Marsh Vocation

By aclauhs

I don’t trust my memory alone to remember things for me. I feel much more secure having things down on paper. Every New Year, I take out my journal and make a page titled “The Year in Review.” I write down important events, things I learned, and my resolutions for next year.

I think there’s something valuable about marking the passing of time like that. If you don’t record it, it tends to blur away in your mind. You have trouble remembering your triumphs–or your low points. I recommend you try it.

Though it’s not the end of the calendar year, it is the end of the academic year, and so I am offering you my own (Academic) Year in Review.

Admittedly, I probably wouldn’t do this at the end of every academic year on my own (it is just after the exhaustion of finals, after all), but I am lucky enough to have gotten a 4-year renewable scholarship from a foundation back home in South Carolina. To renew the scholarship, every year I have to write a letter detailing my academic year.

It has actually been incredibly helpful, because now I can look back on those old letters and remember how I felt at the end of those other academic years–what I cared about, what I was proud of.

So I thought I’d share this year’s letter with you, so that you could see the past year from my point of view:

Dear [Scholarship Director]:

For the past three years, I have received the [Scholarship] from [Scholarship Foundation]. This scholarship has allowed me to attend and to continue my studies at Boston University. I am writing now to share my experiences of this year at Boston University and to request a continuation of funding for next year.

As I wrote in my letter last year, I became involved with the Boston University Interfaith Council at the beginning of my sophomore year. Now, in my junior year, my passion for interfaith work has grown even stronger. I strongly believe that increasing people’s religious literacy and helping them to engage with people of other religious traditions (or no religious tradition) are important to foster a pluralistic, peaceful world that can celebrate and embrace difference and diversity.

The Interfaith Council, of which I am the president, put on many exciting events this year. We hosted a “Religion Mythbusters” panel series, aimed at breaking down stereotypes about various religions, including Islam, Sikhism, and Mormonism. In the spring, we held the First Annual BU Interfaith Fair, an educational celebration of the rich diversity of religions on campus. We had musical performances, a buffet with important foods from various faiths, and booths with student representatives from different groups—including Muslims, Sikhs, Baha’is, Buddhists, Catholics, Episcopalians, Hindus, Secular Humanists, and more.

On a larger scale, this fall I founded the Boston Interfaith Campus Coalition (BICC). Last spring, I had worked with various local colleges to put on an interfaith food drive event called HUNGERally, which raised awareness about hunger in Boston. Seeing how powerful cooperation between colleges was, I decided to formally create an alliance, so that we could all work together on more interfaith events in the future. And so BICC was born; it consists of over fifteen colleges, including Boston University, Harvard, MIT, Boston College, Tufts, Brandeis, and more.

I organized two service major events this year through BICC. In the fall, we had a Thanksgiving meal-packing event, which raised over $10,000. At $0.25 a meal, we were able to pack 40,000 meals for hungry children in Boston. Students from BICC, as well as locals from the community, helped fundraise and pack these meals together while engaging in interfaith dialogue. In the spring, we had Cards & Scarves, where we made cards and scarves for the homeless of Boston and participated in interfaith conversations about the meaning of service in our various religions. Excitingly, we are already in the process of planning what our next big service event will be this coming fall.

Apart from my extra-curricular interfaith work, my interest in religion is also fulfilled in my academic studies. As a religion major, I have taken many interesting classes this year, including “Women, Gender, and Islam” and “Atheism and Agnosticism in US History.” In the spring semester, I also began work on my senior year thesis, applying for approval from the Institutional Review Board and creating my prospectus. Entitled “Millennial Christianity: The Wild Goose Festival and the Response of the Religious Right,” my thesis will be an ethnographic study of a contemporary evangelical Christian festival and its reception by conservative Christians; I intend to study whether the influence of the Religious Right on American society is waning or merely changing form. I will be doing my research for the thesis in August at the Wild Goose Festival, which happens in North Carolina.

My advisor for my thesis has been an incredibly helpful guide and a wonderful educator. In fact, I have found many incredible mentors at Boston University. My three years of college with all these advisors have helped me to discern what I want for my future. I aim to do humanitarian work in religiously diverse communities, especially in ones where religion is a source of tension and friction and where interfaith-based humanitarian work can begin to heal these conflicts. There are many humanitarian issues in which I am interested, including gender inequality, homelessness, and hunger, but all of them ultimately center around the issue of poverty and giving voice to those whose voices are not normally heard by society.

Through working with non-profits and NGOs (I am open to working anywhere in the world, though my experiences and opportunities will no doubt influence where I find myself able to work) to increase interfaith engagement and fight poverty through service, I hope to heal divides and empower people.

In the more immediate future, I am currently preparing applications for graduate fellowships abroad, such as the Fulbright and the Rhodes scholarships. I will submit those in the fall; the programs of study I hope to follow if I receive one of these fellowships would focus on peace-building and religious conflict resolution. I am also planning on applying to graduate schools within the United States in the fall. To continue with my theme of religion and humanitarian work, I am looking at dual degree programs for a Masters of Divinity and a Masters in Social Work. There are many schools, including Harvard, Boston University, and the University of Chicago, which offer this program, and I have already been able to make some school visits and find out about the exciting opportunities these various institutions offer.

More immediately, however, I am looking forward to this summer, which I will be spending in Italy. I have studied Italian since I first came to Boston University, and now—after saving up for multiple years—I am able to actually go to the country (it will be my first time abroad). I will be doing a program called Conversation Corps, in which I will live with an Italian host family and teach them English. I have already been matched with my host family and have been emailing back and forth with them, and I cannot wait to use my passport for the first time, get on a plane, and see them. I have always had a hunger to travel, and this is, I hope, the first of many journeys I will make to different places around the world.

It is hard for me to express in words the joy and wonder I feel about my experiences here at Boston University. In just three years here, I have transformed and grown as a person. Inspirational professors, professionals, and fellow students have shared their worldviews with me and offered me countless opportunities. I have discovered new passions, new people, and new possibilities.

On one hand, I feel somewhat sad to know that next year will be my last at Boston University. But it is a sadness unsullied by regret, because I know that I have taken full advantage of all that Boston University has presented to me. I want to thank the [Schoalrship Foundation] again for awarding me the [Scholarship] and enabling me to get an education at Boston University—in the fullest sense of the word “education”—and I humbly request a continuation of funding for this last and final year.

All the best,

Abigail Clauhs

posted in Abigail on 05.15.2013 at 10:58 am

By aclauhs

As I sit down to write my weekly blog post for Marsh, there is only one thing I can think of to write about. The thing that is heavy in the air in Boston today. The explosions at the Marathon.

I had been in New York for the weekend, visiting grad schools. As Evan and I had been taking the subway earlier that morning under Manhattan, we had started to talk about how New York City was just a little too cold, a little too unfriendly for us. How we love the vivacity and colorfulness of Boston. Hey, everyone might not be friendly that way I am used to in the South, but in Boston, they’ll curse you out with vigor and be your best friend if the Red Sox win.

There is a boisterous joy for life in Boston, from the way we celebrate our sports teams’ victories to the crazy way the Massholes drive. It’s slightly irreverent (our favorite Catholic feast day is the one where we drink Guinness and deck ourselves out in green, after all) and rebellious (anyone remember the Boston Tea Party?), but it’s also strong and uniting.

Marathon Monday is one of those days where that spirit is particularly strong. You wander into the streets, pressed against strangers who are suddenly friends, cheering on the runners and squeezing to get to the front, so close you could reach out and touch them. The atmosphere is boozy and loud, but it’s welcoming. You don’t care if you get separated from the people you came with, because it’s just as exhilarating to cheer along with strangers as with those you know.

I was sad that I was missing Marathon Monday this year. It had been the only long weekend when I could get down to New York to visit schools, but I read jealously the excited statuses of all my friends back in Boston on that Monday morning. I’d gone to see the Marathon all the other years I’d been in Boston, and this was my first time away.

I found out about the tragedy on our bus back to New York. It boarded at the same time as the first explosion. The bus passengers were frantic as we began to move, grabbing snatches of news from people across the aisle. Those with smartphones and internet access were questioned desperately by others for news. Rumors floated between the seats. Phone calls begin to pour in from people checking to see if their loved ones were okay.

My family members kept calling, relieved to find that I hadn’t been in the city. Meanwhile I tried to get in touch with my friends via email and Facebook to see if they were alright (phone service was down in Boston). I read article after article and tweet after tweet as more horrific details and images appeared.

Finally, I just cried, watching the New York City skyline fade into the background, the almost-finished Freedom Tower rising from the site of Ground Zero.

When we got back, South Station was strangely empty. We walked down the stairs into the T station for the Red Line. It was quiet, haunted. Armed policemen were our only company while we waited for the train.

And then it came, and we got on, and I melted into the comfort of being back again, of the familiar sounds of the MBTA. We had just been in New York, with its big trains and blinking lights that announce where the next stop is. But we were back in Boston now, with the plaintive squeaking of the Green Line when it takes a corner and the dinging bells that sound before the doors are about to shut. I closed my eyes and listened hard and tried not to cry at how familiar it was.

But when we passed through Copley, I couldn’t help it. The tears started to come as the automatic voice announced “Copley” over the intercom. We slowed down but didn’t stop. The lights were off in the station, but you could see the glint of the wall tiles and the shadowy signs as we passed. And all I could think of was that right above our heads, through a few layers of soil and steel and pavement, it had happened.

It had happened on the same sidewalks where I had walked a few days ago, touring a visiting friend around Copley Square proudly. On the same sidewalks where one of my closest friends had been standing an hour before the explosion happened. On the same sidewalks which, in pictures I had just seen while scrolling through news articles, were now covered in blood.

Spring had just come to Boston. We were just starting to remember, after a snowy and miserable winter, why we loved this city so much. The trees were blooming; the sun was finally warming the ground. And it was Marathon Monday, with its buzzing energy that someone who has never experienced in Boston can never understand.

When I got back to the apartment, I locked myself in the bathroom for awhile. I needed the catharsis of some shoulder-wracking sobs. I cried for the victims and for their families. I cried for the ones who saw such horrors happen. I cried for all the Bostonians that no longer would feel safe in their city. I cried for a Patriot’s Day that would be irrevocably changed.

Finally I came to a point where the tears subsided, and then I prayed, stumbling over words, my hands clasped and my forehead pressed to the cool bathroom wall.

My prayer was for the next day, and the days after that. For warmer afternoons and more flowers and people spread out on the Commons in the sunlight. For cheers filling Fenway under bright lights and the crack of baseballs against a bat. For sunsets glinting gold off the Statehouse and church bells tolling the hours on Park Street. For strolls through the North End and cannolis from Mike’s. For cramming into the T during rush hour as the trains creak through the tunnels.

For cheering on the runners at next year’s Marathon.

For joy instead of fear, and life as it can only happen in Boston.

That–my city, my people, my friends–was my prayer, and it still is today.

posted in Abigail on 04.16.2013 at 11:45 am

By aclauhs

As I sit here in front of my computer, typing quickly before I head off to the slew of Easter services that Marsh Chapel is holding this morning, I think about all the things Easter has meant to me.

I’m wearing a new dress now, as always, because that was a constant in our family–my mom was adamant on having a new set of clothes to wear for Easter morning (I didn’t get it then, but now I suppose it was one of her small ways of symbolizing new life and a fresh start; back then, I was just excited to get a new fluffy pastel dress). My dad would also buy all his girls–my mother, my sister, and me–fresh lily corsages, tied in ribbons around our wrists. In my South Carolina hometown, it would be azalea season, and we would always get pictures in front of the vibrant, delicate magenta flowers.

In the mornings before church, we would find our Easter baskets, hidden craftily around the house in places like the inside of the oven or behind the door of the washing machine. After church, we would hunt Easter eggs while Easter dinner cooked, crowing in triumph when one of us found the “golden” egg (so called because it had a $5 bill inside of it, instead of small change, like the others).

My Easter memories aren’t really about religion.

Most of what I remember about Easter church services are lilies at the front and purple on the altar. At one of our churches, there was always a cross made of flowers put out front on Easter Sunday, and after church, they let the children pluck flowers from it to take home.

Now that I’m older–and studying religion, and working at Marsh Chapel–I have to put more thought into Easter. It can’t just be a holiday where I go and sing some hymns and then sit down to a family dinner of honey ham. I have the think about it theologically.

And, as a Unitarian, that can be tricky. Easter is a holiday I love for all the fond memories, and for its themes–rebirth, new life, fresh beginnings (it’s no coincidence that it happens at the start of spring). But I was struggling with how to fit all the triumphant talk about victory over the grave and the Resurrection, which my own personal theology…well…doesn’t affirm.

And then I came across a passage from Forrest Church, one of my favorite Unitarian Universalist theologians. Here is what he had to say about Easter (and yes, I put it in typography….don’t judge):

I think this is beautiful. The idea that love is our legacy. That the story of the Resurrection is a metaphor for the transcendence of love over death.

It is something I can get behind. And it is what I will be thinking about when I sing, “Christ is Risen” in church today.

posted in Abigail on 03.31.2013 at 12:58 pm

By aclauhs

…you unconsciously give others permission to do the same.” – Marianne Williamson

Some people just have an incredible, innate ability to inspire. You can just tell that they have come in touch with their own connection to the divine (a connection I believe each of us has, but which some have a harder time finding than others). These are people who have a certain light, a certain joy.

These are people I met at Coming Together 6.

Enter the Hindu student who was teased for his faith in middle school. Determined to build understanding, he set out on a journey in high school to learn about the other religions out there. He studied with Mormons in their early-morning before-school classes for a year. He lived in a Buddhist monastery for a summer. He grabbed on tight to every opportunity that he could, making friends and building connection along the way.

Enter Elizabeth Davenport, the charming British Dean of UChicago’s Rockefeller Chapel (yes, those Rockefellers), who played the bongos on our first night and had us look around the table and tell people that we loved them with our eyes.

Enter the Muslim UChicago divinity student who is training to be a hospital chaplain. Or another divinity student who said that out of being gay, socialist, and Jewish, the Jewish part was the hardest for his evangelical family to cope with.  Or the Mormon doctorate student struggling with the flaws of his church but still dedicated to the family of believers.

Yes, there were panels and events and speakers and important educational opportunities at Coming Together. And I fully appreciated them (might I also mention that I fully appreciated the chocolate-covered strawberries and cake pops at the dessert reception?). But what was most meaningful to me were the human experiences–the conversations over dinner, the chats in between events, the deep late-night conversations while finding the secret stairway to the very top of the cathedral-like chapel, with the best view on campus.

One of my favorite ways of understanding our relationship to the  divine is through the Quaker metaphor of an inner light. I like to think of it as a candle.

On one of the nights of the conference, a wonderful Middle Eastern music group called the Yuval Ron Ensemble (its members are Muslim, Jewish, and Christian, and their aim to build peace through music), played a concert at the chapel. The final song was very simple–the words were, “Shalom…Salam…Hallelujah.” They were repeated, over and over again, beautiful and trance-like. Yuval Ron and his fellow musicians stood up and encouraged us to join in. “Shalom…Salam..Hallelujah.” Our words echoed in the vast spaces of the chapel, warm and filled with melody.

And as we sang it, a cappella, all of us in harmony, I couldn’t help but envisioning hundreds of tiny candles, one burning deep in the heart of each person. The longer we sang, the more they blazed together into brilliant light. I may have gotten teary-eyed. It was beautiful.

Enter the future peacemakers.

posted in Abigail on 03.7.2013 at 1:24 pm

By aclauhs

Guess where I will be this Valentine’s Day? Not in the arms of a significant other, if that’s what you were thinking. No, I’ll be busy being swept away by, well, the Windy City.

Yes, I’ll be in Chicago! I was (along with my fellow Interfaith Council Leadership Board member, Naziyya) lucky enough to nominated for the University of Chicago’s Coming Together 6 interfaith student leadership conference! Here’s the adorable banner they designed for it (complete with some UChicago gargoyles):

Aaaaaand…here is the schedule:

Thursday February 14, 2013

• 12 noon – 6:30 pm Registration
• 2 – 6 pm Yoga, Carillon Lessons, Campus Tours, & more!
• 6:30 pm Welcome dinner
• 8 pm Speedfaithing
• 8:30 pm Dessert Reception at the Oriental Institute Museum Friday

February 15, 2013

• 8 am Meditation: 20 Minutes Still
• 8:30 am Breakfast
• 9:30 am University Welcome with the Provost
• 9:50 am Joint Session with Teresa Hord Owens
• 10:20 am Breakout I: Identities
• 11:30 am Fishbowl Conversation: Sex in Paradise (and Here)
• 12:15 pm Jumu’ah prayers
• 12:30 pm Lunch
• 1 pm Jumu’ah prayers
• 1:35 pm Joint Session with Julian DeShazier
• 2 pm Breakout II: Self
• 3 pm Breakout III: Story
• 3:45 pm Free Time [fun & social activities!]
• 4:45 pm Shabbat
• 6:30 pm Interfaith Shabbat Dinner
• 8 pm Yuval Ron Ensemble concert [open to the public, free – please invite Chicago friends!]

Saturday February 16, 2013

• 7 am University of Chicago Tradition Kuvia: Yoga at the Point
• 8 am Meditation: 20 Minutes Still
• 8:30 am Breakfast
• 9:30 am Yuval Ron workshops
• 11:30 am Something Not Boring!
• 12:30 pm Lunch
• 1:35 pm Breakout IV: Mind
• 2:45 pm Joint Session with Dr. Rami Nashashibi
• 3:20 pm Breakout V: Practice
• 4:15 pm Free Time [fun & social activities!]
• 6:30 pm Closing Dinner & Jazz Reception at Rockefeller Chapel

Sunday February 17, 2013

• 8 am Chanting
• 8:30 am Breakfast
• 9:30 am Optional: Chicago Excursions
• Optional: Sunday Morning Services in Hyde Park

Need I tell you that I am excited? We will be getting to meet all sorts of students involved in interfaith work from around the country (and from Canada), and it will also give me a chance to get a feel  for UChicago, which is one of the places I am considering for graduate school.

No worries–you can be assured that my next blog post when I return from the conference will fill you in on everything that happened!

posted in Abigail on 02.10.2013 at 11:27 pm

By aclauhs

God is Not Great. The End of Faith. The Godless Constitution. The Portable Atheist. They are stacked up on my desk in my apartment, their abrasive titles piled one atop the other. Christopher Hitchens abounds.

Yes, I am taking a class on atheism. And agnosticism, to be exact. In US history. With the amazing Stephen Prothero (yes, he’s that BU Religion professor who was on the Colbert Report). And, not surprisingly, I’ve already found it troubling–but not for the reasons you might think.

The first book that we read for the class was called Without God, Without Creed: The Origins of Unbelief in America. Its author, James Turner, aims to traces how the assumption that God did exist disappeared. In other words, how unbelief became possible. And he places the blame for unbelief squarely on the believers.

Yes, I’m sure you’re aghast at this. But his argument is twofold: that by claiming that God could be proven through science (through the discipline of natural theology) and by making God more humanitarian, believers actually pushed people toward unbelief.

The science part came about with the discovery of Newton’s laws of nature, when there seemed to be a demonstrated need for a divine Lawmaker. Then theologians of the 19th century latched onto William Paley‘s idea that the exquisite design of nature proved the existence of God. Turner claims that this was a mistake because by limiting God to scientific proof, it cut out the whole mystical, transcending-the-laws-of-nature aspect of God.

I can buy that.

But then there’s the other part of the argument. Turner talks about the humanitarian causes that arose in the 19th century–such as those aimed at helping the poor–and how the religious people who carried out these humanitarian missions ascribed them to the will of God. Basically, they claimed that God was a moral being with humanitarian interests at heart. And Turner thinks this is a problem, because he says that by making God human-like, people lost the mysterious and unknowable side of God–and without that, why believe in a God that is just basically a good person?

It’s a sticky place for me. Because I believe that old cliche that God is love. I believe what Martin Luther King, Jr. once professed when he said, “God never intended for one group of people to live in superfluous inordinate wealth, while others live in abject deadening poverty. God intends for all of his children to have the basic necessities of life, and he has left in this universe ‘enough and to spare’ for that purpose.”

I believe in a God of love.

But also believe in a God who is too incredible and immense for us to understand his workings. I believe in a divine power too great for any of us to fathom, too large to fit in any human box of morality. A power terrible to behold, vast beyond our imaginings, both immanent and transcendent.

So I’ve been struggling with the question of whether I’ve made God too moral–whether we’ve made God too moral. And this is the thought I’ve reached–God created us as part of this interconnected universe, and purposefully gave us minds capable of conceiving of morals. They are not spelled out for us in words, but across creation.  We must understand our place in this world, and take our guides to living from the interdependence we see therein. From that will come treating our neighbors as ourselves. From that will come honoring life. From that will come, as King once said, the discovery that “love is most durable power in the world, and that it is at bottom the heartbeat of the moral cosmos.”

posted in Abigail on 01.31.2013 at 6:44 pm

By aclauhs

So, being a major religion dork, I did not, needless to say, spend my winter break reading this:

Nope. Instead, I could be found reading this:

It is a beautiful book called The Cathedral of the World on Unitarian Universalist theology, written by Forrest Church, an inspiring Unitarian Universalist minister and theologian who struggled through a long battle with terminal cancer. The title of the book reflects the metaphor that Church used for Unitarian Universalism: that this world is a “cathedral” with people looking through many different windows (which symbolize different religions and worldviews)–but that the light coming in those windows is the same (the light being God, or the Divine). In fewer words: “many windows, one light.”

Church drew a parallel between that idea and our former national motto (until the Red Scare of 1950s caused it to be changed to “In God We Trust”) of “E pluribus unum”–out of many, one. He finds power in our differences and diversity, religious and otherwise.

Church dedicates a large part of the book to what he calls the American Creed, which is expressed in the Declaration of Independence with the words, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

He argues that is this creed–not our military victories nor the riches of capitalism–that make America great. It is not what we have done that makes us strong; it is what we strive to do. Church points out that we are far from flawless–inequities from slavery to tribal sovereignty to segregation and more have stained the fabric of our history. But, at our best, we fight for the realization of that creed–equality and freedom and the possibility of having a fulfilling life for us all.

For Church (and for me), this American Creed is highly religious. It is inextricably tied to our understanding that we are all God’s creations and therefore interdependent and intertwined. To honor God is to bring these rights to all people.

You can imagine my goosebumps, then, when President Obama took the podium at the inauguration ceremony this Monday and said:

We affirm the promise of our democracy. We recall that what binds this nation together is not the colors of our skin or the tenets of our faith or the origins of our names. What makes us exceptional – what makes us American – is our allegiance to an idea, articulated in a declaration made more than two centuries ago:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Today we continue a never-ending journey, to bridge the meaning of those words with the realities of our time. For history tells us that while these truths may be self-evident, they have never been self-executing; that while freedom is a gift from God, it must be secured by His people here on Earth.

It sounded like someone had been reading Forrest Church. And I liked it. Normally, I’m quite cynical about politics and usually ready to point out problematic policies. But this part of Obama’s speech was something that transcended politics. It was universalist theology. And by that I don’t mean that it was only meant for Universalists.

No, it was a universal message. And I believe that despite our political and/or religious affiliations, it is a creed we can all strive toward together.

posted in Abigail on 01.24.2013 at 7:55 pm

By aclauhs

This Friday evening, I will be breaking bread with the Jewish students on campus. In Judaism, the Jewish Sabbath (or Shabbat) begins at sundown on Friday evening and lasts until Saturday night. In observation of this, at BU Hillel there are services and a Shabbat dinner every Friday night.

This Friday’s Shabbat is a special one–Interfaith Shabbat! Interfaith Shabbat is one of my favorite Interfaith Council events of the year. It gives students of many religious and non-religious traditions a chance to explore inside the Hillel House (a beautiful building that few non-Jewish students enter or know much about), to learn more about Jewish religious traditions (all students are invited to attend the Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox services at 5:30 pm), and–of course–to have some delicious kosher food (can you say challah?!).

There are so many important concepts intertwined in Shabbat–the importance of eating together (to use a scholarly religion major term, “shared commensality”); the setting aside of a day of rest (important for any busy college student, especially so close to finals!); the interfaith discussion that follows the dinner. This year we are lucky to have as a keynote speaker Dean Moore from BU’s School of Theology. She will speak after the meal, then group discussions about interfaith issues will be led by various university chaplains and ministers.

I am very excited about the event, and I welcome you to come. All Interfaith Council members can get their meal free! Sign up here, and check out the Facebook event page here. Join us. Eat some challah. Listen to the beauty of a Hebrew prayer. I promise you won’t regret it.

posted in Abigail on 12.6.2012 at 12:24 am

By aclauhs

I’m from South Carolina. In South Carolina, there is a lot of country music. And where there is a lot of country music, there is a lot of Carrie Underwood. Thus, when her song “Jesus, Take the Wheel” came out back when I was still in high school, this was inescapable:

My parents love this song. With a little bit of tongue-in-cheek amusement at Carrie’s country twang. But the general message of it, they agree with–giving it up to God. Or, as Carrie sings it:

Jesus take the wheel
Take it from my hands
Cause I can’t do this on my own
I’m letting go

And, in a way, I guess I do agree, too. Much as I make fun of country music. Perhaps my song wouldn’t be titled “Jesus, Take the Wheel,” but rather “God, Take the Wheel” or “Spirit of Life, Take the Wheel” (which admittedly doesn’t have the same ring to it), but the sentiment is the same.

I’ve been feeling burned out lately. Piles of paperwork and screens full of emails and interminable amount of Post-It notes covered in schedules and to-do lists have taken their toll on me. Working with people is what makes me–as our esteemed Howard Thurman would have said–”come alive,” but I’ve been feeling distanced from my direct outreach, walled off by paperwork and responsibilities. Plus, that little thing called homework.

I’ve been making lists of graduate schools and scholarships and scrolling through the bios of people who seem way more qualified than me to get them. Wondering if I’m a competitive applicant. Staring forlornly at my resume. You get the idea.

Basically, as one of my roommates put it, I’ve fallen in a rut.

And then I remembered what happened this summer.

This summer was wonderful. I meditated every morning, exercised every day, and spent my weekends wandering the museums of Washington, DC. I attended the vibrant Unitarian Universalist All Souls Church in Columbia Heights, a thriving neighborhood filled with empanada stands and women selling agua frescas on the sidewalks. I was in a truly good place.

One morning, on a day I was feeling a bit frantic about work, I was meditating on the floor of my apartment. And then–well, I’m not quite sure how to describe it–I had a spiritual experience. I believe that sometimes God is revealed to us through our own minds (not just in the form of a burning bush). As I was sitting there, breathing in and out, these words appeared in my mind, lingering, as if someone had written them there. I certainly hadn’t thought them.

ALL WILL BE AS IT SHOULD BE.
ALL WILL BE AS IT NEEDS TO BE.

A feeling of overwhelming calm. Security. Grace. To me, God.

I wrote the words in journal, in my planner, on the back of my hand. Whenever I looked at them, I remembered that peace, that assurance from somewhere beyond me that everything will be okay.

I found these words again this week when I was flipping through my journal on a particularly stressful evening. I wrote them on a piece of paper and stuck them on the wall. It’s made a difference, that reminder.

I don’t like admitting that Carrie Underwood could be a spiritual leader, but she does have a point. Sometimes we try and try and try–and there’s something to be said for trying–but we also need to be able to let go and allow the Divine to take the wheel. All will be as it should be. All will be as it needs to be.

posted in Abigail on 11.15.2012 at 5:09 pm

By aclauhs

Last Thanksgiving, a swath of my extended family (plus myself) convened at my grandparents’ house in New Jersey. On the day of Thanksgiving, as the tempting smell of turkey filled the house and the little ones grew more and more frenzied from excitement over the ten different pies my grandmother had made (but which they were not allowed to eat yet), my aunt called us all to the living room.

As we gathered on chairs and couches (and the toddlers zoomed around on the carpet), she handed us all pieces of paper. “I want you each to write down twenty things you are thankful for, and then we’ll read them at dinner.”

At first it was easy. There are the obvious things: Family. Friends. Love. But once you’ve gotten the big ones out of the way, the other 15-or-so things seem hard to come up with.

“Think about it,” my aunt said. “What specific things make you happy, make your day a little bit better?”

One of the cousins shouted out, “Marshmallows!”

And suddenly things began to come to me in a flood. Fireplaces. The beach. Bacon. The first snowfall. Wool scarves. Comfy beds. Hot chocolate. Sunlight. The smell of gardenias. And on and on and on.

When the time came to read our lists aloud at Thanksgiving dinner, we all ended up having more than twenty items on our lists. My aunt told us that she does the exercise every day, writing down ten things she is thankful for.

I’ve started to do it, too, on a whiteboard beside my bed before I go to sleep at night. When I wake up the next morning, there it is–the list of things I felt especially thankful for the day before (often, there are multiple items of food on the list…we know where my emotional center lies).

It’s amazing how easy it is be grateful for things once you begin. At first, the lists are hard to do, but then they become easier–soeasy that it’s hard to choose just ten. Your mind just starts overflowing with all the things your life has been blessed with.

As Thanksgiving comes around this year, let us once again consider those things we are thankful for. Take a piece of paper. Start listing. You may surprised at what you see–and how many things you have to be grateful for.

posted in Abigail on 11.9.2012 at 10:42 am