Super-easy tomato sauce, and how to make it easier.

As long as we're talking about my love for fresh, unprocessed food (see yesterday), here's a recipe for super-easy, delicious homemade marinara sauce, and then a few modifications for when you are feeling particularly time-crunched or half-assed. I promise you: once you make fresh marinara sauce the first time, you will realize that it is (a) super easy and (b) way tastier than sauce from a jar. You won't look back.

First, here's a great basic recipe from a great Food Network cookbook called How to Boil Water (http://amzn.com/0696226863):

Quick Marinara Sauce
From Food Network Kitchens

Prep Time:5 min
Cook Time:35 min
Level: Easy
Serves: about 6 cups.

Ingredients
•1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
•1/4 medium onion, diced (about 3 tablespoons)
•4 cloves garlic, sliced
•3 (28-ounce) cans whole, peeled, tomatoes, roughly chopped
•3 sprigs fresh thyme
•1 small bunch fresh basil, leaves chopped
•2 teaspoons kosher salt
•Freshly ground black pepper

Directions
Heat the oil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Saute the onion and garlic, stirring, until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes with about half of their juices (discarding the rest), the herb sprigs and basil and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, uncovered for about 25 to 30 minutes or until thickened.

Remove and discard the herb sprigs. Stir in the salt and season with pepper, to taste. Serve or store covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days, or freeze for up to 2 months.

Sounds easy, right? But let's say you're in the position I found myself in this Friday evening: you need to be out of the house in 30 minutes, you need dinner, and you don't have time to cook both pasta and sauce. The solution? Don't cook it. Just grab 1 box of pasta, two cans of tomatoes, 2 cloves of garlic, the olive oil, the salt and pepper, whatever herbs you have around (dried if necessary), and some vinegar (I like balsamic). Then, do the following:

1.) Get the pasta water on the stove so that you can cook the pasta while you make the sauce.

2.) Pour the tomatoes into a big bowl and crush them with your hands. You can use whole, unpeeled tomatoes or diced tomatoes. I prefer the former because, the less that's been done to the tomatoes, the more flavorful they are. (Make sure you buy them without added sugar, salt, or anything else you don't need.)

3.) Chop up the garlic and throw it in with the tomatoes (or use a garlic press).

4.) Add the oil, 1-2 tablespoons of vinegar, the herbs, and salt and pepper to taste. Mix it all together well with a big spoon.

5.) By now, the pasta will probably be cooked. Drain it, pour the pasta back into the pot, add the sauce, and stir it all together on low heat for a minute or two.

That's it. It definitely tastes better if you cook it (as in the FN recipe), but even using the half-assed method above, it tastes better than sauce from a jar.

Hungry, hungry, hungry...

Apparently, it only takes 10 miles to change my idea of a satisfying breakfast from this:

To this:




I got two of those Luna protein bars in my Zooma goodie bag a few weeks ago and found them both tasty and satisfying. So, I bought a whole box and started eating them for breakfast every morning. For a good couple of weeks, I found that a Luna bar plus a smaller mid-morning snack could actually carry me into lunch comfortably...

...until I ran 10 miles on Saturday. This was my first 10-mile run since the Annapolis Striders' Cherry Pit 10-miler on April 11. Since then, I had done at least four 6-7 mile runs, but nothing longer. It was pretty rough. I was grateful that my running buddy Val was saving her energy for a race the next day, because I was definitely slowing us down.

I was prepared for Saturday's run to be tough, especially after suffering through the Father's Day 10K the weekend before. I was not prepared for it to zap me instantly back into the state of perpetual hunger that I was in during the final few weeks of my half-marathon training back in March. Yet, that's where I seem to be. On Sunday morning, I ate the usual Luna bar around 6:30am and was ravenous by the end of the first church service at 9. I went to my parents' and ate four pancakes between the two services, but I was ravenous again by the time the second service finished at 11:30am. Then, I went for brunch at Ram's Head in Annapolis where I devoured an entire plate of steak and eggs, plus toast and fruit, and followed that with two scoops of ice cream. Thankfully, that got me through to dinner.

Today, though, the hunger is back. I had a Luna bar at 5:30am, followed by the gym, then a Smart Ones black bean quesadilla at 8:30am and a banana at 10:30am. Now, its just before noon and I am literally counting the seconds until lunch. I'm hoping that this hunger will abate a bit once my body adjusts to the training demands because all of this food isn't doing me any favors. Despite the crazy amount of exercise I get, I've actually gained a couple pounds in the last few months. Plus, I doubt that I can hang on to my super-healthy cholesteral numbers if I start consuming huge amounts of red meat.

Gotta go, time for lunch.

No Turning Back

I preached this sermon at St. Andrew's UMC in Edgewater, MD on June 27, 2010. The earlier sermon referenced in this one is in my post from June 24th.

Luke 9:51-62
When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

No Turning Back:
Luke 9:51-62

Some of you may have noticed that I wasn’t in church last Sunday. Instead, I was out on the B&A Trail in Severna Park, sweaty and exhausted, asking myself a question I ask a lot these days: “What am I doing here?” I’m currently training for my first full marathon- a 26.2 mile road race. My training plan includes a number of other races, with distances ranging from 1 mile to 17. Last Sunday, it was a 10K, or 6.2 miles. The distance wasn’t a problem; the problem was the heat. By the halfway point, the sun was beating down so hard that I could only think of two things: finishing the race, and the fact that I would be back out in less than a week for a 10-mile run. Neither of those things felt possible at the time, but I knew that I had gone too far to turn back.

Last Sunday’s starting line was at Severna Park High School, but the true starting line of my marathon journey was right here in this pulpit one year ago. Last year, on the last Sunday in June, I agreed to preach while Pastor Dave was on vacation, just like I’m doing now. I spent the whole weekend wrestling with the text- a story from Mark about two of Jesus’s miraculous healings. I struggled with how to relate the miracle stories of Biblical times to our modern, scientific era. After a whole weekend of thinking and writing, I finally came to some hopeful conclusions about the possibility of miraculous healing in our time.

One of my preaching professors in seminary told me that I should always preach the word that I most need to hear. The morning I preached that sermon, I learned what he meant. Just a few minutes before I left for church, I turned on the news and saw a picture of one of my all-time favorite teachers, Dr. Kelly Murray from the Pastoral Counseling program at Loyola. I learned that Kelly and her 7 year-old daughter Sloane had been killed in a freak accident earlier that weekend. I cried the whole way from my house to St. Andrew’s. I was overwhelmed by the loss of a brilliant, talented woman who had already given so much to the world and could have given so much more. I thought about Kelly’s husband and her five other daughters. The confident words I had written about healing suddenly seemed hollow. How could anyone possibly heal from something like this?

Preaching that morning was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It took every ounce of strength I had just to collect myself and walk to the pulpit. When I got there, I dedicated the sermon to Kelly and Sloane and prayed for the confidence to believe my own message of hope. After the first service, a visitor to the church came up to me and shared how she was struggling with a tragedy in her own family. She said that I had preached the word she most needed to hear. Despite my own despair, I had given her hope that she could heal.

I’ve thought about that conversation many times over the last year. I thought about it as I attended memorial services for Kelly and Sloane. I think about it now when I go to Loyola and don’t see Kelly there. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why Kelly and Sloane had to die, but preaching that day helped me find some meaning in the tragedy. I realized that I need to honor my beloved professor by living out what she taught me. Kelly had many great qualities, but the one that impressed me most was her excellence. When she cared about something, she committed herself to it completely and never settled for less than her best. In the days and weeks after her death, I realized that I need to follow her example and push myself to be more excellent in everything I do. The morning I gave that sermon, I pushed myself to do something that seemed impossible. Through that decision, I continued Kelly’s legacy of teaching and healing.

All year, I’ve been looking for more opportunities to be excellent, which is how I found the marathon. At Kelly’s memorial service, one of her friends talked about her passion for running. She explained that Kelly had been training for her first marathon when she got pregnant with her 6th child. She died only a few months after that child was born, so she never got to finish her race. A few months after hearing that story, my classmate Katie and I had an idea: we would finish Kelly’s race for her. We would run our first marathons, and we would use our races to raise money for a scholarship in honor of Kelly.

We approached the Loyola faculty about our idea and they loved it. Within a couple of weeks, we had personal fundraising websites, training blogs, business cards, and flyers about our campaign. If you go to the Loyola Pastoral Counseling website right now, our story is the first thing you see. We’ve already collected close to $1,000. For Katie and I, there is truly no turning back now. As hot as it gets, as exhausted as we feel, as impossible as the task before us seems, we’ve committed ourselves to this and we need to see it through.

This kind of commitment is at the heart of today’s Gospel lesson. I find Jesus’s tone in this text a little harsh, but I think I understand what he’s getting at. Jesus is making it clear that being a Christian isn’t a hobby, a nice thing to do a few times a year, or a single priority to be balanced with others. Being a Christian is a commitment, a decision to make following Jesus our top priority for our whole lives. Being a Christian means no turning back. If we want to follow Jesus, he needs us to understand that the journey will be long and hard. In this text, he gives us several good reasons why:

First, being a Christian means sacrificing peace, security, and the dream of a simple life. Right now, I’m very focused on finishing my marathon. I have thousands of dollars left to raise and hundreds of miles left to run before I cross the finish line. Still, I’ve already asked myself the all-important question “Then what?” Will I just stay home and rest? I could, but would that honor my commitment to be excellent? If I truly want to continue this journey, I’ll have to find a new challenge. Once I achieve that, I’ll need another one. Books written for first-time marathoners all devote at least one chapter to the “What’s next?” question. Experienced runners know that, once someone tackles a marathon, they will never be satisfied just sitting home. They will always be on the lookout for the next challenge.

Truly being a Christian also means never resting. When Jesus says that “the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head,” he means it quite literally. When he started his ministry, he gave up not just his home, but the idea of having a home at all. Jesus and his disciples wandered from town to town, depending on the hospitality of strangers for all of their needs. To a lesser degree, our Methodist clergy do the same thing today. When Pastor Dave and Rev. Nowers were ordained, they surrendered their freedom to decide where to live and work. They agreed to go wherever they were sent for their entire careers. Every year of his career in ministry, Rev. Nowers faced the possibility of being uprooted to a new church, a new town, a new home. Pastor Dave still lives with this uncertainty. Until they retire, Methodist clergy can never call a single place “home.”

Even if we are not called to be clergy, being a Christian requires letting go of security and comfort, and taking on a project that will never be completed. As Christians, all of us have the same goals: obedience to God and imitating Jesus. How many of us can honestly say that we’ve achieved those goals, that we have no more work to do and can rest? How many of us honestly believe that we’ll ever achieve those goals in our lifetimes? Being a Christian means striving for a finish line you never expect to reach. Being part of a church is the same way. Have you ever noticed that the work of this church is never done? I’ve been here my entire life, over 31 years, and I can’t remember a time when people weren’t talking of a need to fundraise in order to stay afloat. I can’t remember a time when people weren’t looking for help with a new project or mission. No matter how well we succeed in a single fundraising effort or project, the next one is always right around the corner. If you’re looking for a place to feel rested and at peace, stay away from church.

Being a Christian also requires letting go of our hesitation and making a decision. I’ve owned my house in Eastport for 7 years, and there’s been a gym right down the street that entire time. For 6 of those 7 years, I had really good reasons for not joining. I was in school, I was busy, the gym was too expensive, and I could find plenty of ways to exercise without it. I had visions of myself as a healthy person who exercised regularly, but I never seemed to get there. Last summer, when I finally decided to join the gym, all of those excuses were still there: I was still in school, I was busier than ever, the gym was still expensive, and I could still find ways to exercise without it. My reasons for not joining didn’t go away; I just realized that my reasons for joining were better. And something amazing happened: when I started going go the gym every day, I stopped imagining myself as a healthy, fit person and I actually became a healthy, fit person.

Jesus also calls us let go of our excuses and make a decision. When I first read his words to the man who wishes to bury his father “Let the dead bury their dead,” it sounded very harsh to me. Why shouldn’t this man take time to grieve and support his family? Being with one’s family after a death is not a bad thing, so why is Jesus against it? The more I think about it, though, I don’t think that Jesus is saying that loyalty to one’s family is a bad thing. I think he’s saying that, in order to make a real commitment, we need to reach a point where there are no more excuses.

Sitting here today, I’m sure that many of us have visions of ourselves as better people and better Christians. We might imagine ourselves getting more involved in the church, spending more time in prayer and meditation, or being better spiritual role models for our friends and families. Our reasons for not making these visions a reality may be perfectly valid: we might feel inadequate, we might be overwhelmed by other commitments, or we might simply be distracted by other important things in our lives. Whatever our excuses, Jesus wants us to understand that we must get past them if we want to truly follow him. If we’re waiting for a time when we’ll be free from other commitments and able to focus all our attention on being Christians, then we’ll spend our whole lives waiting. If we want to follow Jesus, we have to make a decision to drop everything and go.

Finally, Jesus wants us to know that being a Christian is lonely sometimes. It means breaking away from the security of what we know and venturing alone into the unknown. Two weekends ago, I volunteered at a weekend grief camp for children and teenagers- the same camp that so many of you donated to back in March. I can assure you that your donations went to good use, because the camp was absolutely wonderful. Everyone at camp- all of the children, all of the staff, all of the volunteers- had experienced the death of a loved one. And we all shared our losses together- the adults right alongside the children. I was amazed at the amount of healing that could take place in only 3 days. Do you know what made that healing possible? No cell phones. No computers. No Ipods. No contact with the world outside our small camp for the entire weekend.

When I first heard about that rule, I wasn’t sure how it would go. Pretty much everyone at camp was separated from something that gives them safety and security. Small children were separated from their caregivers. Teenagers and adults were separated from the constant connection to friends and family which we’ve all grown so accustomed to. I’ll be the first to admit that it wasn’t easy for me to turn off my Blackberry and leave it in the car. Once I did, though, I was amazed at what I experienced. All weekend, everywhere I looked, I saw people 100% engaged with one another. Children and adults having long, deep conversations. Teenage boys singing camp songs and completing art projects without worrying what their friends would think. At our volunteer training, we were told that camp would involve giving with our whole hearts. I know that was true for me, and I couldn’t have done it if I had been checking my Blackberry every 10 minutes.

In Jesus’s time, becoming a Christian meant leaving all safety and security behind. In a totally family-centered society, followers of Jesus took the unprecedented step of leaving their homes and families to join his ministry. Many of the Christian monastics and mystics went even further, moving alone into the desert or cloistering themselves in tiny communities to commune with God. They did this, not because they believed that their families or communities were bad, but because they felt a need to eliminate all distractions from their spiritual callings.

Today, most of us aren’t required to make such dramatic sacrifices in order to become Christians. As Christians living in the United States in 2010, we have it pretty easy. Many of us are blessed with families and friends who support or even share of our beliefs. Most of us can be Christians and remain in our homes and our professions. Being a Christian is socially acceptable- its even a political advantage. While this freedom is certainly a blessing, I think it also makes us complacent. We get so used to being comfortable as Christians that we avoid from those situations where being a Christian should make us uncomfortable. A relative or colleague makes a racist remark and we fail to challenge them. We go to the mall and buy things without thinking about how they were made or whether there might be a better use for our money. We see people in need and tell ourselves that they must have done something to deserve their situation. All too often, we let our desire for comfort and social acceptance prevent us from taking the courageous stands we know we should. We need to let go of these distractions if we ever hope to make our faith the center of our lives.

In this morning’s text, Jesus gives us plenty of good reasons why following him will be hard. Yet, that’s what he calls us to do and that’s what we’re all here to do. So how do we do it? How do we set our feet on the right path and resist the temptation to look back? I think that we do it together. Its true that Jesus asks us to leave our places of safety and security and set out alone to follow him. Once we begin our journey, though, we find companions. A year ago this weekend, I found the courage to walk to this pulpit alone and that visitor found the courage to come to this church alone. It wasn’t easy, but once we set out, we found each other. Two weeks ago, a large group of children and volunteers took the risk of setting out for camp alone, not knowing what would happen when we got there. By the end of the weekend, we had transformed from individuals to a community of people helping each other heal.

The companions we meet on our Christian journey help us carry on, even when it feels impossible. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come home from a run exhausted, feeling like I’ll never be able to finish my race, and found an encouraging email from someone at Loyola. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into this church exhausted, feeling like following my call to ministry is just too hard and been encouraged by all of your kind words and support. If I had never risked setting out on these journeys, I would never have encountered such wonderful people.

The companions we meet on our Christian journey can even help us face the reality that we may never see our destination. My professor Kelly was a woman who was passionate about healing people in pain. Yet, as gifted as she was, she could never have healed everyone. By sharing her faith and her gifts with others, she ensured that there would be plenty of us to carry on her work even after she was gone. In the Book of Hebrews, chapter 11, Paul talks about our Hebrew ancestors who heeded God’s call to leave their homes and journey to the promised land. He writes “All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them… If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they [desired] a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God… has prepared a city for them.”

Deciding to follow Jesus isn’t easy. It can be exhausting. It can be lonely. It can require us to make hard choices. At times, it can feel hopeless. We can only do it if we make a commitment, set our faces toward our goal, and decide that there will be no turning back. But if we can leave our places of safety and security and take those first steps into the unknown, then we’ll find those wonderful companions who will help us reach the city of God. Amen.

I smell like a nursing home, and other updates.

The nursing home smell is thanks to this amazing product. There is no room in my budget for massages right now, so I rely on Icy Hot to deal with my stiff knees and shoulders, and it generally gets the job done. Well worth the persistent nursing home smell. My official marathon training (ie: my training with the Annapolis Striders) starts this weekend, so I really amped up my gym time this week, and I am feeling it. Highlights included doing walking lunges and squats over the Easport bridge (to the amusement of morning commuters) and having a Group Power sub pull out an older release which was truly punishing on the back and shoulders. Today is rest day, for which I am very grateful.

A few things happened on the fundraising front this week. I sent out a mass email to my family and friends which inadvertantly got forwarded to all of Loyola. The problem with this is that, it being my personal message, I didn't say much about my fundraising partner Katie. Fortunately, she was cool about it and even more fortunately, the donations started rolling in! In less than 24 hours, my total went from $285 to $645, which makes my goal of $2500 feel a bit less impossible. Thanks, everyone!

In a less happy accident, I got a package today containing 250 business cards I had made to help Katie and I promote our efforts. When I took them out, I realized that I misspelled, of all words, "scholarship." D'oh! That's what happens when you spend so much time tweaking a proof that you stop really reading it.

Finally, I went to a memorial mass tonight marking the anniversary of Kelly and Sloane's deaths. It was a beautiful service, featuring some of Kelly's daughters reading and singing, and Kelly's husband Sean speaking. They are a remarkably resilient family. Fr. Kevin Gillespie from Loyola also spoke and he talked about all of the wonderful things that have been born out of this tragedy, including that very scholarship fund that Katie and I are supporting with our race. Loyola has already raised more than $50,000 and they will announce the first recipients soon. So, please know that your donations are going to help some very deserving students.

Okay, time for bed- 10 miles tomorrow morning!

Faith and healing, in memory of Kelly and Sloane.

My pastor is on vacation this week, so I'll be preaching for him this coming Sunday. I did the same over this weekend last year. I really struggled with that sermon, so I didn't watch TV or check the news all weekend, until just a few minutes before I needed to leave the house Sunday morning. I turned on the TV just for a second and the first thing I saw was Kelly's face. That's when I learned that she and Sloane had died. This coming Saturday will be the anniversary of their accident.

It would have been hard to preach anything that morning, but the subject of this sermon made it feel almost impossible. It took everything I had just to stop crying long enough to walk to the lectern. When I got there, I dedicated the sermon to Kelly and Sloane, and said a prayer that I could do what my preaching professor always told us to do: preach the word I most needed to hear. This is what I said:

Mark 5:21-43

When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.”

So he went with him. And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’” He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

Faith and Healing: Mark 5:21-43
Preached at St. Andrew's UMC, Edgewater, MD on June 28, 2009

For much of this lectionary year, we’ve been reading from the gospel according to Mark. A few months ago, Pastor Dave spoke to us about Mark’s fondness for the word “immediately.” Mark’s gospel is short, fast-paced, and urgent. Jesus appears and immediately everything changes. This week’s reading is no exception. Take a look- we get three “immediately”s in just 22 verses. The woman touches Jesus’s cloak and “immediately her hemmorage” stops;” Jesus is “immediately aware that power [has] gone forth from him;” and finally, Jesus takes the dead girl by the hand and “immediately” she gets up and walks. Clearly, Mark wants us to pay attention to how quickly Jesus makes things happen. It works on me- When I hear these stories, it’s the immediacy of the healings that grabs my attention. Faced with tragedies as enormous as chronic, debilitating disease and the death of a child, Jesus just waves his hand, and poof! The problems disappear. The woman is healed; the child is alive. Immediately.

It sounds so simple, that sometimes it makes me sad and confused. How many people do we all know who suffer for months or years with horrible, chronic diseases like cancer? How many of us have lost someone we loved and then felt like the grief would never end? Like we might be sad forever? I don’t know about you, but when I read the stories of Jesus’s miraculous healings, I wish that there were more miracles to go around. And I can’t help but wonder- If faith is enough to make someone well, then why do good and faithful people suffer and die every day?

I admit, when I first read today’s gospel text, I wasn’t sure how to preach on it. I wondered what I really had to say about faith and healing. Yes, I believe that faith can sustain us through hardships; I’ve read the scientific studies showing that deeply spiritual people are happier and healthier; and I believe that prayer has a healing power far beyond our rational comprehension. But I don’t believe that faith alone makes the difference between who is sick and who is well, or between who lives to a ripe old age and who dies prematurely. To me, that kind of thinking comes way too close to blaming people for the bad things that just happen to them. I don’t want to do that. Nor do I want to discourage people from taking advantage of the many medical treatments available today- some of them so remarkable that they almost seem like miracles. When I was in a bad car accident 9 years ago, my parents called Pastor Dave to come and pray with me, but they also took me to the hospital, and I’m glad that they did.

So what do we do with this text? What can these ancient, almost magical stories teach us modern, scientific people about the relationship between faith and healing? With all due respect to Mark, I think that we might find some answers if we put aside those “immediately”s for a minute. When I take a closer look at these stories, I realize that the healings they describe are neither as immediate nor as simple as they first appear:

Take, for example, the woman with the hemorrhages: When she meets Jesus, she’s already suffered with her disease for 12 long years. Mark tells us that she “had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse.” Isn’t that something we can all relate to? When I read that line, I think of everyone I know who has ever gone through chemotherapy and radiation, where the cure seems worse than the disease. I think about the people I’ve known who suffer from depression and other mental illnesses. They often spend months or years trying different medications, dealing with terrible side effects, and wondering if any treatment will ever work for them. I think about the millions of obese people who try every diet, drug, and surgery available, but just can’t seem to lose weight. And I think about all of the people in this country without health insurance, living in poverty because of enormous medical bills. The way that Jesus is able to heal this woman is truly a miracle, but I think there’s another miracle in this story too. It’s a miracle that this woman is even willing to try yet another solution to her problem, and even more amazing that she actually believes that this one will work. It’s this first miracle, I think, which has something to teach us about the kind of faith that can make us well:

First of all, this kind of faith takes action. The woman with the hemorrhages is open to a miraculous cure, but she doesn’t just sit around and wait for it to come to her. With an open mind, she tries anything and everything to fix her problem. When one thing doesn’t work, she tries the next thing. Even when she’s exhausted by her efforts and a cure seems impossible, she continues to try. When she sees Jesus rushing through the streets, she doesn’t just sit back and hope that he’ll notice her. She reaches out and takes hold of the one person who she believes can make her well. The same can be said for Jairus, whose daughter is sick. He seeks out Jesus, throws himself at his feet and “begs him repeatedly” to help his child. Even when all hope seems lost, he heeds Jesus’s words, continues to believe, and continues to try.

This kind of persistent action isn’t easy, especially when we go a long time without seeing the results that we want. Perseverance like this requires hope- a deep, fundamental belief that, against all odds, things can change. The woman with the hemorrhages has been sick for so long that she must find it hard to remember a life without her disease. Yet, somewhere deep inside, she is able to imagine herself getting better, and this gives her a reason to keep going.

I’ve worked in various forms of counseling for about 8 years now, and, from what I’ve seen, its this kind of hope that makes the biggest difference in whether or not someone gets better. Recently, I’ve been counseling women who are victims of domestic violence. Many of these women have been in multiple abusive relationships, and most suffered some form of abuse as children. Often they see themselves as nothing more than perpetual victims, unworthy of real love and respect. When they reach out for help, though, things can begin to change. In the counseling relationship, these women experience the kind of care, respect, and understanding which they haven’t received in their other relationships. Gradually, some of them are able to see new possibilities for themselves. They can imagine themselves as strong, independent women who receive love and respect because they won’t settle for anything less. Once they have this vision of themselves, I know that they’ll succeed in making it real. Once they truly believe that a better life is possible, they won’t give up until they achieve it, no matter how long and difficult their journey may be.

It sounds so simple- just have faith and believe- but its can be one of hardest things in the world to do. I think that’s where our friends, families, and church communities come in. Our loved ones believe in us when we can’t believe in ourselves, and they also give us glimpses of what might be possible for us. When you heard today’s stories, did you wonder how the sick woman and Jairus became so convinced that Jesus could help them? The answer is that they were part of the Jewish community in Israel- the same community in which Jesus had already preached, taught, and performed other miracles. They didn’t have blind faith in Jesus- they heard what he had already done. They may have even seen it with their own eyes.

At the counseling center where I intern, we have several support groups. St. Andrews has them too. There’s an Alcoholic Anonymous meeting here at the church and Pastor Dave just started a new cancer support group. Support groups are places where people witness miraculous healing with their own eyes. In these groups, people struggling with similar problems share their pain, but they also share their hope. One of the reasons that AA and other 12-step groups are so successful in helping people with addictions is that they bring people in various stages of recovery together. When a person struggling with a substance addiction walks into their first 12-step meeting, they usually can’t imagine a life without alcohol or drugs. But at that meeting, they hear stories of people who have been sober for days, weeks, months, and even years- people who used to feel just as hopeless and out of control as they do now. In support groups, people learn that miraculous healing is possible because they see and hear evidence of it all around them.

Our church’s founder, John Wesley, understood the power and importance of group support in building faith. He organized the early Methodist communities into small sub-groups called classes, bands, and societies. In these small groups, Christians gathered regularly to share their journeys of faith. They prayed for and with each other, and talked about the ways they saw God’s hands at work in their lives. In these groups, many early Methodists found healing for the broken places in their hearts, minds, and spirits. Pastor Dave understands the importance of group support too- that’s why he reminds us so often that there are no “Lone Ranger Christians.” We need Christian communities where we can share how God works in our lives, and witness the wonderful things God does in the lives of others. When we come together as a church, we give each other the hope that we all need to persevere in the life of faith, so that when miracles do happen, we’ll be ready to receive them.

I think that the good news of today’s text is that miracles aren’t always simple or immediate, but they do happen. The people in today’s stories have to make long and difficult journeys in order to receive healing, and it might not happen exactly as they want or expect it to. Given a choice, I’m sure that the woman with hemorrhages would not have endured 12 years of sickness and lost everything she had before finding a cure. I’m sure that Jairus would have chosen for his daughter not to get sick and die in the first place. When that moment of healing comes, though, none of that matters. When these people finally feel the healing touch of Jesus, they forget all the struggle and pain, and simply feel awe and gratitude for the miracle they’ve received.

As we sit here this morning, I’m sure that each of us is need of some form of healing, whether from physical disease, mental illness, emotional pain, spiritual emptiness, or any number of other hurts. I’m also sure that, at one time or another, we’ve all wished for a miracle. The good news of this text is that it might not happen immediately or exactly how we want it, but if we persevere, believe, and support one another, our own miraculous moments of healing will come. Sooner or later, our faith will make us well. Amen.

Don't light a match...

Having grown up with this kind of stove, I know what natural gas smells like... and that's the smell that greeted me upon entering my office today. The gas people are currently on their way to investigate, but it looks like I might be going home early!

What will I do when I get there? Probably go back to the gym. That's right- go back, because I already went this morning. During this, my first official week of marathon training, I am experimenting with increasing my gym time by going twice several days of the week. The goal is to balance my need to get lots of training in with my short attention span and the recognition that I can not possibly get up any earlier in the morning. I am also taking advantage of my miraculously freed up schedule, in which I don't have to be to work until 9 or 9:30 and get to go home at 4 or 4:30. Yesterday, I got home at 4:45, laid down for 20 minutes, took a 5:30 spin class, and cooked a great dinner from scratch, all in time for my weekly TV party at 8pm. That is literally more "me" time than I used to get in an average week. Awesome.

Speaking of awesome, what I made for dinner last night was migas, one of my all-time favorite meals for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Here's how you make it. For one big (dinner size portion) or two small (breakfast size) portions, you need:

-2 stale corn tortillas (leave them out for a day or so) broken into pieces

-3 eggs

-1 roma tomato (or 1 small regular tomato)

-1 small onion or 1/2 of a big one

-1 garlic clove

-about 1/4 cup of shredded cheese (cheddar, monterey jack, queso freco- whatever you like)

-olive oil (1-2 tbsp)

-kosher salt (to taste)

-cilantro

1. Dice the tomato, onion, and garlic. (You can remove the seeds from the tomato, but I don't bother.)

2. Heat the oil in a medium pan, then add the tortilla pieces and cook until they get crispy and just a little brown.

3. Add the tomato, onion, and garlic and cook until the onion gets soft.

4. Beat the eggs in a cup or bowl with a pinch of the kosher salt. Pour the eggs over the tortilla and vegetable mixture and cook (turning occasionally with a wooden spoon or spatula) until the eggs set.

5. Add the cheese and cook for a few more seconds until it melts. Remove the pan from the heat and add the cilantro and more salt if needed.

That's it. Very easy and delicious. You can also add pretty much anything else you have around- beans, chorizo, bacon, other vegetables. Just consider how long whatever you add needs to cook to decide when to throw it in. You can also modify the recipe by subbing egg whites, low-fat cheese, et cetera. Enjoy!

Another hot one: Father's Day 10K

Yesterday, I ran the slightly-less-miserable-than-expected Father's Day 10K with the Annapolis Striders. Given the forecast, I was expecting a repeat of the Zooma weather. Thankfully, the really intense heat held off until the last part of the race and the course was much shadier and flatter than the Zooma course. It was still a struggle, though. I am so thankful for my running buddy, Val. Even when we aren't vocally complaining, I know that we both push it harder when we run together. I definitely would have walked a bit yesterday if she hadn't been there. Instead, I finished 5 minutes faster than my Zooma time.

After the race, I celebrated Father's Day and my nephew's 10th birthday with my parents and siblings. They pretty much epitomized the card above. To hear my brother-in-law talk about it, you would think that my 1:07 10K qualified me for the Olympics. They were also kind enough not to get annoyed that I spend most of the party crashed on the couch watching the US Open with my sister-in-law's father. I don't know much about golf, but I know that a couch and air conditioning felt awesome after running through the heat!

In other news:

Friday, I met my friend Emma for lunch at one of my favorite DC restaurants, Commonwealth Gastropub (http://www.commonwealthgastropub.com), which features local and sustainable British pub food. Around 1:30, I ate their delicious grass-fed beef burger and some mashed potatoes. At 6:30, I met another friend at another pub for dinner and I wasn't hungry. This is unprecedented. So, I think the meat experiment might be working.

This coming Saturday is the first official long run of my marathon training. 10 miles. It feels pretty daunting at the moment, and I know I need to step up my midweek mileage to get ready. In an odd coincidence, Saturday is also the first anniversary of Dr. Murray's death. So, there's all the motivation I need to get moving. If her husband and children can endure this past year, I can certainly endure a couple hours of sweating.

FREEDOM! (and other news)

My spring class ended on April 28th. My internship at the Wendt Center ended on May 5th. Yesterday was the last day of my 5-week summer class. So, for the next 2 1/2 months, my only regular obligations are my 35 hour/week job and my 4 hour/week volunteer gig at the Wendt Center. Add it up- that's the schedule of a normal working adult. I haven't had anything close to that since the summer of '08. Woo-hoo!

I would say that I don't know what I'm going to do with myself, but I think we all know what I'm going to do: run a marathon. In some ways, I feel like I already have. To give just one example of the craziness that was my life this past year, here is what I did on every Wednesday from September-May: 6am class at the gym, followed by drive to my office in DC, followed by Metro trip to the Wendt Center in NW for morning of meetings, followed by Metro trip back to my office, followed by afternoon of work, follwed by drive to Columbia for class, followed by class, followed by drive home (normal arrival time: 10pm). Then, I would go to sleep and rest up for an 8:30am-9pm day on Thursday. That's only one day of each week and the other 6 weren't much better. I strongly suspect that running 26.2 miles will not be as exhausting as that schedule. I am so grateful that I made it and that I have some time off now!

In other news, I went shoe shopping last night and bought the sneakers pictured above and a pair of extra-comfortable sandals. I also went to Road Runner Sports in Columbia (http://www.roadrunnersports.com/), an excellent store devoted entirely to running, and picked up some more running shorts and socks. This shopping trip is proof of one of the many ways running has changed my life: I've always had a weakness for clothes, but I never thought that "moisture wicking" would become an essential quality in the garments I buy. I've also never been a believer in adults wearing sneakers outside the gym. My feet, however, have decided that I punish them enough at the gym and they are no longer okay with being further punished by fancy shoes. So, welcome home Pumas!

Also, I woke up this morning at 5:30am and just could not drag myself to the gym. I went back to sleep, missing my boot camp class, and then woke up at 7am filled with regret. I will try to remember this when the alarm goes off at 5:30 tomorrow- as hard as it is to get up that early, I always feel worse when I don't.

Finally, the weather report is predicting that I will run another miserably hot and humid 10K this weekend (Annapolis Striders' Father's Day 10K). Joy. I'm trying to remember that its all important practice for the long, hot training runs starting soon. Wish me luck!

"Grief is about remembering," part 2: My grandmothers

In the last post, I shared some of my experiences at the Wendt Center's Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC (see below). As a volunteer for camp, I chose to share my experiences losing my two grandmothers, Cleo (who died in 2001) and Theresa, aka: Mammal (who died in 2003). Much of this weekend was about sharing their stories, so I thought I would honor them by sharing a bit of that here:

Grandma Cleo was my Dad's mother, and I remember her as the quieter and gentler of my two grandmothers. She came from a tiny, poor mountain town in the Cumberland Gap area of VA. She was one of 8 or 9 children (several died in childhood, so I've never been clear on the exact number). Many of our relatives still live in that tiny town, where life hasn't changed much since Grandma Cleo left. Grandma Cleo married my grandfather in her 20's and had two boys. When my Dad was 10, she moved with him up to MD to seek treatment for my grandfather's mental illness. She arranged treatment, but never succeeded in getting him to MD. Eventually, they divorced and my uncle joined Grandma Cleo and my Dad in MD.

Grandma Cleo got a job and supported her sons as a single parent for many years, until she met a man at the grocery store and fell head-over-heels. By all accounts, her second marriage was a fairytale romance. Sadly, it ended before I was born when her husband died suddenly of a heart condition. Grandma Cleo spent the rest of her life living alone in a little waterfront house on the Eastern Shore. She was a very gentle, sweet, nature-loving person and much beloved by her neighbors who often visited the beach by her house. My family and I spent every Easter and many summer days at that house. My strongest memories of Grandma Cleo are of walking with her on the beach, collecting shells and fishing for minnows. She was also a gifted artisan, who made beautiful wood carvings and crochet pieces until arthritis finally stopped her. I'll always remember her peacefulness and her appreciation for the simple things in life: people, nature, food, and things made by hand.

Mammal, my Mom's mother, was like a third parent to me. We were incredibly close, and it seems very appropriate that I live in her house now. This is the eulogy that I gave at her funeral:


Theresa Mathilda Bowen
November 28, 1914-January 7, 2003

It is my great honor today to represent my family and tell you about my grandmother, Theresa Bowen, whom I knew as Mammal. I’m told that part of any eulogy is biography, which makes it my job to relate to you the facts of my grandmother’s life. Of course, those of you who knew my grandmother know that she was never very interested in the facts, so I’m going to keep that part brief. If I exaggerate, deviate from the point a bit, or leave a few things out, just consider it a tribute.

Theresa Mathilda O’Connor was born on November 28, 1914 to Matthew David O’Connor and Theresa Mathilda Walter. She grew up in Baltimore, the middle child of three girls. According to her account, she and her sisters Dorothy and Alice were always “the talk of the town,” particularly when they went out dancing. Dorothy, Theresa and Alice all shared a life-long love of music, dancing, and generally having a good time.

Mammal graduated from Forest Park High School in 1932. The following fall, she met Joseph Vernon Bowen, Sr. of Annapolis. They married on April 18, 1937 at Edward’s Chapel in Parole. Soon after their marriage, Vernon and Theresa moved into a two-bedroom home at 1002 Jackson Street- the home my grandmother would live in for nearly 65 years. In that home, they raised four children: Colleen came first, followed by Joe, Marc, and finally my mother, Dorothy.

When she moved to Eastport, Mammal joined Eastport United Methodist Church, which she attended for over 60 years. She sang in the choir for over 25 years, taught Sunday School until the late 1990’s, and attended Bible Study right up until the final weeks of her life. In her life she displayed perfect faithfulness to the credo of the Methodist Church- she upheld it by her prayers, her presence, her gifts and her service so that in everything God may be glorified.

Over the years, Mammal worked at a wide range of jobs to support her family. She was a salesclerk at a number of stores, particularly Murphy’s and Britt’s. One of our family’s favorite stories happened when she worked at the Royal Farms dairy store. A man came in to rob the store, and despite the pleading of her fellow employees, Mammal refused to hand over the money. The would-be robber eventually grew frustrated and left empty-handed. A few weeks later, Mammal stood up in court and identified him with no fear for her own safety. Mammal’s final job was in the mailroom of The Capital newspaper, from which she retired in the late 1970’s.

Retirement did not begin to slow Mammal down. When she was in her 50’s, she traveled to Baltimore weekly to take lessons at the Arthur Murray dance school. In her 70’s, she took a year of paralegal courses and received excellent grades. In her 80’s, she bought herself a computer and a set of Tae-Bo tapes. I don’t think she ever mastered either, but it was not for lack of trying.

Mammal became a grandmother for the first time with the birth of Colleen’s daughter Marie in 1960. It was Marie who came up with the name “Mammal,” because she could not pronounce the word “Grandma.” Mammal was blessed with many grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even great- great-grandchildren. When you count the stepchildren in the family, whom she loved every bit as dearly as all the others, Mammal has 7 grandchildren: Marie, Rodney John, Kristen, Christopher, Andy, Meghan and myself. She has 11 great-grandchildren: Charlie, Jed, James, Jackie, Nicholas, Melanie, Michael, Kyle, Jordan, Summer and Shane. Finally, she has two great-great granddaughters, Kim and Caitlin, and another great-great grandchild due in March.

It is as a grandmother that I knew Mammal best. My first memories of her are from when I was about three years old. Mammal took care of my cousins and I after school while our mothers worked, and all day in the summer. Our close relationship continued long after I grew too old for a babysitter. Barring my parents, she has been the most constant, closest, and most influential person in my life for as long as I can remember.

The task of describing Mammal to you is almost impossible. She had such a huge personality that words could never contain it. I feel that the best way to understand her is to look at her family. After God, Mammal valued nothing more than family. Looking at all of us, I see her influence everywhere. I joked recently that Mammal had four dominant characteristics, which are well-represented in her four children: My mother worries too much, Colleen knows everything, Marc is full of bull, and Joe likes to eat. It was a joke at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I see the truth in it.

Like my mother, Mammal was definitely prone to worrying, but her worries grew out of a deep love and concern for everyone she came into contact with. She spent her life working to give her family everything they ever wanted or needed. Mammal always seemed to know just when you needed something, whether it was money, a particular item, or just some loving attention. Yet, her concern did not stop at relatives; Mammal also cared deeply for friends, casual acquaintances, and even total strangers. Only a few months ago, I had dinner with Mammal and told her about some of the children I serve as a counselor. All of these children come from poor families and many come from backgrounds of abuse and neglect. A few days after our conversation, Mammal called me and told me that she needed to have a private talk, just between her and I. She told me “I’ve been thinking about those kids you work with. If any of them ever needs anything, I want you to just go ahead and buy it and tell me how much it costs so I can pay you for it.” I see this deep love and concern for others reflected in my mother, who cared lovingly for Mammal, my Grandma Cleo, and many of the elderly ladies in our family and church. I saw it over the holidays when Mom helped me buy presents for all of the children I serve so that they could each have a special Christmas. In my mother, Mammal leaves a legacy of kindness and generosity toward all.

Like my aunt Colleen, Mammal ended her formal education at high school; however, she truly never stopped learning. Her house is full of books on every subject imaginable, from Quaker theology to law to New Age medicine. When something sparked Mammal’s interest, she studied it with a diligence and enthusiasm to rival any Ph.D. I’ve ever known. She did not keep these studies to herself. Knowledge was nothing to Mammal until it was shared with others. She never shied away from any discussion, and she spoke about any subject with the confidence of an expert. Her knowledge of the Bible was truly impressive, and from what I hear, she kept generations of Sunday School students and ministers at Eastport on their toes. Her opinions may have changed over the years, but they were always right. Like Mammal, my Aunt Colleen is a student of everything. When she likes a song, she learns all she can about the singer. When she likes an actor, she sees every one of his movies. When one of us gets sick, she pulls out her medical books and diagnoses us within minutes. She is willing to defend her views against any criticism, and reminds us frequently that it is important to stay informed. In my Aunt Colleen, Mammal leaves a legacy of lifetime learning.

Like my uncle Marc, Mammal had a story for every occasion, and every one of her stories contained enough drama to match any afternoon soap opera. The truthfulness of these stories was always questionable, but the facts were never as important as the telling itself. Mammal’s stories infused the events of everyday life with a sense of significance, magic, and above all, comedy. I’ll never be sure if she actually jumped over the Eastport drawbridge in her car, or if her old toaster really shot her morning toast perfectly onto her plate every day. Still, hearing her stories from an early age taught me that life is an adventure, and that funny and interesting happen all around us every single day. Like Mammal, my uncle Marc’s stories are full of superlatives. Everything is either the best or the worst, things always happen, or they never happen. He shares her ability to deliver the perfect comeback to any comment while always keeping a straight face. Like Mammal, he applies himself diligently to the serious and difficult obligations of life, but his outward appearance is always one of confidence and a deep sense of humor. In my Uncle Marc, Mammal leaves a legacy of hard work balanced with great humor.

Like my Uncle Joe, Mammal loved to eat and to laugh. Mammal always encouraged us to eat dessert first because you might be too full for it after the rest of the meal. She talked often over the years about dieting, and she devised some interesting eating plans for herself, but in the end she never let anything get in the way of enjoying a good meal. Even if she got too full to finish something, she just pulled a plastic baggie out of her purse and wrapped it up for later. As much as she loved to eat, Mammal also loved to laugh. I honestly have no memories of her without a smile on her face, and she never went more than a few minutes without making a joke. During her final days in the hospital, one of the nurses administered a test to determine Mammal’s mental status. As part of this exam, the nurse asked Mammal if she could write a sentence. Without hesitation, Mammal took the pen and paper and wrote “I love God and chocolate.” She truly laughed in the face of death. Like Mammal, my Uncle Joe loves good food and laughter. He is a man genuinely loves life and lives it to the fullest every single day. Even as we made the arrangements for Mammal’s funeral, Joe and I kept each other laughing, and every once in awhile, he offered me a sandwich from a zip-lock bag in his pocket. In my uncle Joe, Mammal leaves a legacy of taking joy in life.

When I think about Mammal’s great qualities, it strikes me that the bedrock of them all is a deep and abiding faith. Mammal had a truly unshakeable faith in God, which in turn allowed her to have faith in herself and faith in others. Mammal gave me innumerable gifts over the years. She taught me the importance of family. She instilled in me a love and appreciation for learning. She demonstrated the value of putting others ahead of myself. She taught me to laugh as often as possible, in the face of whatever comes my way. Still, what I’ll cherish most about our relationship is the faith that she had in me. In 23 years, I never heard a discouraging word from her mouth. On the contrary, she was my constant cheerleader and #1 fan. She told me that every paper I wrote was brilliant, every musical or dramatic performance was flawless, every haircut was “the latest style.” When I came home from my first year of college 25 pounds heavier, she told me I looked thin. One of the last things she said to me in the hospital was “I think you are just adorable.” Mammal and I had many differences in our beliefs and lifestyles, but I know that it was her example and her faith in me that gave me the courage to become who I am.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing Mammal, but I have no regrets about our relationship. She gave me enough stories to tell for a lifetime, and left me with an example that it will easily take a lifetime to live up to. In our family, I will always see living reminders of her influence and I know that I can turn to them in her absence. Most of all, I know that she loved me, I loved her, and we enjoyed every moment we spent together. To put it quite simply, we thought the world of each other, and my life is forever blessed from knowing her. Thanks, Mammal.

"Grief is about remembering," part 1: Camp

As I mentioned in my last post, I spent this past weekend at Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC, a free weekend camp for children ages 6-16 who have experienced a death-related loss. The camp is sponsored, organized and run by the Wendt Center for Loss and Healing ( http://www.wendtcenter.org/), the amazing agency where I completed my second clinical placement. Camp was an amazing, intense experience and easily one of the best things I've ever done. Here are just a few highlights:

Camp is put on by a small number of staff and a huge number of volunteers. Every single kid is paired with an adult "grief buddy," who accompanies them through the entire weekend. The kids are divided into small grief groups by age, and the groups are led by a licenced mental health clinician and a group assistant. All of the volunteers have also lost someone to death and they all share their own losses with the children. The common bond of grief is really powerful. The kids are able to learn from the adults' journeys, but I also learned a lot from the kids in my group. I was with a group of five 12 year-old girls, all of whom were amazingly candid about their own experiences and asked brave and insightful questions about mine. I was sharing about the losses of my two grandmothers (one in 2001 and one in 2003) and I definitely left the weekend with new insights about how I have experienced those losses.

The Wendt Center staff have been putting on Camp Forget-Me-Not for over 10 years, and they clearly know what they are doing. The activities over the course of the weekend built on one another beautifully. Friday evening's activities helped the children and volunteers get to know each other and ease into the topic of grief and loss. On Saturday, the heavier sharing and processing activites were interspersed with physical and artistic activities to help the kids de-compress and get their feelings out. Saturday night, everyone participated in a memorial boat launch, in which we released boats we had decorated in honor of our loved ones while their names were read aloud. Afterward, the children (and adults) had time to cry and process (there was a lot of both in our group), and then they got to enjoy free time and a fun carnival. The girls in our group chose to use their free time "making over" all of the adult volunteers in our cabin. For me, this was one of the most poignant and fun experiences of the whole weekend. On Sunday, all of the activites were centered around remembering the time and relationships built at camp and looking forward to the future. Throughout the weekend, the kids were exposed to all kinds of ways to express themselves and cope with feelings: talking, writing, drama, art, music, play, and sports.

All weekend, I kept being reminded of the things I wrote about in my last post: the universality of grief and how much we all need to talk about it. It was amazing seeing how much benefit our girls derived from just a weekend of sharing stories of grief and loss. It was equally amazing to see how much I and the other adults still needed to talk about our own losses. Every second of the weekend felt so amazingly important and worthwhile. I can't think of many other experiences where I felt 100% engaged and committed the entire time.

I'm not doing camp anything near justice in this post, but if I've intrigued you, I hope you will consider volunteering or referring a child in the future. It happens every year. You can also make a much-needed donation to support the program at any time by visiting the Wendt Center site: http://www.wendtcenter.org/.

Camps, boot and grief.

This is a photo from the first episode of the summer reality show "Losing it With Jillian," in which the boot-camp style trainer from "The Biggest Loser" moves in with struggling families for a week to try to help them get their health back on track.

A few seasons ago on "The Biggest Loser," Jillian's mother was a guest on an episode. Turns out she's a therapist, which goes a long way toward explaining why Jillian is so darn good at getting inside people's heads. I envy her assessment skills. On episode after episode of both of these shows, she asks her trainees a few well-chosen questions and gets right to the heart of the psychological issues behind their struggles. Then, she designs her interventions to address both the physical and the psychological issues. In some ways, she reminds me of Dr. Murray. As far as I know, Dr. Murray never screamed at people and made them cry, but she did incorporate really creative phsyical interventions (like running) into her therapy.

I expected "Losing it With Jillian" to be more about emotional issues than food or exercise, but I've been surprised at how much of it is about grief. In the first episode, the family above shared that they had lost a son in infancy and not talked about it for 22 years. Instead, they grew heavier and more distant from one another with each year. The second episode centered around a mother and children who had struggled since losing their husband and father. It looks like the next episode will be about a woman suffering after a divorce. With all of these families, the change that Jillian makes by getting them to talk about their grief is far more significant than any changes she makes through diet or exercise.

I'll be spending this weekend volunteering for Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC, a weekend grief camp for children and teenagers put on by my clinical placement site, the Wendt Center for Loss and Healing (http://www.wendtcenter.org/). At this camp, the kids get a chance to spend a weekend away from school, friends, family, and responsibilities in a place where its okay to talk about grief and loss. I was already excited about volunteering for this camp, but watching "Losing It" the past few weeks has reminded just how important programs like Camp Forget-Me-Not really are.

If I've learned one thing doing grief counseling, its that loss and grief are everywhere. Loss is a universal experience of life. We all go through it over and over again. Yet, we almost never talk about it. So many people move through their lives carrying huge burdens of unexpressed pain. Often (as on "Losing It"), they wind up literally carrying it on or in their bodies. Sometimes they carry it as financial debt, addictions, bad relationships, or other destructive behaviors. Talking about it doesn't make it go away, but it releases some of that destructive energy and helps people make connections between their feelings and their behaviors. I'm really glad to see this being demonstrated in such a popular, public forum.

PC Department Celebrities!

Well, there's no backing out now: Katie and I have made the Loyola Pastoral Counseling Department homepage! Our story is the first item in the "News" section at http://www.loyola.edu/pastoralcounseling. The department has been super-supportive of our efforts, which is really lovely to see. I've been at Loyola for 3 years as a part-time, commuter student, which means that I don't often get to experience any kind of school community. The department's response to Dr. Murray's death, however, showed me just how much community really exists there. The whole department- faculty, staff, and students- have worked so hard to support one another and honor Dr. Murray's legacy. I'm really happy to be able to take part in their efforts.

A few updates on earlier posts:

Donations continue to come in! Many of my friends donated in honor of my birthday, for which I am both touched and grateful. You can donate anytime between now and October 31st by going to http://www.active.com/donate/marathonformurray .

Since my crazy schedule ended, I have been enjoying getting to more early-morning classes at the gym, but I am realizing that the 5:45am spin class is just too early. 6am I can do; 5:45 is too hard. I am also still struggling with afternoon naps which keep me up too late at night. If I come up with any useful remedies for afternoon sleepiness, I'll be sure to share.

The meat-eating experiment continues. Thus far, turkey lunchmeat and grass-fed beef burgers are great, and chicken and bacon are dissapointing. I also feel like my long-held belief that vegetarian food tends to be more flavorful is being confirmed. I won't make a final ruling on that, though, until I eat meat in at least one or two really good restaurants. My hunger has abated a bit, but I don't think I will know if the meat has anything to do with that until I really get into training (which starts at the end of this month). So, the experiment will continue for at least a few months.

That's all for now!

Sweat it out: Zooma Annapolis

This weekend I celebrated my 31st birthday in two parts. On Saturday, I continued my annual tradition of throwing myself fabulous birthday parties. This year's was a bit low-key compared to previous years (and a lot low-key compared to some previous years): just a handful of my favorite people hanging out and enjoying some good food and drinks. I spent the first 6 hours of Saturday cooking and produced some pretty awesome things (if I do say so myself): fudge, blueberry cobbler, peach oatmeal crumble, cookies and cream ice cream, amazing guacamole, mango salsa, and lemon-dill roasted potatoes, all of which accompanied some Boca and turkey burgers. The stars of the menu were the guac and the salsa, both of which came from the wonderful Vineyard Cookbook (http://amzn.com/1599620642) which I picked up on vacation in CA last year and highly recommend.

The party had to end rather early because part two of the celebration was the Zooma Annapolis 10K, which started at 7am this morning. Presumably, the organizers chose this time hoping to get out ahead of the heat. Well, they failed on that one. It was oppressively hot and muggy by the time I left my house at 6:15. I was drenched in sweat with sunblock running into my eyes by the time we had run out of the Navy Marine Corps stadium parking lot and I stayed that way for the entire race.

This was a big race- over 3,ooo runners, 90% of them women (Zooma is a women-focused race series which doesn't do a great job advertising the fact that its races are actually co-ed). The course was very similar to the A10, meaning that it featured quite a few hills. For me, the toughest part was the last mile and change, which were almost entirely uphill. I was wiped out by that point and I had waved goodbye to my running buddy Val, who was continuing on to complete the half-marathon (God bless her!). I thought I might throw up over the finish line- my recent boot camp class experiences have taught me that Alicia + heat + hard effort = puking. Another tricky thing about this race was that a LOT of people walked big portions of it. I felt like I was weaving past walkers and trying not to slam into people who abrubtly stopped in front of me the entire race. My time was below par for me (1:12), which I think was a combination of heat, hills, and time lost manuevering around walkers. Next year, I'll definitely start with a faster pace group just to avoid the latter problem.

I finished around 8:15am and the after-race party was already a chaotic mess. The line for water and food stretched so far that I decided to just head for the Gatorade in my car and the food at my house. The downside was that I didn't get to see my friends finish. The upside was that I impressed my family by actually making it to our weekly Sunday breakfast and church. My Dad (who doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to my running) greeted me in surprise and said "You're already done? I saw that race in the paper- it was a long way!" Thanks, Dad.

Its hard to believe that I'm going to spend the rest of this summer completing even longer runs in heat this bad and worse, but I made it through today and I guess I'll make it through that too. I have a lot of birthday treats to work off.

Celebrating my gym and my birthday!

Congratulations to my gym, Annapolis Athletic Club, which tied with Big Vanilla to win What's Up Annapolis magazine's best gym award for the 7th year in a row! I was excited to hear about this because (a) AAC is awesome and (b) both of the top gyms are locally owned operations which beat out several major chains in order to win. I often get frustrated at the number of big chains taking over Annapolis. Thankfully I can still walk up to the little shopping center at the end of my street to take a great class at AAC, grab coffee at locally-owned Ahh, Coffee! and eat really amazing pizza at locally-owned Squsitos. Makes me feel like part of a great neighborhood.

This weekend, I am also celebrating my 31st birthday! Looking back, I realize that 30 was one of the toughest and greatest years of my life. It was tough due to a rough breakup, the loss of some great people (including Dr. Murray), and a truly punishing work/school schedule. AAC had a lot to do with what made it great.

After hearing about its stellar reputation for many years, I finally joined this past August because I knew that I needed a healthy way to cope with the stress of my breakup and schedule. I had my doubts that I would be able to get there with any regularity, especially since I had to go at 6am in order to get to work on time. Once I went to my first class, though, I was sold. The atmosphere and people there are just really positive and motivating. As I've written before, my time at AAC quickly became my "recess" from the grueling 10-13 hour work days.

In addition, the strength and confidence I built at AAC motivated me to get more serious about running. So, instead of looking back at 30 as the year I moped over a breakup and drowned in stress, I can look back on 30 as the year I met great new running friends; completed my first 5-miler, 10-miler, and half-marathon; and signed up for my first full marathon.

I know that 31 will be the year of the marathon and the year I continue to enjoy the gym. Hopefully, it will be the year I finally finish grad school (after 6 straight years). I'm excited to see what else awaits me this year!

My sister, and other things that are awesome.

So, apparently I love hamburgers. Who knew? As I mentioned a couple of days ago, as soon as I bit the bullet and ate a little turkey, I developed an unexpected craving for a hamburger. So, yesterday, I went to a local place that lists the names of their local farm suppliers on the menu and ordered a small cheeseburger to go. I went with the small in case I (a) couldn't bring myself to bite into it, or (b) couldn't finish it. I needn't have worried. Along with the fresh corn I cooked up at home, that cheeseburger made the most delcious and most traditional Memorial Day meal I've had in over 15 years. Yum.

A few days into this meat-eating experiment, I'm still not sure how I feel about it. On the plus side, its exciting to eat some new foods and I do feel a little more full. On the down side, I've spent a good hour or so in the middle of each night feeling nauseated and worrying about both the ethical consequences of my choices and about losing yet another thing that made me cool and different (there have been others).

As I think all of this through, my awesome older sister Meghan, who lives on the Eastern Shore, chimed in with some helpful advice I thought I would pass along: "Hey....was just reading your blog about your meat eating thoughts....and just a thought back to you. I truly believe that if your concern is the treatment of the animals, you may be safer with locally grown, grass fed beef, which I know we can get on this side probably cheaper than you can over there. I swear when I read about it or watch something about the meat industry as a whole, the turkey/chicken thing grosses me out! But there are quite a lot of resources for beef raised humanely. Just my opinion, thought I would share!If you are ever interested, there is a guy who sells at the Chestertown farmer's market, and he has great beef from a farm you can actually go visit not far from where I live. He sells his ground beef for $4.95 lb, which is really good for grass fed beef. It really is good too!" So, the next time you are on the Eastern Shore, go buy some good beef at the Chestertown farmer's market and thank my sister.

In other awesome news, the donations are starting to come in! Thanks so much to those who have already contributed. Those who would like to make a donation can go to http://www.active.com/donate/marathonformurray anytime until the Marine Corps Marathon on October 31, 2010.

Finally, registration for the awesome Annapolis 10-miler is now open! It sells out quick, so get over to http://www.annapolisstriders.org/ as soon as possible if you want to run it this year. I first learned about the A10 in 2001, when some buddies from a previous job decided to run it. It was the first major race for all of them, and they all made it. Most of them have done it every year since, and they have always invited me, but this is the first year I am actually fit enough to do it. So, despite the hills and the crushing August heat and humidity, I am very excited.