23
A prime number; indivisible, red-orange and blue,
No longer palandrome, no longer even.
Impatient, eager to make it to 24, purple-ish-blue,
divisible by 8 and 4 and 3 and 6 and 12 and 2...
a satisfying measurement for the rhythm of our days.
Until then I'm 23, an awkward leap,
caught between 22 and 24.
22, the most transformative year of my life.
...23 has a lot to live up to.
People jokingly ask, do you feel older?
Well, actually, this time I do.


Transition from Mission Year is hard. Honestly, I'm not used to missing things so much. And I've been hard on myself for missing it as much as I do sometimes, because I fear it will keep me from being present where I am. And I've hesitated to write about it or talk about it at times because I don't want to sound whiny and wistful. But missing Mission Year doesn't mean I can't be (or am not) content where I am. And when I pause and think through what it is I miss about Mission Year, it helps.

Abi wrote in the post I posted last post:

"It’s hard to explain why such a beautiful, wonderful experience can still feel so much like a war we survived. I guess it’s just the classic story of growth–there’s the painful pruning that precedes new growth. But we experienced spiritual grooming and growth at an unnatural rate. Under such strange and unique circumstances, we went through more of a blender than a gentle pruning. The result was huge transformation with a great deal of pain alongside it. My time in Houston was an emotional workout and my muscles are still very sore from it."

My fellow intern Carmen and I recently compared our Mission Year and Americorps experiences. We noticed how, in both of our experiences, what made such an impact on us was the type of bonds we formed with our teammates in going through something so intense together. We formed strong bonds very quickly, not just because we were living in community, but because of what we were learning and experiencing and seeking together daily.

That's why Abi compares our experience to a war - not to sound dramatic, but because what we went through together was hard and is also difficult to communicate to those who didn't experience it with us. In the midst of Mission Year, when everyone else seemed to be saying "Yes, this is hard!" I heard myself saying, "Well, I don't think of it as hard most of the time. In fact, I really love it." And I did love it. So much. But I think it was also harder sometimes than I even realized at the time. What we did was hard! I look back now and wonder how we made it. All the demands on our time, physical energy, emotional energy, social energy...the irony of Mission Year is that we learn about sustainability in the context of a lifestyle that, in itself, is ultimately unsustainable. It is unrealistic to think I could live a program like that my whole life, as much as I deeply regret its ending. It was right and beautiful for a season.

When people ask me what is was about Mission Year that touched me so much, I think of my teammates first because they were alongside me through it all. So many tears, laughter, and sweat. What my heart aches for most now is those daily relationships - we saw the best and worst of each other and were committed to loving each other through it. Here at Koinonia, community has a different flavor. Relationships develop more gradually. There's more space to choose which people I want to get to know more. There's not the same push for intentional relationships. Granted, we seem to do a great job at intentionally hanging out together, and I love that. But it's still different. I wonder what that means for my life. I wonder if relationships like that are truly possible again, and what the cost might be for such beauty.

A couple days ago I received a letter...from myself. In the final week of Mission Year we wrote to ourselves 3 months into the future. I've decided to share what I wrote:

7/24/13
Hey there, Tracy Lou
You've done a lot this year. Don't forget that the Father is proud of you. He has so carefully carried you this far and He is surely guiding your steps now. I wonder where you are...Koinonia, Rochester, Houston, somewhere totally unexpected...Remember you never saw Houston coming, but it has been so good. You have a clearer picture now of what you desire in life – intentional community, art – are you living out those things? Do you have too much on your plate? Are you saying yes only to what the Lord has in mind for you? Remember that it's okay to say no. This year you've learned a lot about your limits. I pray that you'll be sensitive to what those are and practice confidence in communicating those limits to those around you when necessary. Remember that you are beloved. Your worth is not measured by how much you can accomplish. You are so beautiful just as you are! He delights in you, His child, Daughter of the Most High King, who has done nothing to earn His love. Remember to keep in touch with your teammates and encourage them. You are always family now, and they are there to support you and want to hear from you. Remember to stay in touch with the kids at Fletcher. They miss you. You'll never know in this life the impact you had on their lives. Someone will think of you every day when they see that mural. Remember the symbolism that inspired that mural. Re-read your blog post on Sergio. Send him another box of crayons. Are you practicing the Sabbath? I hope you are. You need to find space for rest in your weekly rhythm, at any rate. Space for the Examen. Don't let life rush by. Take it steady. Is life too fast-paced? Be honest with yourself and redirect your course if needed. Remember that God is faithful to answer prayer. Dare to be specific in how you desire Him to answer you. Be in the Word. How are you practicing justice in your daily life? I fear that maybe some weeds of cynicism have sprung up in your heart, so check with the Lord to see how that's going. Wow, you'll be an aunt by the time you get this. Well, we're getting ready to head out. Don't forget to take iron and calcium, and I'll see you in a bit :P
Grace and peace,
Tracy

And here's a link to my latest newsletter:
http://us6.campaign-archive2.com/?u=abce379ebb&id=7313e17907

Guest Post: It happened.

My dear Mission Year teammate Abi wrote a post that "sums up" our Mission Year experience and transition in a way that resonates with me deeply. I am so thankful for her gift of articulating things! Had to share this:

http://abigailyork.wordpress.com/2013/11/08/it-happened/

Eggs bring people together.

Inspired by a recent plethora of eggs, a bunch of us decided to make breakfast together this morning. I am so struck today by the blessing of fellowship and food as a way to start the morning, in the form of scrambled eggs, grits, coffee, and homemade jams. As we finished our meal, Daniel read aloud to us a chapter from Moral Ground: Ethical Action for a Planet in Peril. It is a compilation of works by a variety of authors, and it has become a tradition over the past few weeks for someone to select a passage and then we discuss it together. Today we read a passage by Barbara Kingsolver, How to be Hopeful. I looked it up online to discover that it's an excerpt from a 2008 Commencement speech she gave. So if you're looking for a good read, I highly recommend it: http://today.duke.edu/2008/05/kingsolver.html.

Enjoy your weekend, friends.

Guest Post: Koy-nohn-ee-ah

One month ago today I was on my way to Georgia.
Two months ago we welcomed my nephew into the world.
Three months ago I didn't even know if I was really coming here.


Anyway, here's another great post by my North Carolina friends:


http://thegrandfarmventure.wordpress.com/2013/10/20/koy-nohn-ee-ah/

Art and Abundance in Community

There is something really beautiful about Koinonia's attitude toward work. It is not an individualistic attitude of “I'm earning my paycheck,” but working with the joy of knowing that our work is sustaining the community, and meanwhile we enjoy each other's company. There's an adage around the farm that “work is just an excuse to hang out together.” Moreover, income is distributed according to need. It becomes less about me and more about us.

There's a beautiful article one of my art professors shared with my class in college that takes on more meaning for me every time I read it:

There is an old story of how the cathedral of Chartres was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. Then thousands of people came from all points of the compass, like a giant procession of ants, and together they began to rebuild the cathedral on its old site. They worked until the building was completed—master builders, artists, laborers, clowns, noblemen, priests, burghers. But they all remained anonymous, and no one knows to this day who built the cathedral of Chartres...

In former days the artist remained unknown and his work was to the glory of God. He lived and died without being more or less important than other artisans: ‘eternal values’, ‘immortality’ and ‘masterpiece’ were terms not applicable in his case. The ability to create was a gift. In such a world flourished invulnerable assurance of natural humility.

Today the individual has become the highest form and the greatest bane of artistic creation...The artist considers his isolation, his subjectivity, his individualism almost holy...

Thus if I am asked what I would like the general purpose of my films to be, I would reply that I want to be one of the artists in the cathedral on the great plain...I would play my part in the collective building of the cathedral.

Excerpts from Art as Worship by Ingmar Bergman

As I continue to explore the practice of intentional community, I have become intrigued by the idea of art for the purpose of sustaining a community, not as a way to support myself alone. The struggle I tend to have with art is that it so often seems to put the focus on me. Well-meaning family and friends would like to see me use it as a way to make lots of money and become famous. But I relate more to Van Gogh's perspective. Van Gogh did not become world famous during his lifetime (he only sold one piece, as far as I know), and I think he would cringe to think that people would pay millions of dollars for his work and hang it up in lofty places. He believed in making art for the poor, of the poor, and in fact being poor himself. He didn't make art for the purposes of making a living; he made art because he was an artist, and an artist needs to make art! In the words of Rilke, “A work of art is good if it has sprung from necessity.”

“In the human world, abundance does not happen automatically. It is created when we have the sense to choose community, to come together to celebrate and share our common store. Whether the scarce resource is money or love or power or words, the true law of life is that we generate more of whatever seems scarce by trusting its supply and passing it around. Authentic abundance does not lie in secured stockpiles of food or cash or influence or affection but in belonging to a community where we can give those goods to others who need them – and receive them from others when we are in need.” (Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak)

“Jesus loved the feast and feast means abundance. I think he loved abundance...He said the Father is full of abundance. And he said trust Him for it so you can be free to seek the God Movement.” (Clarence Jordan)

“Abundance is a communal act, the joint creation of an incredibly complex ecology in which each part functions on behalf of the whole and, in return, is sustained by the whole. Community doesn't just create abundance – community is abundance. If we could learn that equation from the world nature, the human world might be transformed.” (Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak)

“The Old Testament required a tithe, but in every instance in the New Testament where the Lord asked for anything, it was for all. Examples of this are: James and John, Peter and Andrew, Matthew, Zacchaeus, the poor widow, parable of the talents (all returned), rich young ruler, etc. Then after Pentecost they all sold their possessions, had all things common, and no one counted that he owned anything. Then when one had paid all into the Lord's treasury, a portion was returned to him 'according as he had need.' Thus, the basis of 'pay' was not what responsibilities one had, nor what he knew, but what he needed. It was certainly possible for the janitor, if his need were greater, to be paid more than the pastor. Is this not the right way? What right has the pastor, for example, to wax fat on the leanness of the janitor? Should the man with one mouth to feed take bread from the man with five or six mouths? Surely our need should determine our income. But who is to be the judge of our need? This will not be a great problem with those who love their neighbors as themselves, for everyone will not seek the things for himself but for his neighbor.” (Clarence Jordan)

Guest Post: Poetry

From my dear fellow intern Lindsay:
http://thegrandfarmventure.wordpress.com/2013/10/11/more-poetry-yall/

The dusty red-clay soil
of Southern Georgia
has a way of sticking to you,
hanging on,
weighing you down
as if to persuade you
that this is where you belong.
It calls you back to itself here,
louder than I’ve felt before.
The soil embeds itself
in the soles of your feet,
the creases of your palms,
the bends of your elbows and knees
until you begin to believe
it is part of you.

But we are not so different,

humans and humus.

We have become arrogant
to believe we only live above it.
The soil here is persistent,
it won’t let you forget it, try as you might.
It wants to draw you back into itself,
it remembers what we don’t.
The soil in our chests
aches to meet the soil
of the land in which we live.

To be in constant contact is heaven:
fingers in the soil
can bring you back home.

–Lindsay

Van Gogh and I are kindred spirits.

"The combination of life in the country, Something on High, and one's service to others constituted for Vincent the best of lives. One of the unresolved struggles in Vincent's life was his concern for the oppressed of the newly industrialized cities, yet his love and need for the rural countryside of his childhood memories. Would he choose the new city or the old countryside? Would he paint the cities of Dickens and the Goncourt brothers or become a peasant painter like Millet? Perhaps his life was too brief to reach resolution, but most often he maintained a suspicion of the city as an environment unsuited for profound thought, and chose the countryside for recuperation and labor."


One of my favorite books is Van Gogh and God: A Creative Spiritual Quest by Cliff Edwards. Every time I read it, I notice more correlations between myself and Van Gogh. This may trouble those of you who know nothing about this great artist apart from his mutilated ear - if this is true for you, I do indeed recommend this book!

Living in the city this past year brought a new kind of flavor to my life. Houston has often been on my mind these past several weeks. And yet I can't help wondering if, as an artist, I will continue to find myself seeking out a quieter environment. It is mostly in retrospect that I see how hard it was for me to think well and listen well in the city. I crave the countryside; broad green spaces, orchards, organic forms...I think it is no coincidence that part of the etymology of my first name is "late summer" (my favorite time of year) and "harvester" (I seem to reap a whole lot more than I sow), that my middle name means "meadow," and that my surname means "new town" (I always seem to be going someplace new).

The truth is that I feel very much alive here at Koinonia, only two weeks in. The sunshine, dirt, and wildlife are breaths of fresh air to my soul. But like Van Gogh, I'm feeling torn between the city and the country. Maybe it's that my experiences of the city are wrapped up in beautiful memories of Mission Year, and memories here are only beginning to grow.

Today as I dug around in the garden dirt, Van Gogh's words came to mind: "If we study Japanese art, we see a man who is undoubtedly wise, philosophic and intelligent, who spends his time doing what? In studying the distance between the earth and the moon? No. In studying Bismark's policy? No. He studies a single blade of grass...we must return to nature in spite of our education and our work in a world of convention." (Letter 542)

And here's some closing food for thought by Parker Palmer, in celebration of community, nature, and late summer: "Here is a summertime truth: abundance is a communal act, the joint creation of an incredibly complex ecology in which each part functions on behalf of the whole and, in return, is sustained by the whole. Community doesn't just create abundance - community is abundance. If we could learn that equation from the world of nature, the human world might be transformed." (Let Your Life Speak)