Sometimes, Yoda's words to Luke reverbate in my head..."He always looked away to the future. Never his mind on where he was (punctuated by jabs with his walking stick), What he was doing!" It was an admonition that seemed scarily apropos to me! Friday, as I was buying stuff for my new apartment that I don't yet have (again looking towards the future, but this time only a couple of months!), I realized that my future is now. It might seem crazy,and so damnedably cliched, but true. That moment that I have been buying for, saving for, wishing for, waiting for, has arrived and it felt really, really good. My future has arrived. Now, I just have to live every moment like that, like my future has just arrived because let's face it, every moment IS like that! So what am I waiting for?

Cowardice is my curse. And it's something that developed over time because once upon a time, I used to be brave. I try to pinpoint when precisely this cowardice took such an encompassing hold of me and I can't. Sometime in college. And it isn't as though I had some huge rejection in college that occurred. Perhaps it isn't just one thing, one devastating event. Perhaps it's just the everyday that has had such an effect.

I fight and rail against this. And in many aspects of my life, this is getting much, much better. I'm finally going to be getting my own place, in the autumn. I'm living my own life. But when it comes to men, I just can't put myself out there. That fear of being shot down stops me cold and nothing can make me budge. And I detest it but it's so safe and comfy and warm to be alone, by myself. But it's that "lone" part that really sticks out. And it makes so damn hard to get a great date to a wedding! ARGH! Some how, some way, I will find courage in this arena.

I am not a particular fan of change. Some people embrace it whole heartedly, love it... I am not one of those. I'm getting better about because I accept that it is necessary- without change we stagnate and die- if not literally, definitely figuratively.

There is so much change going on now and I'm doing fine with it. What I'm having a hard time with is change in my church. That has always been very, very difficult for me. I'm a cradle Episcopalian, a fact of which I am very proud. My entire life, I have belonged to St. Paul's Cathedral, a church that has been located at the corner of Church, Pearl, and Main since 1817. (Not the present building, of course, but that's for another time, perhaps.) We have always tried to be inclusive and not conservative. Dean Smith, who was Dean when I was a child, was very supportive of the ordination of women. We have accepted and welcome openly gay men and women, refugees from Africa, single parents, former Roman Catholics, former Methodists, former whatever other denominations you can think of. We have tried to be in the public face with concerts, our amazing choirs, public leadership, what have you and now we are place that is being ripped apart. Things are changing and they need to change but that doesn't make it any easier.

By act of our Vestry, our Dean, Dean Farabee is leaving, is gone. His bitterness today, although warranted to some extent, was completely inappropriate. Good friends of mine are leaving because he is gone. And I, like many of my parish, are conflicted. I, personally, adore Allen. He is a great man. And like many great men, he has great flaws that could not be surmounted. We are in a place of turmoil and I know that it will work out but it's so scary. With everything being as crazy as it is in the world, one looks to his or her church as a place of continuity and stability. That is not mine right now. The structure is sound. I only hope that it remains so and rash words and decisions will not make people rue the day. Through it all, St. Paul's will remain the Sandstone, Gothic revival structure that it is. Thank God for some continuity in these troubling times, here and abroad

For those of you who dream of becoming one of the X-Men, I know I do, I just read an article that is about this little boy in Germany who has a genetic mutation that causes him to develop more muscle mass. As a result, he's freakishly strong for his age. See, there's hope afterall!

"Once a dream did weave a shade o'er my angel guarded bed..." William Blake.

It's a line from a poem, long ago forgotten by me, and yet that line stays, forever etched in my conciousness. Parts of that poem still reverberate, fragmented, split apart by too much other stuff and nonsense. I can't put it all together to make it whole. But that line forever stays fresh. Most likely because to me, that is such a beautiful sentiment. "Once a dream did weave a shade o'er my angel guarded bed." May all our beds be guarded by angels.