+1 attack!

It's Wednesday, so I'm writing about relationships, sex, and dating. Or, today, the lack thereof. Please, if you watch 30 Rock, understand that this is best read if you think of it being read to you by Liz Lemmon. Disclaimer: This is not a plea for a date, either. You faceless, beautiful Internet, you. Last year, I was standing in the liminal space between Indian and Eastern European imported foods in the local grocer when the remnant of my relational sanity broke.

There it was, in the harsh light of fluorescent overheads: an emailed save the date on my iPhone, which detailed the location of the wedding, that a reception would follow, and that I needed to indicate if I was to be "1" or "+1".

That's right. It was a +1 attack.

Those of you non-singles out there may have been non-single long enough that you have forgotten what a +1 attack is. It is what happens when you reach a certain age, typically in your early twenties, when all the people you thought would never get married are suddenly, in fact, getting married. They then, for reasons that you can only suppose have something to do with the fact that you have a good eye and shop at Neiman Marcus, invite you to their wedding.

You and, if you have one to bring, a guest.

A significant other.

A +1.

Immediately, as a single person, you are left in utter limbo.

You can't bring a friend to a wedding, because then everyone talks about how you couldn't get a date. You can't bring a date to the wedding, because there have been enough sitcoms to remind us that this usually results in very bad situations: you pretending to be in a much better job than you currently are and your date attempts an accent, which drops off after the first toast.

Worse, you can't go alone. Going alone means that you really, really couldn't get a date, let alone a friend. It means that you will have to endure approximately seven relatives of the bride or groom that you have never met assuring you that they have a daughter, a neighbor, a traffic cop, a pediatrist, a recently released sex offender, who you would, they know, just love.

Regardless, it's a lousy way to spend an afternoon.

The only solution, naturally, is to buy them the $15 vase and potpourri set on clearance from Nordstrom with a gift note that explains how sorry you are you couldn't be there, but you wish them all the best. (Why Nordstrom? Because they handwrite the gift notes for you. Your handwriting may end up looking like it came from a midlevel employee in south Jersey, but it's better than Amazon's brick font.)

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This is, of course, a bit of humor and has absolutely no bearing on any weddings I have been invited to as of late. But it's also some raw honesty. I'm tired of being single. Is it alright for me to say that out loud? Can I admit that without a series of comments assuring me that a woman is out there for me? Because I know that. I've had the privilege of dating some incredible women in my life, some long-term. I've not given up or lost hope, but I am at a place where I am putting out to the void that it's an awful thing some days to be a 1 in a +1 world. Some of your +1 friends forget that sometimes. (And no, you who just wondered if I was talking about you, I'm not.)

I miss laying beside someone in a field under stars and weaving dreams of a better world.

God is good and faithful in all things. This I know. That doesn't always make it easy.

And maybe you feel that way too, maybe you know exactly what I mean by this +1 attack, maybe it just happened to you this morning.

There's hope. There's friends. There's the clearance section of Nordstrom.

Or Baby Gap. If it's that kind of wedding ...

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the wild fields of belief

There has been much talk lately about the historical Adam. Around the blogs people have gone back and forth asserting varying positions of belief, of necessity, of scientific fact. At the heart of all of this is the question of creation, if we and all this are truly formed from the spoken words of God in a sequence of days or if we are formed from the spoken words of God in a sort of progressive revelation of being, spanning millennia, evolving to the state we have now. I, too, have been thinking about this. I sit under the canopy of stars, which fill the cosmos with their songs of praise--a scientific fact, not just a good metaphor, I should note--and I marvel at the vastness that is being. Being in this great, erupting abundance of life and glory. I wonder to these questions of Adam, whether he ever was or if he is, simply, archetype, character, and that is the best we have, which is still quite a lot.

I am not a scientist. I am a writer, a poet, and though I recognize the art of science and the poetry of it, though I recognize that artists and poets do not have to agree with me and are probably better for it, I have trouble denying the idea of the historical Adam or the six day creation.

Why?

It has something to do with how much I love Story.

This shall be a weak defense to many, but you have to remember two things as I write this: I am not a scientist, as I have said, and I do not pretend to be; I am not particularly bothered if I happen to be wrong, which I am willing to assume I very well may be.

But for me to create, for me to write, oh, well, the image that God hath spoken all this beingness into its place, into its appointed time, needs to be there. Leave aside arguments of historicity and the ever expanding trove of contradictory facts that we can surface to prove nearly any theory, come sit with me on the sands that God spoke to Abram would be like the number of his descendants. Feel them shift and team, think on the great, impossible order of Genesis 1 and the cacaphonous harmony that is Genesis 2 and dare to suppose that between them there is, indeed, a fullness, a compliment, and an answer more beautiful than we are ready to see.

And yes, I am biased in this regard, but if you adamantly disagree with me, there's a place for you on this shifting sand too. Right beside me. But you have to bring the snacks.

It may turn out--and it may be quite likely--that I am wrong. It may be that evolution was really the answer, that we are now as we are because we came from things that have sense been. It's easy to see the Divine hands in that, too. So when Christ our Lord and I go on our walks in Paradise, which is a feature I sincerely hope for, but this too I am hard-pressed to prove, we'll have a nice chat about it, I'll laugh at my silliness, but I imagine He will understand.

Because for me, in a personal, indescribably deep way, in order for me to write, to create, to compose, I need to be left in the wild fields of belief, where this universe, abundant and brilliant, can be explained with as simple an answer as He spoke it into being.

Or sang. I do love thinking that it was sung.

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the twenty-second formica friday

It's that time again, after a three week hiatus while I was away in the UK, it's another Formica Friday, a treasure trove of hodgepodge, random tidbits, and a bit of this and that. In particular, it is the place where I can celebrate the best posts I read this past week and want to share with you. What exactly is Formica Friday, you ask? Check out the tongue-in-cheek, I got away with this?, definition from the first post.

A quote:

True theological discourse, true theology, asks Christ to come and abide with us, [to stay a little while at our table].

-- Peter Candler, Professor of Theology, Baylor University's Honors College

A list:

• returning to my roots: poetics, creation, and Word
• realizing the unspeakable joy in a simple table, set at the end of the world
• copper wash tubs, glass milk bottles, ginger jars, and icons
• celebrating the abundance enjoyed by others, especially friends
• text messages, email, and leaps of faith between sentences
• proper coffee, at last
• early mornings, common prayer, and uncommon people of prayer

Posts, websites, trinkets, and the Internet week in review revue (after the jump):

• It's funny, how some people can in the simplest ways put the most fundamental roots of all that we hope in and trust. This is a gift, not simply to write, but to behold Mystery and articulate Wisdom. I am so overjoyed to know Max's words, words that will not always treat you kindly with their truth, but haunt you, like the face of Christ, demanding that you make a confession for or against it all. "Your best life isn't now. The best is yet to come."

• The outcome of this post from Micha is the exact reason why, come October when I head to Austin for the film festival, I desperately want to have coffee with her. "He was still thinking about it Saturday night. 'Mommy,' he said, interrupting my prayer, my hands still tucking the sheets around him as the words came out. 'Mommy! But I can’t see God!'" This post is a song waiting to find its melody.

• "To remain, to be remembered is a desire common among humanity; to cease to exist, to be forgotten, a common fear." Tamara knows how to keep such a delicate hold on certainty, only to offer back the most grounding absolutes. You could number the stars by her words.

• "and as it fell, i heard the thud of memory fall against the Cross." This is the most beautiful line I read all week. How appropriate it came from Elora, who is one of the most beautiful writers I know.

• Alece, oh, Alece. Her sentences are often short, her words are often small. They are metered forms of prosody, a poetry all their own, a narration of grace, a challenge to be. "Jesus didn’t avoid the appearance of evil. He ran straight into it."

• Here in the middle of all these links to specific posts, I'm going to tell you, rather simply, that you should be reading Cory Copeland. You can thank me later.

• It is only into His hands, if we commend ourselves, that we come to find the beauty of being within the folds of His grace, live in our everyday. Thank you, Haley, for a wonderful reminder. "You cannot live a Christ-like life unless you make Christ-like choices."

• This week, Emily Wierenga left me aching with the overwhelming beauty of her words. Goodness, she knows how to reach down deep into the earth and pull up the hidden things into the Light. "'he said your words would be like the seeds of this dandelion, blowing far, and planting thick, and growing many... ' and i cried."

• We are told in the church, over and over, that Jesus loves us. It's a shame when this becomes too common, too expected. It is rare to find someone who accepts the premise and then pulls at it with curiosity, returns to the Scripture, and finds there the wealth of what it means to be loved. Well done, Amy. Very well done. "If Christ came so we would become His temples then it is almost too much to fathom how much He cares about our lives."

• I am still green to Stephanie's words, but I am each time grateful for the grace she builds with them. She offers just a bit of herself each time, taking your hand gently and asking you to consider the deeper things in the ordinary moments. This, too, is a great gift. "How often are we so unknowingly close to eternity?"

• And this, my friends, is just sentimental joy. Ally Spotts, whom you may recall has guest posted here and I over at her space, is on a journey with a pretty amazing guy, Darrell Vesterfelt. So they might date for awhile. Or something. Whatever. The point is, I am breaking all kinds of gender rules and self-consciousness and declaring this absolutely precious. You can read all about it, in their own words, through Ally's reflections on taking a leap and Darrell's reflection on learning to jump. I am so happy for them both!

And, as always, an old post from me:

• an acceptable time

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Have a post from the week you'd like to share? What was your best post this week? Or did you read someone else you just have to let us know about? Leave me a note in the comments below!