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

Hear the Rain......

The following link was forwarded to me by my friend Anne this morning. Have you seen it? It's the Perpetuum Jazille Choir performing Toto's "Africa" - arranged by Tomaž Kozlevčar.

A few weeks back the same You Tube Video arrived in my inbox from Kat Reed, the woman who bought 1188 Juno. When I received the link and clicked to watch it then, I was awed, but it didn't have quite the same effect that this morning's viewing had on me.

Today: I cry. I sob. I laugh. I weep again. I am beyond awe; I am wowed, stirred, silenced. I love it.

Have you seen it?

Haha. Oh. I have to forward this along today, post it here, as a kind of prayer, as an act of reverence. Perhaps it's because I loved the original Toto version of the song? Perhaps it's because the act of making rain and thunder with human hands and limbs gives me pause: "We can do this? We can create rain? Is it possible?" (What else is possible?) I close my eyes and I listen. I open my eyes and smile. Maybe it's the lyrics that make me cry? The notion of blessing waters that fall over a continent, a land that I love and that inspires me to sing with the choir:

Its gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in africa, I bless the rains down in africa.

They sing of salvation. Of love. Perhaps for a person. Or for a land, a people, promise, a hope, some miracle. I wonder what the rains represent in life, in the song writer's heart? What does rain represent to me? To you?

I listen. I think of Francois. I think of falling in love at 40 and feeling 16 all over again. I marvel at what's happening in my heart. At the way the rain making music feels something akin to the love-making wonder of one human showing up in my life and committing himself to me.

I marvel: Is it possible? If the choir can do this, and a man can express himself so beautifully to me, what else is possible? What will we sing? What will we create? How will it rain in other ways?

I share this with you. I ask you what lives in your heart and mind and spirit and how you receive this video today. Yes.

Enjoy! Happy Contemplating!

Love,
Melissa

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!

Youth Radio: Valencia McMurray on Homelessness

"Minneapolis - The Minneapolis Public Schools counted 5,500 homeless children in the district last year.

One of those students is Valencia McMurray, who graduated last Saturday from North High School in Minneapolis. She tells the story of her struggle to stay in school and graduate while living on her own."

These are the opening words to a story I heard broadcast on Minnesota Public Radio this morning.

This personal account of one young woman's journey as a homeless teen made me cry. Her strength and resilient nature made me smile. The whole narrative made me ask questions:

What does it mean to be 17 and homeless?

How would I navigate such circumstances? You?

How many of my former North HIgh students were in similar situations - that I really knew of? Could I name them? Count them? Who was I completely clueless about?

What are the odds of graduating from high school when you don't know where you will sleep at night?

What kind of wisdom does such a young person gain in this space?

What is my role or response as a listener? Do I have one?

How is Valencia McMurray my teacher?

What questions does this story make you ask?

This Youth Radio piece made me proud to know such powerful and resilient young people - and their teachers - who face such circumstances. I applaud MPR for their production and pairing efforts. I congratulate Valencia and her peers on their accomplishments to date! I look forward to hearing more from all involved....

I encourage all of you to tune in! Listen!

In peace, contemplation,

Melissa

On Poetry and Anxiety at 4am: "Horses at Midnight Without a Moon"

I woke this morning at 4 a.m. in total fear and anxiety. Do you know this feeling?

Imagine my 40 year old frame stirring: gasping for breath, sweating from too many blankets -- or the heat of bad dreams -- and the dance of my life's failures before me. All the missed deadlines, poorly completed assignments, all the areas that I could imagine I sucked in my work and relationships were parading around my bed. It was not a fun place to be at 4 a.m.

Alone. In darkness. Trying to breathe.

I replayed the dreams that took me to that moment. The long ago awkward lover showing up to greet my parents, though his presence was no longer desired. (Failure to marry?) The creative writing and performance tasks that a dear friend was completing, while I watched and took notes, but didn't dare attempt. (Failure to publish?) The former student whose heart and brilliant mind inspired me, but who I failed to ever broadcast or promote. This young man crossing the street, waving, dancing, but seemingly taunting me: you didn't ever really do anything for me as a teacher! (Failure to acknowledge?) The colleague's questions and artistic processes that I knew transformed lives, but who I didn't document. (Failure to act?)

I was shrouded in some crazy darkness and doubt, some ego-laden fears about what I conceive of my life's work and purpose, and what I have truly accomplished. It was hard. I wanted to cry. I felt really alone and unable to shirk the sweaty salty experience of an anxiety attack at 4 am.

So I prayed. I replayed James' Finley describing Siddhartha, and how this man did one extraordinarily simple, but radical act: "Buddha sat and calmed himself." I tried to do this same thing. I breathed in and out and in and out. I said the "Our Father" five times. Then, a bit more calm, I looked at my dreams and these fears presenting themselves in my awake state. I saw my ridiculous ego thinking I was all that and capable of Christ-like activity. I laughed. I said, "Thank you," to the nuns in my life and sent a couple notes of prayer and gratitude out to my okay-to-text-at-4am-family-and-friends.

And then I read this poem. Pulling up the Writer's Almanac on my pda, I took in Jack Gilbert's piece, "Horses at Midnight Without a Moon" and I laughed and wept with the incredible resonance of poetry speaking to me. Art mirroring life.

And now, how many hours later, after a day's work, and some time to look back at it all, I share it with you. How many wake in these pre-light hours with such dark thoughts? Who encounters their own egos in such a crazed dance of desire and drama, fear and shame? Who finds Gilbert and celebrates his similar knowing about the heart and the animal world and the hope present in it all?

Enjoy the poem! Happy Contemplating!

Love,

Melissa

***

Horses At Midnight Without A Moon
by Jack Gilbert

Horses At Midnight Without A Moon
by Jack Gilbert

Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.
Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.
But there's music in us. Hope is pushed down
but the angel flies up again taking us with her.
The summer mornings begin inch by inch
while we sleep, and walk with us later
as long-legged beauty through
the dirty streets. It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing.
We know the horses are there in the dark
meadow because we can smell them,
can hear them breathing.
Our spirit persists like a man struggling
through the frozen valley
who suddenly smells flowers
and realizes the snow is melting
out of sight on top of the mountain,
knows that spring has begun.

"Horses At Midnight Without A Moon" by Jack Gilbert, from Refusing Heaven. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2005. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

"The Case for Working With your Hands" - By Matthew B. Crawford

This article in the May 21, 2009 NY Times is amazing. A colleague at CAREI shared it with me. Essential questions the author Matthew Crawford poses are:

"Why not encourage gifted students to learn a trade, if only in the summers, so that their fingers will be crushed once or twice before they go on to run the country?"

and,

"What does a good job look like?"

To this, I add, "And what does a good job FEEL like? And sound like? What happens in our brains, hearts, bodies when we are doing work that is "good"?"

I highly recommend the read. This ph.d turned motorcycle mechanic presents us with provocative thoughts in his examination of meaningful work and the cognitive processes and ethical components inherent in such employment activity.

Happy Contemplating!
LOVE!
Melissa

"Searching for the Truth:" John Legend at U Penn

What makes you tick? What inspires your heart? What triggers that deepest "uhhuh" and "yes" resonance with your soul that maybe makes you want to sing? (Does this happen to you?)

I had such an experience just yesterday watching and listening to grammy-award winning soul musician John Legend as he addressed the 2009 graduating class at the University of Pennsylvania. My friend Sr. Jill Underdahl showed this video clip to a group of 8 women known as the "Irentic Studies Cohert" at the Sisters of St. Joseph Carondelet Center. For the past two years, we've been gathering bi-monthly to journey with Sr. Jill in her graduate coursework in Peace Studies. We talk about non-violent communication and leadership and ways of being and thinking in the world. We talk about how all these topics permeate Catholicism and Global Citizenship. On this particular Thursday, we watched this video of John Legend giving a commencement address at his alma mater, and we reflected on how this speech connects numerous essential themes that inspire transformation and peace in the world.

Taking in Legend's words, I was moved, I was challenged, I felt the deepest resonance with his queries and analogies that made me laugh. His words made me cry. Most importantly, they made me want to act.

I invite you all to take 10 minutes of your day, and listen in. This man is preaching. He is modeling leadership. He is exemplifying a critical-inquiry based approach to life, seeking Truth and Soul, and as he states so beautifully: “A commitment to Truth requires a commitment to social justice." He elaborates during the speech: "Searching for the truth is a process, it requires listening..... a politics of empathy.” In the course of his commencement address, he invites us all to dialogue, and move outside of our comfort zones.

I close with these questions: "What is truth? What does your soul ask of you?"


Again, I invite you to all to tune in and reflect on these thoughts.

Love!
Melissa

In Blackwater Woods - by Mary Oliver

Thank you Writer's Almanac.

In Blackwater Woods

by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

"In Blackwater Woods" by Mary Oliver, from American Primitive. © Back Bay Books, 1983. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Letter of Resignation - A Poem by William Baer

Can you imagine sending a letter of resignation to a lover?

This poem, from today's "Writer's Almanac," made me laugh, sigh, and say, "Thank you." I am thankful for knowing love, and thankful for trusting in its unceasing presence in all of our lives.

Oh! And I say, "thank you" to William Baer for writing this; and "thank you" Minnesota Public Radio for sharing it!

Smiles, Peace,

Melissa

Letter of Resignation

by William Baer

Dear [blank]: After much deliberation,
without qualm, scruple, or further delay,
I hereby tender my formal resignation
as your lover and future fiancé.
The job provides too little satisfaction:
too many hours of unneeded duress,
a paucity of productive interaction,
uncertain working conditions, and endless stress.
Pay-wise, I'm undervalued and disenchanted:
advancement's slow, the bonus is routine,
my "on-call" overtime is taken for granted,
and benefits are few and far between.
This document, I'm hopeful, underscores
my deep regret. I'm very truly yours....

"Letter of Resignation" by William Baer from Bocage and Other Sonnets. © Texas Review Press, 2008. Reprinted with permission.(buy now)

On DNA - From Today's Writer's Almanac

This information in today's Writer's Almanac about DNA makes me happy. "Deoxyribose nucleic acid." Say that three times really fast! To contemplate the building blocks of our bodies, beings.....?!

I say "Thank you" to Watson and Crick for their work compiling others' research efforts. I celebrate the initially, un-acknowledged Rosalind Franklin. I marvel considering who and where our next Nobel-prize winning scientists are. I stand in awe considering all the information that is held in my own DNA, as well as yours. "What will we discover or learn next?"

***

It was on this day in 1953 that Watson and Crick published the article in which they proposed the structure of DNA. The article appeared in Nature magazine, and it was only about a page long. It began, "We wish to suggest a structure for the salt of deoxyribose nucleic acid (D.N.A.). This structure has novel features which are of considerable biological interest." Their hypothesis about the double-helix structure of DNA revolutionized biology and paved the way for the field of genetics. Some science historians rank their feat with Newton describing the laws of physics.

Watson and Crick's discovery was actually the result of synthesizing many other people's ideas and research. They spent relatively little time in the laboratory doing experiments. They relied on the research of others, especially Rosalind Franklin, who had taken X-ray photographs of DNA samples. Their initial failure to acknowledge their huge debt to her caused a great debate in the scientific world. Many people felt that she should have shared the Nobel Prize, which Watson and Crick won in 1962.

Change in the Church: Looking to Religious Orders

The Church is changing. And religious orders are really going to show the rest of the church how to survive. They are going to embrace change, in the way that the hierarchical church cannot. Religious orders will model this transformation.
- Bob Burke, former Director of Pastoral Planning, 1980 - 2003, Minneapolis/ St. Paul Archdiocese

Where is the Catholic church today? Where has it come from? Where is it going?

These are some of the questions that burn in my brain, keep my spirit soaring, and my whole body alive in wonder, outrage, desire, curiosity, and discerned courses of action. The church has problems. But the radical call of Christ to love all and work for peace and justice keeps me committed and posing these questions:

Who are we? Where are we going?

***

As many of you know, I love nuns. (I would be a nun, if I could also commit my life in marriage to one living man!) For all intents and purposes then, I have found a way to be as committed as possible to the devout, religious life, without being a professed sister. I have the privilege of being affiliated with the Visitation Sisters of North Minneapolis as a Visitation Companion. This lay membership rocks and feeds my soul. As these women rock and feed the North Side community through their contemplative presence, and commitment to "Live Jesus!" (For those who aren't familiar with these women, they are affectionately referred to as "Nuns in the 'hood" -- given their presence on the street and the way they open their monastery to the poverty, wealth, reality of their neighborhood.) In addition to spending time with this order, I also have significant relationships with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, (who founded the College of St. Catherine in St. Paul, and march for peace every Wednesday outside my apartment). I'm also fortunate enough to have a dear spiritual director and poet friend at Rochester's Assisi Heights Convent, where the Franciscan nun Sr. Rafael Tilton resides.

***

Anyone who is catholic or who reads the papers, knows there's stuff going down in the church. If you are a member of the Minneapolis/ St. Paul Archdiocese, then you are privy to this "stuff" in the transition from Archbishop Harry Flynn to Archbishop Neinstedt. You recognize a distinctly different style of leadership. Your masses and liturgy may start to feel a bit different, as well. If you are a long time member of St. Philips, you might refer to this change as "reverting to Pre-Vatican II times." You may or may not understand how what's occurring in Minneapolis, Minnesota is somehow connected to what's occurring in Rome, Italy, under Pope Benedict's rule. If you are politically engaged and a critical thinking citizen, then perhaps the recent brew-ha-ha over President Obama's invitation to speak at Notre Dame has caught your eye. If you are in a rural area and attending mass, you may note your priest's exhaustion over having to run and preside over several different services in several different communities, in the name of consecrating the eucharist. You know there's a shortage of priests. You recognize membership in the church is dwindling. You see pews emptying out and perhaps overhear your friends' discussions about finding a different faith community to join. You may be celebrating a whole host of immigrant members, and yet struggling to understand how this evolution will include authentic communication and honor the roots of liberation theology.

Who are we? Where are we going?

So. I am part of the Visitation Companions; I sit on their Circle of Collaborative Leaders, and have the privilege of thinking about the challenges and opportunities of our current situation with this diverse group of nuns, catholics and non-catholic leaders. As part of addressing this reality, the Visitation Sisters have been leading in - what I'd say is - a progressive and inspiring manner by addressing the facts of this current environment, posing questions, praying communally and taking action. Through the Circle of Collaborative Leaders, the lay network of Vis Companions and given the support of the larger monastery, the Vis Sisters have opened a retreat house in the North Minneapolis community called "St. Jane House." This space for communal prayer and activity is, ostensibly, a way that models and exemplifies change in how the aging community will continue to "Live Jesus!" in North Minneapolis, when God forbid, they are gone.

In addition though, we are collaboratively, passionately working to recruit new sisters to the order. As the youngest lay member of this initiative group, I find it so exciting to get to be part of this work. I love the questions grounding us, and the task of identifying, naming WHY this life and call to be a nun is so beautiful and such a gift to a woman -- and to the larger world at this time! I find this ministry/ vocation/ marketing work especially provocative during this period in our lives, and in our church's transformation.

Who are we? Where are we going?

***

This past Tuesday afternoon with the Vis Sisters, our Strategic Planning Group met and was joined by a guest speaker, Bob Burke. As a church historian, former college professor, and retired Director of Pastoral Planning for the Archdiocese, Mr. Burke offered our group further perspective on what is taking place in our local and larger church. And this perspective inspired me! He was naming what I already felt true in my bones, and what is backed up by centuries of experience in the Catholic Church's history.

Bob Burke began:

The Church is changeable. People think it's unchangeable, but it is changeable.

He went on to outline the evolution of the monastic orders from the time of Christ's death, underscoring how the church has been changing since the beginning:

Church History:
Death of Christ
500 AD. – First Religious Order: Foundation of Monasticism
Benedict and Scholastica – founded in the countryside.
1,000 AD – Foundation of Mendicants, or Begging Orders. Franciscans/ Dominicans. They bring religious life into the city.
1600's – REFORMATION – all types of religious orders were founded for countering the reformation, answering charges of reformation by Protestants.
Note: this is HUGE CHANGE!
1610 – Visitation is founded.
1800's – French Revolution – orders are still in the city, country, there were beggars…but now: the religious orders are being founded around Charism.
Vatican II

Bob Burke stated, matter-of-factly and with hope:

"We are going to see the demise of religious orders…The Holy Spirit is calling us to do something new."

His acknowledgement of the current reality was such a validation of what we all know are incredible challenges today. At the same time, his words were a source of deep inspiration for me, as they came from his twenty-three years plus of service and leadership in the church, and his own expertise as not only a church historian, but a man similarly committed to the Salesian Charism and the Visitation Sisters. I appreciated deeply his critical questions about the future and his frank assessment about how we move forward.

"There are a diminishing number of practicing catholics. Mass attendance is way down. Participation is in jeopardy because of the shortage of priests. The Eucharist brought us together, but now with the decline in presbyters, what are we to do? The solution is known, but no one is talking about it. What is it? Let's expand the notion of ordination. "

His honesty, clarity and wise counsel gave me pause. It made me cry. It resonated with what I know to be true in my own lived experience with the sisters, and my current journey as a Catholic living, working, volunteering, serving in North Minneapolis and beyond. I took great hope from his prophetic words. I close this reflection as I began, with his words and my opening questions. I challenge you all in your respective faith communities and places of work and leadership to respond.

"The Church is changing. And religious orders are really going to show the rest of the church how to survive. They are going to embrace change, in the way that the hierarchical church can't. Religious orders will model this transformation. "

Who are we? Where are we going?

***

To Love! Hope! Change! Transformation!
Melissa

On South Africa's Election

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8012567.stm

The turnout today at the polls in South Africa has been amazing. This headline from the BBC inspires many thoughts and questions:

What is the future of this beautiful nation?
What role do the young people play in today's results?
Who is Jacob Zuma to the average South African, and to globally-conscious -people abroad?
Where is this country economically and spiritually, fifteen years since the fall of Apartheid?
How will the emergence of this new opposition party, Congress of the People (COPE) impact the present and future direction of the country's leadership?

***

I am writing to send good thoughts to my South African friends abroad - and to all citizens who discerned their votes today, taking action to make change. In my travels last November to this beautiful land, I entered into so many political discussions. On the heels of the United States' election of President Obama, people from areas all over South Africa (Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania and Ghana) engaged me in critical discourse and reflection on democratic governance and change. No matter where I went -- whether it be the urban areas of Johannesburg, East London, Pietermaritzburg and Durban - to the rural communities of Msinga and Nquthu -- the questions and knowledge about the recent election in the United States blew me away. It was so inspiring to be engaged with so many differnt people, and to realize time and again how much the election of Barack Obama was triggering the critical engagement of other people in their own governments all over the world.

I encourage us all to take note of what is happening today in South Africa. The circumstances broaden and challenge us - no matter where we are in our local communities, or where we claim citizenship. As we tune into developing and transforming democracies all over the planet, we take notes, ask questions and in turn, support ongoing change for the liberation and prosperity of all people.

It's so exciting! Blessings to South Africa!
Melissa

Médecins Sans Frontières: A Documentary about "Living In Emergency"

The following is a trailer for the documentary film "Living in Emergency: Stories of Doctors Without Borders."


Living in Emergency Trailer from LivinginEmergency on Vimeo.

I had the privilege of seeing this film today with friends from my North Minneapolis Faith community. A small group of us from St. Philip's Catholic church were joined by the Northside Visitation Sisters at the St. Anthony Main theater, for this Minneapolis St. Paul International Film Festival screening. It blew my mind. It made me ask a lot of questions:

What does it mean to be a medical practitioner living and working beyond borders?
What are the frontiers of health care workers?
What implications does the work of Médecins Sans Frontières have for the rest of us?
How does entering a war-torn country resemble anything remotely familiar to your average US citizen?
How does a film like this push us all beyond our comfort zones and challenge us to step into the messy circumstances of conflict, terror, trauma, seeming scarcity, the absurd?
What does it mean to navigate the chaos of war -- the cruelty of the ridiculous and possibly insane?
Why even try?

I sat next to Antoinette Bennaars Lukanga. Behind me were Ann Shallbetter, Kristin Moffit, Carol Assiobo Tipoh and her cousin Adjo "Ellie" Amouzou. Sisters Mary Frances, Mary Virginia, Mary Margaret, Katherine, Suzanne and Karen were about five rows up and to the right. We were a crazy cross section of women from African countries and American states. Pink and brown-skinned; blond, brunette, black and grey-haired. Some of us work in the sciences with healthcare careers ; others were employed in education with classroom experiences. Still others had expertise in business, with human resource management and leadership roles. All of us were connected in one way or another to the film's central characters --the doctors without borders -- all struggling with the responsibility of trying to heal, mend - step in and witness what is bleeding and broken.

I cried watching this film. I laughed out loud at the absurdity of what I was seeing. I squirmed and squeezed my eyes shut at the horrific but ridiculous reality presented. (Drilling into a human skull to aleviate pressure on an already blown open-by-gunfire brain?!) I cursed alongside the isolated physician in Liberia without resources or support to do his job. I marveled at the arrogance and egos at play between the blessed humans doing this work. I wondered a lot about translating communication and culture in spaces like Congo. I thought long and hard about how connected we all are. I returned to the privilege I have to see such things and truly contemplate them. What exists at the heart of such war-torn spaces? Why do these conditions persist?

I invite all of us to see this film, support the efforts of such work, and recognize how we all might - as individuals and a larger global community --step into solutions.

In peace,
Your contemplative friend, (and catholic beyond borders),
Melissa

Easter: Prayer as Poetry

This is what I do, right? Contemplate conditions, write in response. Today, in light of Easter, I find myself meditating on Christ's crucifixion. I write. I laugh. I weep. I wonder. I entertain myself in the prayer that is my poetry.

Peace. Love,
Melissa

Trade Offs
by Melissa Borgmann

What if we stepped into that space?
Recognized our nearness to death:
Thorny piercing of skin
Nails through the wrists
(because the palms would not have worked, right?)

See this:
Sharply hammered iron pins that are driven through epidermis, veins,
move over bone.
Yes.
Affixed.
[Can you imagine the craftsman who forged that spike?]

Lungs collapsing from the tug of ribs
Pulled down by the weight of legs
Chest cavity crushing spirit.

And we try to breath.
We try.
He tries. We try.

Something like blood or sweat trickles down from the temples.
Do you get a headache? Appropriate, or not?

Yes, “This crucifixion gives me a headache.”
[“Me, too.”]

Pain is so inconvenient.
Suffering so easily remedied by, say, a cocktail?
A glass of wine appears.
The bitter irony of drink.

This is my body, given up for you.
This is my blood, shed for you and for all, so that sins may be forgiven.
Do this in remembrance of me.

Have the meal, it is much easier.

Amen.

****

Meditation on Nail Man
by Melissa Borgmann

My name is Ike and
I make the spikes
That drive through flesh and bone
Of one called Christ.

It’s hot and sweaty labor
To forge steel in fire
But the point is to honor God
With these gifts that never tire.

Healing our Families: Attending to our Stories, Screams, Salvation

Yesterday, at 5:30pm, I had the privilege of addressing a group of about 40 women gathered at the Sisters of St. Joseph Carondelet Center in St. Paul. I was invited to speak to this community on the topic of "Healing our Families" - as part of a Lenten Series - sponsored by the nuns and the CSJ Consociates. Before a room of mostly pink-skinned Sisters, Consociates, St. Joseph Workers and Friends, ranging in age from 22 to 80, I delivered the following reflection.

I offer it here for your own contemplation. I say "Thank you" to all who read and respond to such musings, especially my own immediate family. You all do wonders to inspire me, and countless others, I'm certain!

Love,
Melissa

****

CSJ Healing Service
March 27, 2009

Healing our Families: Attending to our Stories, Screams, Salvation!

Good evening! Let me begin by saying what a privilege it is to be in this community tonight; what an honor to be present in this space, with all of your glorious spirits, collective wisdom and stories, and given this opportunity to crack open a bit of scripture, and reflect upon this topic of healing our families.

I begin tonight with a story. I turn then to scripture. I conclude with questions and a prayer. The title to this, by the way is, “Healing our Families: Attending to our Stories, Screams, Salvation!”
.

Three weeks ago, on the second Sunday of Lent, I was running errands after mass. I had a laundry list of things to purchase, which took me to Walgreens on Lake Street. (Who here has been to the Walgreens on Lake Street?) While I was walking in to pick up these items, my eye was struck by a tall, handsome fellow. And everything in me started to sort of quake. He was handsome: 6’4”, clean cut handsome. Blazer over jeans and Italian shoes wearing handsome. Brown. African brown handsome. Rimless glasses handsome. I wanted to melt when he looked my way. I tried to proceed forward in my drugstore purchases, but over the course of the next 14 minutes, I went a little bit nuts -- swooning over this fellow that I’d never laid eyes on before in my life.

I found myself standing next to him in the deodorant aisle, picking out anti-perspirants; or rather: trying to pick out an anti-perspirant, but wondering instead where he lived, what kinds of food he ate, and whether he might want to take me out for Thai curry some night? I tried to focus on the Shower Clean and Pure Rain deodorants before me, but all I could think about was how nice and clean he smelled, like he maybe just stepped out of the shower or carried the scent of rain with him wherever he went.

He was so pretty!

Now, I know that I’m addressing a group of mostly nuns. And maybe there’s something seemingly illicit about talking about sexual attraction before a religious community? But I don’t think so. Because I know each of us, at some moment in time has had an encounter with beauty, with that which takes our breath away, and inspires a swooning-like feeling. And I think at the heart of these kinds of experiences -- is something that flows from God, is something that resembles the Divine, is something that has the power to heal us. And these moments are sacred and worthy of our collective note-taking or reverence.

I had to write about this experience afterwards. I had to write about all the aisles this fellow and I encountered one another in, in the store. (Toilet paper, toilet bowl cleaner, dryer sheet aisles.) I had to write about making eye contact with him and smiling. I had to write about how I got shy and quiet, but never spoke. I had to confess my own larger fears over what reaching out and extending words might mean. I had to disclose my complete joy over the encounter, and my utter frustration of what ensued. I had to admit how long it had been since such an experience had stirred such emotion in my heart and limbs. I had to celebrate that this body, this Divinely made being could have such an encounter, and even, quite possibly inspire something similar in him, the hot Walgreens man, who could be, for all intents and purposes: the other, the observer, even possibly, Christ in our midst.

What does this tale have to do with Lent, this Healing Service, or any of our families?

I turn to this weekend’s scriptures.

In preparation for today’s service, I found myself prayerfully drawn to these words from St. Paul’s Letter to the Hebrews and the Gospel according to St. John.

Christ Jesus was in the flesh,
he offered prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears
to the one who was able to save him from death,

and:

"I am troubled now. Yet what should I say?
'Father, save me from this hour'?

Can you repeat these after me?

Christ Jesus was in the flesh,
he offered prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears
to the one who was able to save him from death,

and:

"I am troubled now. Yet what should I say?
'Father, save me from this hour'?


How many of us know these aching questions, these cries coming from our own weary lungs? From our own salty lips? Beseeching a loving God and Creator for salvation?

Whew. For this 40 years old, single lady, roaming the planet trying to honor Love, these questions pierce the core of my heart.
I imagine they might resonate with each of you, as well. No matter what your circumstance as an individual, as a person part of a larger family. How many of us feel we have failed our families? (or they’ve failed us?) We haven’t been fully enough in our community? Haven’t responded in the most compassionate way to our cousins or to the Christ in our midst? How many have felt just like Jesus, here, achy, seemingly alone, and possibly letting down a leader, a parent, a figure of faith that we aspire to serve? (How many of us have feared death?)

I’m 40. A 40-year old single woman who loves God with her whole heart and mind and body. I'm a single, never-been-married woman who wants nothing more than to serve a discerned calling to partner and marry and have children. But has that happened yet? Nope! Guess what my cries sound like to God? Guess what screams pour forth from these lungs!

Enter: Walgreens man. Enter Love. Enter Jesus. Enter a moment, a chance encounter, when beauty pours forth, and pierces my heart, reminding me of my own beloved nature.

How does such a story, juxtaposed with scripture, provide insight into healing ourselves? How does a story like this relate at all to the healing of our families?

I return to a meditation on oneness. On our belovedness. On recognizing our connections with Christ, on seeing our suffering, our screams, as aligned in his own humanity, in his questions and story, and united equally, then, in His salvation…..Don’t you think?

The answer, from the prophet Jeremiah is as simple as this, The Lord says, “I will place my law within them, and write it upon their hearts.”

What’s the Lord writing here, (pointing to heart) except the word, “LOVE!”

Say it with me: LOVE!

***
So I wrote down this story about the Walgreens guy. I entitled it, “Weak in the Knees at Walgreens. “ I posted it on my blog, and then emailed it my list-serve of about 250 people. Included in this list, were my family members.

And do you know what happened? It triggered something. My aunt Marian, a biologist living in Lincoln, Nebraska, who screams a lot about stuff and incites all sorts of riotous on-line writing, softened in her reception of this. She re-titled my email, “Melissa’s Knees: Our Love Stories.” What ensued for days on end, in my online Borgmann-Family Listerve world: were narrative after narrative, written story after written story, response after response: all bearing witness to each family member’s “weak-in-th- knees” moment, when he or she had a similar encounter with Love.

It was beautiful and inspiring. It felt to be a kind of sweet balm, antidote to that which ails. It was healing.

As I close, I ask each of you to consider:
What is your story? What “weak-in-the-knees” moment have you encountered? What first hand stories of love have you shared with family or friends? How have you experienced Christ’s entrance in your world? At Walgreens, at the dining room table, how do you see yourself aligned with him in suffering and salvation?

My prayer is that in and through our individual and collective witness to such encounters, we know healing in our hearts and homes. May we encounter the beloved in our bodies and in the beauty of the other . May we find alignment in Christ’s suffering, and simultaneously say, “Thank God for the Salvation of Story!”

Amen?

Amen!

****
LENTEN PRAYER ~ A Time for Healing ~

Fridays, 5:30 – 6:15 pm
Carondelet Center, 1890 Randolph Ave., St. Paul
All are welcome!

March 6 ~ Prayer Service for the Healing of the Nations
featuring musicians Mary Preus and Tom Witt

March 13 ~ Healing Our Country
Reflection by Joan Wittman, CSJ Consociate, Chair of Legislative Advocacy Partners Working Group

March 20 ~ Healing Our Communities
Reflection by Brian Reusch, Minnesota Council of Churches, Celeste’s Dream visioning circle

March 27 ~ Healing Our Families
Reflection by Melissa Borgmann, teacher, author, spoken word artist, lover of the gospel

April 3 ~ Healing Our Earth
Reflection by Rabbi Amy Eilberg, Jay Phillips Center for Jewish Christian Studies, peace educator

Lenten Prayer is sponsored by the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet and Consociates: Celeste’s Dream, Hedgerow Initiative, Justice Office, Membership, St. Joseph Workers, Wisdom Ways Center for Spirituality

Meditation: On Description

I love this passage from Pat Carini. It takes me to all of you today. I offer it as an invitation to slow down, pause, attend. It seems an absolute act of prayer, reverence, peace - this process.

It makes me wonder, "What would happen if we really looked at something - someone, circumstances - before we responded? What if we simply described what we saw?"

Meditation: On Description

"Describing I pause, and pausing, attend.

Describing requires that I stand back and consider.

Describing requires I not rush to judgment or conclude before I have looked.

Describing makes room for something to be fully present.

Describing is slow, particular work.

I have to set aside familiar categories for classifying or generalizing.

I have to stay with the subject of my attention.

I have to give it time to speak, to show itself."

-Pat Carini, "Meditation: On Description" In Starting Strong: A Different Look at Children, Schools, and Standards. New York: Teachers College Press, 163-164.

Happy Contemplating!
Melissa

On Anniversaries: Getting to the Fine Day of Walter McDonald's Poem

My recent writing about "swooning" ("Weak-in-the-Knees-at-Walgreens") triggered a whole series of responses from you. Included in these, were my own family's musings about the way many members made their way toward marriage. Our Borgmann-Family Blog was lit up with tales loosely given the title, "Melissa's Knees: Our Love Stories" by my Aunt Marian. It was great fun to read these narratives, and to glean other such moments of "swooning" and first encounters. It took me personally into the larger space of our individual and collective journeys toward commitment, and how messy and fun and hard and exciting that all is. Today's Writer's Almanac poem speaks to these journeys, from one poet's sweet, love-heartache-reflection perspective.

Enjoy!

Anniversary: One Fine Day
by Walter McDonald

Who would sit through a plot as preposterous as ours,
married after years apart? Chance meetings may work
early in stories, but at operas, darling, in Texas?
A bachelor pilot, I fled Laredo for the weekend,
stopping at the opera from boredom, music I least expected.
Of all the zoos and honky-tonks south of Dallas,
who would believe I would find you there on the stairs,

Madame Butterfly about to start? When you moved
four years before, I lost all hope of dying happy,
dogfighting my way through pilot training, reckless,
in terror only when I saw the man beside you.
I had pictured him rich and splendid in my mind
a thousand times, thinking you married with babies
somewhere in Tahiti, Spain, the south of France.

When I saw the lucky devil I hated—only your date,
but I didn't know—he stopped gloating, watching you wave,
turned old and bitter like the crone in Shangri La.
Destiny happens only in plays and cheap movies—
but here, here on my desk is your photo, decades later,
and I hear sounds from another room of our house,
and when I rise amazed and follow, you are there.

"Anniversary: One Fine Day" by Walt McDonald, from Blessings the Body Gave. © Ohio State University Press, 1998. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

On Race and White Privilege: Julie Landsman at the Church of St. Philips

How do we make visible the invisible?
What role does race, racism, and white privilege play in our public discourse? How about our everyday communication?
(What is white privilege? How do we define this concept?)
How does anyone get conscious of that which lies below the surface, or goes unacknowledged, but permeates everything?
How do we celebrate our diversity, and move toward a unified humanity?
What precedes such development?
How do relationships transform our learning at the intellectual, spiritual, emotional levels?
How messy and exciting - at the same time- is this work?!

Hmmm....These are some of the questions I hold going into this weekend's event featuring teacher and author Julie Landsman at the Church of St. Philip's. For those who don't know, Ms. Landsman is one who exemplifies a critical consciousness and learning around some of the toughest issues of our time: racism and white privilege.

As a parishioner at the Church of St. Philip's, I'm excited about how having Julie in our midst may help to surface some of the gifts and challenges present in our North Side faith community. With St. Philip's rich legacy as a Polish Catholic parish, and its evolving spirit in a predominantly African American community, coupled with the recent influx of many East African members and our Congolese Catholic priest, we are poised for a rich and powerful discussion inspired by Ms. Landsman's own witness to her pink-skinned heritage and cultural experiences. Julie's writing is rooted in social justice consciousness, and flows from civil rights activism --which seeks to unite all of us across race, class, gender, language, faith lines.

If you are in the area, please feel free to join our post-mass reading and facilitated discussion. Julie will read from her latest book, "Growing Up White: A Veteran Teacher Reflects on Racism."

WHEN: Sunday, March 22, 2009
TIME: 11:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. (following 10:15am mass)
WHERE: Church of St. Philip 2507 Bryant Avenue North Minneapolis, MN 55411
(at the corner of 26th Avenue and Bryant Avenue North)

This is a free event and all are encouraged to attend.

Again: All are welcome!

Peace,
Melissa

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

It's the Feast of St. Patrick today -- a holiday celebrating this former Brittish (or was it Scottish?) man who was enslaved in Northern Ireland, and went onto to become a priest and bishop in Ireland. Patrick preached love and forgiveness in this country where he was imprisoned. As a contemplative, Catholic and resident in St. Paul, Minnesota - where many green beer drinking festivities take place today - I'm writing to simply pay tribute to this figure of love.

I share a prayer that exemplifies St. Patrick's spirit, called, "Patrick's Breastplate:"

"Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ within me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ at my right, Christ at my left, Christ in my lying down, Christ in my sitting, Christ in my arising. Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me. Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks to me. Christ in every eye that sees me. Christ in every ear that hears me."

Amen.

As a writer sensative to all faiths and beliefs, I extend the spirit of Patrick to all, and invite this prayer to be understood as one of Love encompassing all aspects of vision, identity, experience, encounter, journey. Yes!

Blessings to all this day!

Love,

Melissa

Weak-in-the-Knees at Walgreens

I can't remember the last time I thought I might swoon.

First off, who "swoons" anymore? Isn't this some archaic term once used to describe a Vivian Lee type meeting up with a Clark Gable? (Read: any female circa 1930-1950 encountering a hollywood star, or their returning war-hero husband.) What does it mean to "swoon"? "To sway, to buckle, to bend, to be overcome with emotion, desire, intrigue, and tip sideways?" I think, "Yes, Precisely!" As this is exactly what happened to me in Walgreens on Lake Street last Sunday.

I'm going about my business. It's after Mass and a social call, and I've got a "To Do" list that includes filling up the car with gas and replenishing some necessary toiletries and cleaning items for my 2338 Marshall Ave apartment. I leave my brunch counter at Longfellow Grille, and head, for the first time since my move to this neighborhood, to the Walgreens on Lake Street with my list in hand.

"Deodorant. Toilet Bowl Cleaner. Toilet Paper. Dry Cleaning Bags."

No sooner than I enter, do I notice the attractive person who inspires my swoon. (Melissa weak in the knees at Walgreens.)

Tall. Six foot three or four. Brown. African Brown. Sports jacket over collared shirt, pressed jeans, shiny black Italian leather shoes. Rimless glasses. Pretty.

But I am buying toilet bowl cleaner. So I work to orient myself with the aisles and take a step forward.

First Aisle: Deodorant. As I walk toward this section of the store, I realize the handsome man is coming my way. I pause, smile, he smiles back, and I make a gesture to let him pass in front of me. The next thing I know: we are standing side by side looking at anti-perspirants. I am aware of his height. Of his hands. Of his clean smell. And I think my knees may really give out. "What am I doing? Why am I here? What am I buying?" I am trying to focus. I read my list. Look at the items on the shelf. But all I can think of is how striking this man is next to me.

I wonder if he's single? Where is he from? What does he do? I wonder if he likes curry or Thai food? I examine brands of deodorant.

Shower Clean. Pure Rain. Powder Fresh. I wonder what he buys? I wonder if he is at all aware of me? I wonder what makes him sweat? I select the Powder Fresh and try to go about my business.

Next Item: Toilet Bowl Cleaner. I find this pretty easily, and in the space away from the attractive man, I realize I am breathing normally again. I realize I might be crazy. I am in a freaking Walgreens on Lake Street! I laugh quietly at myself and realize how fun it is to find someone handsome. I realize how long it's been, and

I say, "Thank you" to God for this moment and this feeling, and this pretty man, and I pick out a blue toilet bowl cleaner on sale.

I continue on.

Next item: Toilet Paper. I see a whole case on sale in the farthest aisle, but as I approach, I spot hot guy again. And I quake. I turn. I cannot purchase this paper. "Why can't this guy see me buying Toilet Tissue?" I don't know, perhaps I'm afraid of how real that all is. (That I use a bathroom?) I scan my list.

Dry Cleaning Bags! As I head toward aisle four, scanning the shelves for "Dryell" I realize I'm lost. Candles and gift bags are in front me. "Melissa, concentrate!" I say to myself. I try to see clearly, and now, before me, is him. He smiles. I cannot bear to be near him -- he's that handsome. I'm certain he'll read my thoughts. ( What if he reads my thoughts? )

I get out of aisle four, and take refuge in the paper products aisle. Scott Tissue Double rolls go into my cart. Now, to just get the dry cleaning bags and get to the check out lane.

But then I think, "Maybe this guy might think I'm attractive?"

Maybe it's not just me that's thinking about eating spicy food together, or how chili peppers might affect our bodies, or interact with our deodorant?

I walk gingerly to the front of the store, and then pause. Should I wait until he's up here, before I check out? I could hang out in film and batteries for a second. The "Melissa, you're crazy" voice kicks back in, and I proceed to pay for my items. The female clerk starts to ring up my stuff, and all of a sudden, he's behind me , another female customer separating us.

I scan for newspapers and ask the clerk if they sell the New York Times. She says, "no," gives me my grand total. As she processes my credit card, I look up, and he's staring right at me. We lock eyes. Smile at one another. It's like this woman between us is invisible. I want to melt.

And then the moment is done. I turn to gather my things, and try not to run out of the store.

He was looking at me. It feels obvious. But now what? Now I'm in a parking lot. Outside Walgreens on Lake Street. I unlock my car and take a look at my vehicle. The black CRV ashy grey, covered in Minnesota Winter Salt Sand. My "Catholics for Obama" sticker standing out in blue on the back windshield of my car. "Ah, isn't it funny how we might make first impressions?" I think.

I get into my vehicle, and the next I thing I know: he is next to me, getting into a shiny silver four door sporty thing, parked to the right of my car. Maybe a Chrysler, maybe a Mercedes. What do I know of cars?

And now it's obvious. We are looking at one another through our car windows, and I want to throw up. What can either of us do?

If I get out of my car, I'm really a crazy woman; if he would move to say something, he's a black man approaching a white woman on Lake Street.

What ensues is of interest in that curious, awkward, point-of-wondering, "what-next?" sort of curiosity I think we all hold.

I send my friend Matt a text from the parking lot of Walgreens. "I just locked eyes with a hot fellow in Walgreens. I can't remember the last time I got weak in the knees over a fellow."

I write this, and take hold of my "rational" Midwestern senses, and put my car in drive and depart.

Ten blocks away, heading east, wondering where I'll get gas, and if I'll ever see this fellow again, I get Matt's text message as a response. "Take him home with you!" I read his message and laugh, and then think, "Of course!" I am not that far away. I decide to flip a u-turn, and head back to see if he's still in the parking lot. As I'm rounding the corner, I catch the hot guy turning into a gas station across the street. I laugh. Again: Of course! Of course he's around! Of course he's pulling into this convenience store 45 feet from me.

I just need to pull across the intersection, and I'll be in the same space as him again! As I ease across Lake Street into the Super America, hot man pulls out and flips around, heading back West to where we came from.

I laugh again.

I fill up with gas, and contemplate the encounter.

I met a hot man in a place that specializes in maintaining well-being. We locked eyes. We smiled. He lit a fire in my belly and being. When I thought to follow him, he lead me to a place where I could refuel and continue moving forward.

Yes!

For all of it, I say, "AMEN!"

And for my readers, I say, If you know this fellow, please send him back my way!!!

In love, stories, contemplation,

Melissa