what we are up to...

What are our gifts?
What does God, Creator, Love call us to do?
We are ear deep in stories, reflecting on the
tragedies and celebrations of our lives, and we both know how lucky we are really...how privileged we are...and considering what that means...
What are we called to do or be?

You know me, I just want to love...get married and have some kids and love them the best I can....Do my part to be an agent of change, a radical force of Love on the planet, working to impact evolution, helping create a space of healing and peace...in my own home...

But wow...

I tried for years in my classroom at North to do these things.....through my work with these beautiful poets and emerging teaching artists...

And Sas, here, with her beautiful son Benjamin, who she and Brook conceived and carried through 9-11....

..................
What am I saying? What am I writing? I don't know...But....there is a little blond boy downstairs who giggles and kisses and plays with trains and who came onto the earth (with perhaps the
miraculous help of St. Therese: "She's the one who held me when I was trying to be a baby" --said the almost 3-year old Ben, pointing at a statue of the saint, who his mom prayed to during the time they were working to conceive him.....)

IS this too much information? Too much processing? I don't know, but I must cling to these stories, this little boy's voice and smile and image (he's now saying: "Ms. Melissa, do want to see me crabwalk?" aha!)

And I hold this moment, this child - as that representing Love...of the greater goodness, the more powerful Life and Spirit orce that permeates our hearts...casts out the darkness and sorrow....

Hopefully...yes...Ben doesn't replace Marcus White. But he gives me hope....

As does the Peace Foundation. As does Prayer. As does knowing each and every one of you. As does this act of processing via email...

With love and blessings to each of you...
From Pleasant View, Utah,
Melissa B.

__________________________________

startribune.com

Minneapolis' latest victim of violence had worked on peace games
Terry Collins and David Chanen, Star Tribune

Around this time a year ago, Marcus White persuaded
PEACE Games organizers not to end a semifinal game on
a north Minneapolis basketball court after police
found a gun.

"I've worked hard to make this happen," White pleaded
during the anti-crime event. "Please let us finish
what we started. We need something positive."

On Thursday, the 19-year-old from Minneapolis was shot
and killed near a busy intersection in broad daylight,
becoming the city's 34th homicide victim this year.

Nobody had been arrested Friday. Police believe the
shooting was gang-related, and Capt. Rich Stanek said
that White had a "gang association."

But White's relatives who gathered at a vigil Friday
night! rejected that idea, and his cousin Steven
Smith said White had a college scholarship for the
fall.

A crowd of about 100 people converged at the corner of
W. Broadway and Dupont Avenue N., near the shooting
scene, singing gospel songs that reached into the
neighborhood over a loud speaker.

Another vigil is planned for 4 p.m. Sunday at the
site. As soon as Monday, Council Member Don Samuels
said, he intends to conduct his Fifth Ward business
from a tent in a parking lot on Broadway -- directly
across from where White was shot in the busy business
district that city leaders have vowed to revitalize.

Police were already working to address the crime
problem in the area with plans to open a safety center
there next week. Staff will include a Minneapolis
police crime prevention specialist and a West Broadway
Business Association representative, said mayoral
spokesman Jeremy Hanson.

"This will be a hub for the Police Department," he
said. "Once! it opens, the city will work with
community and neighborhood ! groups to figure how the
center can best fulfill everybody's needs."

Interim Police Chief Tim Dolan said Friday that
although there are beat officers assigned to the area,
additional officers will be on patrol in the wake of
the homicide.

He joined family and friends of White who gathered
earlier Friday around a makeshift memorial at W.
Broadway and Dupont.

Dolan also said there were gang members who were
"making a show" at the scene Friday.

The scene was a far cry from the one where White
worked a year ago as a youth worker for the inaugural
youth-oriented PEACE Games.

"He said, 'All we want to do is show you that we can
do this without anybody getting shot. Please,' " said
former coordinator Jimmy Stanback, who hired White.

Stanback said he'd known White since he was a kid and
last spoke to him Wednesday on W. Broadway. White
asked him about this year's PEACE Games, which begin
July 28.

"All I'm thinking about now i! s how he was trying to
prevent violence," Stanback said. "And now he's a
victim to violence."

An argument apparently led to Thursday's shooting,
Stanek said.

Moments before, White and two other people were in a
car. White and the woman were shot outside the car, he
said. Her injuries aren't life threatening.

The shooter fled on foot, Stanek said, adding that
police received several tips from those at the scene
who are "sick and tired" of the violence. In March,
Stanek stood over the body of Melvin Paul, 28, who
also was killed in broad daylight in his car about 20
feet from where White lay.

"We still need the community to come forward with
information to keep this a safe place and curtail the
violence," Stanek said.

The Rev. Jerry McAfee organized Friday night's vigil
and called on the community to trust in God and be
more spiritually focused as the way to prevent further
violence.

White's mother showed up briefly and! came forward
when McAfee identified her, but then she passed ! out.
A relative took her away in a car.

The minister called on the community to stand behind
White's family.

"If you're not going to be with this family for the
long haul, I'd rather you leave now," he said. People
applauded.

Staff writer Myron P. Medcalf contributed to this
report.

tcollins@startribune.com • 612-673-1790
dchanen@startribune.com • 612-673-4465

On Falling in Love with Francois

On Wednesday morning this past week, I got a text message from my mom, in Omaha, Nebraska, informing me that she had just put my grandmother and great-grandmother's diamond engagement ring in the mail. She sent it certified and insured mail to my boyfriend, Francois Xavier Kiemde, in Madison, Wisconsin, with her blessing, and the larger understanding that he would be presenting it to me - in due time.

I was driving down East River Road on the way to the University when I got the message. And I started crying. All the oxygen went out of my lungs, my eyes filled with tears, and I had to pull my car over. I am not sure completely how to describe such a moment, or locate myself in that emotional, mental, spiritual space, but I think it goes something like this:

I am in love. Wildly in love.
Someone adores me.
A gentleman bread baker and pastry chef named Francois from Burkina Faso wants to commit his life to me and be my husband.
There's a ring that has three generations of diamonds in it in the mail, representing men and women from my mom's family. It's a ring from my ancestors that I will wear someday.

It's like a century of love and faith and commitment and hard work and battles and joy and tears and terror and the unknown have been packaged up in a box and put on a train/ plane/ truck to this guy who loves me. And all that love/ faith/ commitment/ hard work/ battle/ joy/ tears/ terror/ unknown energy will be opened and at some unknown date in the future, be placed on my finger, with a promise to engage and immerse ourselves completely in the journey represented by that ring. Francois and I will get married. And I'm ecstatic.

I text messaged my mom back from the side of the road, trying to convey my gratitude to her, my awe for this moment, my love for this man. But how does someone do this in a text message? Shoot! How does anyone relay any kind of thoughtful reflection about their heart and mind and spirit to anyone? Is it possible? God knows I try, but goodness, do words ever convey what we feel and live and breath as a kind of truth in our limbs and bodies and lungs?

I think this is when I began trying to mentally draft a contemplative blog about the day, and this experience, and what it has meant falling in love with Francois.

Who is Francois Kiemde?
Why do I love him?
How do I know I want to get my grandmother's ring from him? (What preceded my mom putting this heirloom/relic in a box and mailing it to him?)
How does he know he wants to marry me? (How does anyone know they want to take this next step?)
How did mom's parents know they loved each other? How did Bette and Francis Liewer know? (Or my dad's mom and dad: John and Julia Adeline?) Or my great- grandparents-- whose diamonds are set in this ring: Matthew and Clara? Or Edna Bell and Matthias?

Whew. I could get dizzy thinking about it all. But it's not that hard.

Mr. Kiemde rocks. He rocks my soul, my heart, my world. Trying to write about this to my friend Nomi, I found myself drawing on her language: He's a man. The kind of man that presents himself to a woman, and makes her feel strong and beautiful and simultaneously, okay to be gentle and open; vulnerable, but courageous. With him, I feel like there's no challenge or obstacle we cannot handle, or any dream and goal we cannot realize: together.

***

I wrote of meeting Francois a few months ago, after he'd asked me formally to be his girlfriend. Since then, this fellow has continued to court me in the most honorable, intentional fashion that both inspires reflection on old-fashioned notions of "wooing"-- to prayerful contemplations on transformative models of marriage discernment.

Francois Xavier Kiemde is all man drawing forth and uplifting all facets of who I am as a woman.

He is a gentleman presenting himself as husband, as father, as lover, as provider, as nurturer, as supporter, as faithful and faith-filled fellow who desires me as a partner for all our days to come.

Here are some "Kiemde-isms" that underscore this journey for me in love:

Tell me about your last love. Would you be willing to go to counseling with me, so that we could create a solid way of communicating and caring for our relationship and sustaining a commitment?

I see us living here and in Africa.

Please, have your friends and family pray for us.

Can you find this scripture for me: "Trust the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding"? I think it's Proverbs.

Unless a husband is present for his wife emotionally, and really listening to her, you can kiss the marriage goodbye.

My prayer is for you to follow your dreams: doing what you feel God calling you to do. Social justice, writing, creating, teaching, no matter what, I want you to be happy and stay true to yourself.

I see us working together, doing community service....(pause) and it's not court -ordered!

I may not be the Obama you are looking for, but I could definitely be like Desmond Tutu!

Honey, it's garage sale season. Can we stop and check one out?

Funny. Joyous. Serious. Intentional. Smart. Prayerful. Political. Quiet. Attentive.

I love him.

***

Stay tuned.

Peace,
Melissa