Last Friday afternoon, I took my place at the head of an impressive conference table to take part in my Year One Progress Review. As a part of the measures taken to ensure the success of research students, the progress review was an essential step in confirming that I am making sufficient headway in the monumental task of constructing, researching and writing a PhD.
Present were four professors - the historian, the linguist, the lecturer in doctrine and modern theology from the Baptist College, and the patristics scholar (playing the dual role of supervisor and director of postgraduate research). These men (with the accidental omission of Roy from the Baptist College) had received and read a copy of a draft first chapter of my PhD.
After I gave a brief introduction to my project, the past year and my future plans, the historian eagerly began with his comments. Before moving on to the content of my draft, he stated that it was good work. Once he began with his comments, the conversation flew around the table, as I sat with pen and paper, busily trying to keep notes on all the questions and suggestions being exchanged.
The whole of the meeting lasted something less than an hour, and I emerged in a slightly shattered condition, my head buzzing with all the questions asked and challenges given. Following my supervisor to his office to arrange a future meeting. I rather tentatively asked, "so - did I pass?" His answer was immediately in the affirmative, and in the conversation which followed, I learned a few more important things about academia that I would do well to profit by.
From the moment I understood that he was extremely pleased with the review meeting, I began to see it in another light. I had been bombarded with questions, challenges and new ideas, but none of these had been aimed directly at me or my work. There had been no challenge to my fitness or negation of my ideas as they stood. Rather these men had taken my work as of value, and immediately plunged in with their individual ideas of how it could be deepened, broadened, improved and continued. The historian was putting it in historical context. The linguist encouraged me to think about semantics. The modern doctrine tutor was pointing toward more recent historical and doctrinal developments. Each one saw me and my project through his own lens, and each was eager to advise me from his own perspective.
As I began to reflect these thoughts back to my supervisor, he came out with a statement that quite took me aback. "They treated you as an equal." Subtext: they didn't have to do that. You earned their respect.
It was after these words of encouragement, that he gave me his largest piece of positive criticism. He told me not just to listen, but to speak; not only to take on board the ideas of others, but to present my own; not only to accept criticism, but to respond to it. I must stick up for my own methods, understanding, goals, thoughts. I must speak as well as listen. I must learn to be confident in myself, and to display that confidence to others.
Listening to this criticism, I realised he was right. It was months before I would even stick up for my ideas to my supervisor. Now it was brought home to me how vital it is for me to be able to do the same to complete strangers. If I'm ever going to pass my viva and be awarded the distinction of a PhD, I must be able to stick up for myself. I must cultivate my confidence.
Fortunately, I am in a wonderful place to do that: surrounded by a community of love and encouragement, blessed by a supervisor that always tells me what is good about what I do alongside what needs work, and finding myself for the first time in a love relationship that is equal, mutual and incredibly supportive, I have every opportunity to grow in confidence even as I grow in faith, knowledge, and love.
There are no words to express my wonder and gratitude at the blessings that have been heaped on me. I do not deserve them, but welcome these marvelous gifts of a loving and graceful God.
06 December, 2009
09 October, 2009
Sorority of Singleness
Some four or five years ago I spent a year as a full-time student in a Christian counseling program. Although I went on to complete my Master's degree in another subject at another seminary, that year in my life shaped me in many positive ways.
During that time, I was in classes with two other 'girls', each a few years older than myself. For reason of accident, shared classes, similarity, necessity or divine ordination, the three of us formed a circle of friendship in that year that still has echoes in each of our lives now, though we are separated by time and distance.
One thing the three of us definitely shared was 'singleness' and all the feelings and frustrations that are often associated with that state in young women. Life went on, but the fairy-tale love story we had been raised to expect ("Cinderella ought to be shot" was the comment of one of them in a counseling class) had not come to pass. We were all 20-somethings, still single, though hardly by choice.
When life and calling took me away from that counseling course, I continued to meet single-not-by-choice women everywhere I went. These women seemed to come in all ages, shapes and sizes. Some were widowed, but most were spinsters, to borrow the old word, "single, never married." When I came to Cardiff, joined a church and began to build my network of friends and support, I met more members of the sorority of singleness. They seemed to be everywhere, and broaching the subject of struggling with living alone immediately crossed the bridge of culture, age, interest or personality. Members of the sorority seem to recognise one another by instinct and to sympathise immediately, the mutual experience of longing and loneliness bonding them together at once.
As much as we love our sorority sisters and all wish happiness for each other, when one announces an engagement, it is hard for the others to fully rejoice. Instinctively we know that we are losing a sister. Although she will still be a friend, the status of marriage will remove her from the society to which she has heretofore given her time. The married friend must prioritise with her husband, and though she will always remember the years of loneliness, the pain is no longer present for her. It is a bittersweet feeling to bid goodbye to those sisters as they leave the sorority. For some we worry that they were too desperate to escape and compromised drastically. For others we rejoice in the genuine joy and love they share with their partners.
I wonder. When the time comes for me to quit the sorority, will I feel a pang at leaving behind my single sisters, and when I have begun that new style of life, will I remember them?
During that time, I was in classes with two other 'girls', each a few years older than myself. For reason of accident, shared classes, similarity, necessity or divine ordination, the three of us formed a circle of friendship in that year that still has echoes in each of our lives now, though we are separated by time and distance.
One thing the three of us definitely shared was 'singleness' and all the feelings and frustrations that are often associated with that state in young women. Life went on, but the fairy-tale love story we had been raised to expect ("Cinderella ought to be shot" was the comment of one of them in a counseling class) had not come to pass. We were all 20-somethings, still single, though hardly by choice.
When life and calling took me away from that counseling course, I continued to meet single-not-by-choice women everywhere I went. These women seemed to come in all ages, shapes and sizes. Some were widowed, but most were spinsters, to borrow the old word, "single, never married." When I came to Cardiff, joined a church and began to build my network of friends and support, I met more members of the sorority of singleness. They seemed to be everywhere, and broaching the subject of struggling with living alone immediately crossed the bridge of culture, age, interest or personality. Members of the sorority seem to recognise one another by instinct and to sympathise immediately, the mutual experience of longing and loneliness bonding them together at once.
As much as we love our sorority sisters and all wish happiness for each other, when one announces an engagement, it is hard for the others to fully rejoice. Instinctively we know that we are losing a sister. Although she will still be a friend, the status of marriage will remove her from the society to which she has heretofore given her time. The married friend must prioritise with her husband, and though she will always remember the years of loneliness, the pain is no longer present for her. It is a bittersweet feeling to bid goodbye to those sisters as they leave the sorority. For some we worry that they were too desperate to escape and compromised drastically. For others we rejoice in the genuine joy and love they share with their partners.
I wonder. When the time comes for me to quit the sorority, will I feel a pang at leaving behind my single sisters, and when I have begun that new style of life, will I remember them?
27 September, 2009
to dream
This is one of those nights when I approach my bed with the odd sensation that I'm not quite sure who I am. These type of nights have been much more frequent of recent weeks and months. The refrain of Brandon Heath's excellent song "I'm not who I was" has a habit of bouncing around in my head as I approach journal and sleep, but sleep too often evades, and the journal seems to only grasp at things it used to capture. This time of formation, this time between the times, seems to be beyond words, even beyond understanding at some level. One must simply accept - enjoy - anticipate.
Then there are the dreams. . . the day dreams, conjuring up scenes and future days that become increasingly sure even as the continue to elude the proverbial pin. . . the night dreams, in which all of my confusion over present and past "lives" collides and explodes into innumerable disturbing, frightening and overwhelming colours, and I wake in the morning vaguely wondering if I really want to walk the path on which I find my feet placed.
The thing is, I can turn around and trace the steps of my life, steps that felt erratic, unnatural, even shocking; I can see how these steps have brought me to this path. I can see why I made each choice, and I cannot question my motives, my reason, my faith. Logically then, I am where I am meant to be. Never mind that I would never have chosen to be here . . . or would I?
As they say, the impossible becomes the possible, the possible becomes the plausible, yet there are walls still, obstacles still stand, difficulties must yet be overcome. But somehow, in my heart, I feel as if the obstacles are only there to be knocked down. For the first time in so many years, perhaps in my life, I walk into the future, unsure, surrounded by question marks, unknowns and difficulties, yet I am confident the questions will be answered, the problems will be solved, the hurdles will be passed, and I will reach the goal.
It is a beautiful thing to dream. It is a difficult thing to dream. It is a painful thing to dream. But perhaps to dream is to live. To live in glorious, marvelous technicolor, surrounded, overwhelmed and drowning in impossible beauty that skewers and slays the soul even as it brings new life, fresh perspective, deeper joy. To dream is to have faith, to cultivate hope, to allow yourself to love. To allow the Three-in-One to change, challenge, grow, redeem and form you more in the divine image.
Actually, it's a beautiful thing. I'm even grateful for the pain.
Then there are the dreams. . . the day dreams, conjuring up scenes and future days that become increasingly sure even as the continue to elude the proverbial pin. . . the night dreams, in which all of my confusion over present and past "lives" collides and explodes into innumerable disturbing, frightening and overwhelming colours, and I wake in the morning vaguely wondering if I really want to walk the path on which I find my feet placed.
The thing is, I can turn around and trace the steps of my life, steps that felt erratic, unnatural, even shocking; I can see how these steps have brought me to this path. I can see why I made each choice, and I cannot question my motives, my reason, my faith. Logically then, I am where I am meant to be. Never mind that I would never have chosen to be here . . . or would I?
As they say, the impossible becomes the possible, the possible becomes the plausible, yet there are walls still, obstacles still stand, difficulties must yet be overcome. But somehow, in my heart, I feel as if the obstacles are only there to be knocked down. For the first time in so many years, perhaps in my life, I walk into the future, unsure, surrounded by question marks, unknowns and difficulties, yet I am confident the questions will be answered, the problems will be solved, the hurdles will be passed, and I will reach the goal.
It is a beautiful thing to dream. It is a difficult thing to dream. It is a painful thing to dream. But perhaps to dream is to live. To live in glorious, marvelous technicolor, surrounded, overwhelmed and drowning in impossible beauty that skewers and slays the soul even as it brings new life, fresh perspective, deeper joy. To dream is to have faith, to cultivate hope, to allow yourself to love. To allow the Three-in-One to change, challenge, grow, redeem and form you more in the divine image.
Actually, it's a beautiful thing. I'm even grateful for the pain.
21 September, 2009
farewell to summer
Summer is gone. Over. Vanished. There's a chill in the air and a changing colour to the leaves. Flowers are beginning to have that over-used look, and the green of the grass somehow looks old and tired, as if it is about to settle down to sleep. In the countryside, the lambs have now grown until they are virtually indistinguishable from the sheep, and in the city of Cardiff the streets are once more awash with University students settling in for another year of classes, study and nights out on the town.
When I once again appeared in my own church after some weeks absence, I was asked by several people if I had gone 'home' to the States on a visit this summer. No, I haven't left the country at all. My family has been over here visiting. The congratulate me. "How nice," they say. Yes. Nice. Good. I'm glad they came, but how disorienting I found it! In the middle of a the whirling muddle of sights and emotions, I woke one morning to find it was autumn. Where did the summer go?
Of course it wasn't just the visits from others that filled my summer. There was also my visits to others. There were a few weeks when I actually did some research work. There was the College Valedictory and the BUW/SWBC conference. There were a few preaching dates and a few astonishing, shocking or disturbing bits of news. Two of my friends lost members of their family to death. A young man I know suffered traumatic injuries and is now learning to walk again. The number of Christian fellowships where I feel at home in the UK increased to three. It was a busy summer - full of life and love and learning.
Perhaps that is where the disconnect comes in. Summers are supposed to be long and lazy and boring. By the second week in August, I generally long for the advent of September, for the rhythm and routine of academic life and the run-up to Christmas, my thirst for fellowship and further learning peaked and ready for a fresh start and another year. But I never had the chance to be bored or lazy this summer. Life never stopped. I had a chance to take a deep breath in July, but I never found the space to turn off.
And that's the signal, the signpost, the most clear indication of the door that has closed behind me. I have a suspicion that life from here on out will be a year-round affair. The pattern has altered and continues to change as my place in this world alters. It's no wonder I'm disoriented really.
The point is: I have to get back to work. One of my purposes in writing this post is to remind myself that I can write. I have done so little writing this summer. Even my journal has suffered, most of the daily entries being relatively short. I have done little academic writing since early in July and almost no posting here, although I did write a sermon or two in August.
In any case, this is my attempt to remind myself that life must go on. My brain has stalled, but I must and will restart it. My world is spinning, but I can decide to persevere anyway. At least I have now proved one important point: I am still capable of writing!
When I once again appeared in my own church after some weeks absence, I was asked by several people if I had gone 'home' to the States on a visit this summer. No, I haven't left the country at all. My family has been over here visiting. The congratulate me. "How nice," they say. Yes. Nice. Good. I'm glad they came, but how disorienting I found it! In the middle of a the whirling muddle of sights and emotions, I woke one morning to find it was autumn. Where did the summer go?
Of course it wasn't just the visits from others that filled my summer. There was also my visits to others. There were a few weeks when I actually did some research work. There was the College Valedictory and the BUW/SWBC conference. There were a few preaching dates and a few astonishing, shocking or disturbing bits of news. Two of my friends lost members of their family to death. A young man I know suffered traumatic injuries and is now learning to walk again. The number of Christian fellowships where I feel at home in the UK increased to three. It was a busy summer - full of life and love and learning.
Perhaps that is where the disconnect comes in. Summers are supposed to be long and lazy and boring. By the second week in August, I generally long for the advent of September, for the rhythm and routine of academic life and the run-up to Christmas, my thirst for fellowship and further learning peaked and ready for a fresh start and another year. But I never had the chance to be bored or lazy this summer. Life never stopped. I had a chance to take a deep breath in July, but I never found the space to turn off.
And that's the signal, the signpost, the most clear indication of the door that has closed behind me. I have a suspicion that life from here on out will be a year-round affair. The pattern has altered and continues to change as my place in this world alters. It's no wonder I'm disoriented really.
The point is: I have to get back to work. One of my purposes in writing this post is to remind myself that I can write. I have done so little writing this summer. Even my journal has suffered, most of the daily entries being relatively short. I have done little academic writing since early in July and almost no posting here, although I did write a sermon or two in August.
In any case, this is my attempt to remind myself that life must go on. My brain has stalled, but I must and will restart it. My world is spinning, but I can decide to persevere anyway. At least I have now proved one important point: I am still capable of writing!
17 September, 2009
Second Anniversary
Today is my second anniversary. Two years ago I arrived in Cardiff, tired, jet-lagged, confused and infinitely relieved, and began a monumental journey that has led me through many changes and into a new life I couldn't have dreamed of that day.
I have achieved what I set out to achieve - and so much more. I have been awarded my MTh, the degree I came for, but I have moved beyond that, being accepted into the PhD programme. I have gone from someone who wouldn't preach "if I can help it" to someone who readily does preach when asked and has more positive than negative feelings about it. I have journeyed through the consideration of a variety of plans for my life, my calling and my future, to settle on a vision of my future that was far from my wildest dreams two years ago.
In the last four months, the challenges and changes of the last several years have come to fruition, one by one, until I suddenly find myself seeing a person in the mirror that is totally unlike the face I would have been looking into even last March.
As I sat in an "anti-racism" seminar yesterday, the past and the present collided in a simple identity exercise involving at sheet of paper with a line drawing of a bare tree on it. We were instructed to write on the roots those things which had influenced and shaped our early life and on the branches those things that influence and shape our present life. Then we were asked to share with one other person why there was a disconnect between "roots" and "branches." For me it was obvious: I crossed an ocean, but it was in vocalising that disconnect that it all began to unravel.
As the day continued and we talked about our fears of being judged based on appearance or culture, I faced for the first time just how uncomfortable I have been for these two years: an "American" immersed in "British" culture. It was a deliberate choice - to immerse myself here, but in so doing, I have purposefully hidden my roots and completely disassociated myself from my mother culture. I don't want people to know. I get cross when it is mentioned.
Don't get me wrong. I love it here. I have loved the last two years. I have found a great freedom here, to be and to do and to think in my own ways, as I please and not as I think I am "expected" to, but I have also felt a need to suppress, ignore, deny my cultural heritage because, looking in from the outside, I suddenly saw so many negative things in it, things I wasn't comfortable with, things I didn't want to be identified with.
As I considered my "tree" yesterday, and complied with the expectations of the seminar by discussing my feelings with other students, one-on-one, I realised that, for the first time, I was voicing to someone "British" my insecurities with being "American." It took two years. Almost to the day. Somehow that seems significant to me.
I've made the decision now. I'm staying. I'm going to make a life here. As I digest the implications of that decision, I am realising the necessity of "reconnecting" my "roots" and my "branches." Who I am involves all these things, and it is time to embrace them, time to decide what is "me" and what is not, and to acknowledge that, whether good or not, these things have shaped me and will always be a part of my identity. Now is the time I begin to put together who I was and where I came from with who I am and where I am going.
With the help of those who love me, accept me and know me for myself, I am actually excited about the process. Eagerly, I anticipate the future. More than ever before in my adult life, the future has more attraction for me than the past. I am not alone. I am not who I was. I am excited to see what the next two years will bring.
I have achieved what I set out to achieve - and so much more. I have been awarded my MTh, the degree I came for, but I have moved beyond that, being accepted into the PhD programme. I have gone from someone who wouldn't preach "if I can help it" to someone who readily does preach when asked and has more positive than negative feelings about it. I have journeyed through the consideration of a variety of plans for my life, my calling and my future, to settle on a vision of my future that was far from my wildest dreams two years ago.
In the last four months, the challenges and changes of the last several years have come to fruition, one by one, until I suddenly find myself seeing a person in the mirror that is totally unlike the face I would have been looking into even last March.
As I sat in an "anti-racism" seminar yesterday, the past and the present collided in a simple identity exercise involving at sheet of paper with a line drawing of a bare tree on it. We were instructed to write on the roots those things which had influenced and shaped our early life and on the branches those things that influence and shape our present life. Then we were asked to share with one other person why there was a disconnect between "roots" and "branches." For me it was obvious: I crossed an ocean, but it was in vocalising that disconnect that it all began to unravel.
As the day continued and we talked about our fears of being judged based on appearance or culture, I faced for the first time just how uncomfortable I have been for these two years: an "American" immersed in "British" culture. It was a deliberate choice - to immerse myself here, but in so doing, I have purposefully hidden my roots and completely disassociated myself from my mother culture. I don't want people to know. I get cross when it is mentioned.
Don't get me wrong. I love it here. I have loved the last two years. I have found a great freedom here, to be and to do and to think in my own ways, as I please and not as I think I am "expected" to, but I have also felt a need to suppress, ignore, deny my cultural heritage because, looking in from the outside, I suddenly saw so many negative things in it, things I wasn't comfortable with, things I didn't want to be identified with.
As I considered my "tree" yesterday, and complied with the expectations of the seminar by discussing my feelings with other students, one-on-one, I realised that, for the first time, I was voicing to someone "British" my insecurities with being "American." It took two years. Almost to the day. Somehow that seems significant to me.
I've made the decision now. I'm staying. I'm going to make a life here. As I digest the implications of that decision, I am realising the necessity of "reconnecting" my "roots" and my "branches." Who I am involves all these things, and it is time to embrace them, time to decide what is "me" and what is not, and to acknowledge that, whether good or not, these things have shaped me and will always be a part of my identity. Now is the time I begin to put together who I was and where I came from with who I am and where I am going.
With the help of those who love me, accept me and know me for myself, I am actually excited about the process. Eagerly, I anticipate the future. More than ever before in my adult life, the future has more attraction for me than the past. I am not alone. I am not who I was. I am excited to see what the next two years will bring.
14 August, 2009
a note
I realised today that it has been ages since I last published a post here. I've been thinking about it on and off, but the truth is that this forum is just a bit too public sometimes, and this time in my life is one of those times.
Chatting to a friend the other night, I commented that, although I'm not getting a lot of "work" done this summer, there is actually a lot going on. It's like I'm relearning (or learning for the first time) what it is to be me. I am blessed at this season in my life to be beset with encouraging people who are urging me to be who I am - not who I think people want me to be or what I am expected to be or what it would make the most sense to be - simply to be more fully and freely myself.
Through these friendships, through random researcher training seminars at the University, through church attendance, sermons, worship services and the numerous less intense friendships with which I am surrounded, the same message consistently comes across. So I am learning what it is to be more fully myself, in the centre of a community of love and support.
Over the next few weeks I will be manically busy running around with visitors, getting into a new College term, focusing in on the important things in life - especially the research which is my life's work at the moment.
I am still unsure as to my financial situation in September, and would value the prayers of my friends for all these things and others of which I do not post on the web. :) I'm sure I'll be back posting here at some point . . .
Chatting to a friend the other night, I commented that, although I'm not getting a lot of "work" done this summer, there is actually a lot going on. It's like I'm relearning (or learning for the first time) what it is to be me. I am blessed at this season in my life to be beset with encouraging people who are urging me to be who I am - not who I think people want me to be or what I am expected to be or what it would make the most sense to be - simply to be more fully and freely myself.
Through these friendships, through random researcher training seminars at the University, through church attendance, sermons, worship services and the numerous less intense friendships with which I am surrounded, the same message consistently comes across. So I am learning what it is to be more fully myself, in the centre of a community of love and support.
Over the next few weeks I will be manically busy running around with visitors, getting into a new College term, focusing in on the important things in life - especially the research which is my life's work at the moment.
I am still unsure as to my financial situation in September, and would value the prayers of my friends for all these things and others of which I do not post on the web. :) I'm sure I'll be back posting here at some point . . .
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