from this bed.

last week, i had a little biking incident followed by a belly dancing class that seems to have done some temporary damage to my lower back. i'm sure i'll be fine after letting my body do its healing, but being forced to miss a weekend camping trip and lay in bed on my back for the majority of the past three days instead has made me think a lot about my friends here at joseph's house, thoughts that have also been spurred on by the movie "the diving bell and the butterfly," which i would highly recommend.

what would it be like to always be bound to this bed? to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night staring at the same cracks on the wall, hearing noises in the rest of the house and on the streets of action and vitality while being trapped in my own body here in this bed, forced to observe the world? to have to ask for the simplest things, like a glass of water or for help to use the bathroom? while i'm thankfully not at that place of complete debilitation, i can somewhat resonate with that position of bed-boundness. and what does that begin to do to my sense of self and worth, when i can no longer do the things i used to do, or live out the roles that have defined me for my whole life? maybe i can no longer see myself as a musician, or a caregiver, or a writer. maybe i can no longer see my humanity as defined by my ability to walk, or use the bathroom, or eat by myself.

last week, we began a little book study on the book a year to live by stephen levine. this is a book about an experiment the author did to take one year and live it as if it was his last. during our time together at j-house on thursday, we did an exercise where each of us wrote on sticky notes our 4 most important material posessions, our 4 most important activities, our 4 most important roles (aka sister, girlfriend, daughter, musician...), and the 4 most important people in our lives. we then had to lay these all out in front of us, and choose 1 from each category to hand over to "death," a role played by patty, who gracefully collected our stickies in a bowl in the center of the circle. then, "death" came around a second time and took any number of stickies that she wanted from each of us without our choosing. it was a sobering and insightful exercise, to be forced to give over things that define us, that often make up the meaning in our lives, to death. an activity that we will all have to engage in, willingly or not, at the end of our lives. and if we think about it, we probably experience small deaths each day, being forced to give up roles or relationships or possessions that we may have valued or clung to or defined ourselves with, but which are unwillingly taken from us. maybe it's a job lost, a friend lost, a favorite cd lost, a shattered expectation or hope of someone else or ourselves. as we did the exercise, however, i began to think: if death takes all these things from me, is there still something at the core of who i am that makes me human and gives me meaning?

i think so. regardless of how much or how little we are able to move, think, relate to others, at our core, we are each beloved children of God. this can seem a little trite sometimes, but to know that when we are lying in that bed, unable to move or speak or do any of the things that have always defined us, we are still loved, and loved fully and passionately by God, is incredibly freeing.

so as i write this, from this bed, i desire to rest tonight in the freedom that i am incredibly and perfectly loved by my Creator.

bellydancing and such.

well, dear friends, it has once again been entirely too long since i've written to you. and since i'm filling in an overnight shift tonight and it seems pretty quiet in the house right now, i thought i'd take a little time to update you on my life down here in the district.

i can't believe it's already october. i love the feeling of fall. i love biking everywhere... thanks to some generous friends, i have a new (used) bike to replace my former mode of transportation: a purple sparkly bicycle from about the 4th grade. today, a few of us went on a glorious 20 mile bike ride on the capital crescent trail... i do love biking. the feeling of wind in your hair and on your face, the beauty of the outdoors, the workout even... it's been great for me to grow in confidence to bike around the city.

so since moving into the j-house, i've been pretty intentional about creating lots of scheduled time for myself outside the house. this has consisted so far of joining the capitol hill chorale, a singing group of about 90 people that practices down on the hill; beginning a yoga class and a belly dancing class at a local art center for low-income kids and adults (which yes, i still fit into on my increased stipend); starting meeting with a therapist as a support for processing things in the house and beyond; and joining a class at my church, new community church, called "the church as a recovery and resurrection community". all of a sudden, my days have filled up! it's been great to be a part of new things and meet new people, but i am feeling the tension between so much structure outside of my time at j-house and the lack of structure during my time in the house. i'm only scheduled to work one 8 hour shift a week, filling in some extra times when needed, but the rest of the time, i still need to figure out how to be in the house without working all the time or hiding out in my room all the time. i guess life is a constant search for balance, and this is a prime example. any fears i may have had, however, about not being supported as i live here are very much dispelled. i feel incredibly supported and cared for by my housemates from last year, many of whom are still living in dc, my co-workers and friends here in the house, my fantastic boyfriend and the other cornerstone guys, my church, and lots of friends and family who aren't in dc as well.

it is strange, too, realizing that the kind of obsessive and emotional feelings of love that i had for the house and the residents last year have shifted. last year, i felt like i could give of myself and my time almost tirelessly to this place, and i really wanted to always be here. now, i feel myself not always wanting to be around, having to push myself sometimes to be present to and patient with my family in the house. i guess it's a little like a romantic relationship - the emotional high and excitement that usually comes with the newness of a relationship tends to fade in and out, and eventually, a deeper level of commitment to one another and love for each other can grow. it's different, but ultimately, i think it's better, or at least truer and deeper. this is what i hope for this year in the house.

that's not to say there aren't incredible times too... like one of the residents finally naming himself as someone with HIV and claiming both his sickness and his desire to live; like beautiful huge smiles and hugs and "goodnight roomie!" from another precious friend; like tonight at dinner, sitting around the table together, sharing laughs and good food, planning halloween costumes, dancing and singing to aretha franklin. "freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom, freeeeedom!"