Runout

(As always, climbing jargon is a hyperlink to the Lexicon page.)

It happened.

Just when I started to feel super confident in my climbing abilities, just when I was starting to feel like I was on the verge of some kind of athleticism, I got spooked.

See, I'm what is commonly referred to as a gym rat. That is, the majority of the climbing that I do is indoors. Despite the best efforts of the climbing industry, indoor climbing will never feel like outdoor climbing. You just can't replicate the sounds of the birds, the smell of the forest, the feel of the hot rock or cool breeze, the sight of a slug in your jug. And it's fine, I can't say that I always want the experience of squishing bugs while I'm working out in the gym. Overall, indoor climbing just feels very safe. Instead of standing on a boulder, your belayer is standing on what resembles a gigantic mattress. You know that the rope you're climbing on is in excellent condition, and checked by dozens of people on a regular basis. The routes are all color coded and it's usually easy to figure out where on a route you're going next. You're warm, there's music playing overhead, and Clif bars are for sale in the vending machine. 

Outdoor climbing is ... not those things. I'm not complaining, really, I love the outdoors. It's a huge part of why I love climbing. However, you are very exposed to the elements. I learned what this was like recently in my trip to New River Gorge in WV. Saturday morning, we woke up to the sound of rain dripping off of our tents. We huddled under the hatch of my car, ate slightly wet eggs, and tried to determine which area would be protected from the rain enough to still climb on. To Kaymoor we went, where there were several routes protected from the rain by a slight overhang. 

Now, I'm not one to wimp out over a little weather. On the drive to the trail head, I felt like a BAMF. I was going to brave the elements, pull out some wicked climbs, and earn the mad respect of my new climbing friends. 

None of these things really happened. 

The first route we put up a rope for was called Totally Tammy, 5.10a. Ten A's are totally within my ability as a climber. They are typically what I warm up on in a gym setting, and I have comfortably climbed them outdoors before. One of the best two climbers with us led the route and set up the rope. She came back down off of it and said, "Wow, that was a little weird and scary." Oh man I thought. Everyone else got on the route and came down with the same response. I was the second to last person to go. The rock was more of a slab-styled climb, which is a type of climbing I've never really done before. It's a little like climbing a plane of glass, set at an obtuse angle, with dimes glued on for hand holds. This particular route was a very runout route. So I climbed up a few feet, then had to traverse way over to the right of my bolts, move up a few more feet, traverse back left to my bolt, move up a foot or two, traverse right, again and again until it was finally over. Slab climbing requires a lot of foot smearing, and this was when I discovered that my climbing shoes are beneath my skill level and the rubber is smooth and they are too pliable and they are too big...and...and...and! Sigh. I psyched myself out. My legs were shaking. My hands were shaking. I was on top-rope, so I literally had no reason to be afraid. I couldn't take a whipper, and stood no chance of being injured. But there I was, quivering like a leaf. A cold wet leaf. 

In the face of this new kind of route, I was afraid. I sucked it up and I finished it, but the rest of the day I could not muster back any confidence. I felt embarrassed and inadequate. Here I was with all of my new rock friends and I made a fool of myself on a little 10a. Even the next day, I was put up on a 5.8 route to start leading and after the first two bolts I freaked and asked to come back down. I was a total quitter. 

In the following week, I started to recover. From growing up horseback riding I knew that when you get bucked off, you "cowboy up" and get right back on. I started to feel gradually better about myself, and I came away from the weekend knowing what aspects of my technique and mental game I needed to work on, and started window shopping for new climbing shoes. 

The view from Day 2's location.
It's a shame Rock Climbing is such an ugly sport.

Also within this week I finally got my information packet about discernment. I was so excited going into the meeting with the rector. Finally, after two years of patiently waiting, I was at the edge of finally fulfilling my calling. Then I found out that by diocesan policy, one must have a Bachelor's  Degree in hand before beginning discernment. The diocesan discernment process is on a yearly cycle from September to the following August. That means, if all goes well, that I will be waiting a full year at least in Williamsburg. I will have to find a job, work to support myself, find a place to live. I thought the route to seminary was a straight shot for me; I thought it would be an easy 10a. I thought that the holds would be clearly taped, and that so long as I stayed under my anchors I was on route.

Well, this is a thing I've never climbed before. 

In the face of my news, I was filled with anxiety. The job market is terrible! How will I ever find a job, especially one that utilizes my skills? If I have to waitress, will I earn enough? Will this job inhibit me from volunteering at church as much as I am now? 

Then the self doubt leaked in. Do they think that as a college senior I'm too young? Do I not have enough life experience? Why are they crying out for more young adult involvement in the Church, and then seemingly asking us to jump hurdles to get in? I am really cut out for this, or is this some Godly cosmic sign?

I'll man up and admit it -- I cried. A lot. All week. I couldn't wrap my mind around the news. I couldn't fathom climbing a route that didn't go straight up to the anchors, but instead zig-zagged off course. It scares me, and it makes me doubt if I'm wanted or if I'm good enough. 

The "zig-zagging" is just it though. Life zig-zags. God doesn't color-code the holds for us, we have to feel around and find them for ourselves. It's what makes us better climbers and stronger Christians. Even if other climbers before you have chalked up the hold and you see it in front of you, it doesn't mean it will be a hold you can use or use well. 

Once again, climbing has reflected my life. I'm learning a new type of climbing right now, that is, I'm going to be exploring ways in the next year where I can still live a life of ministry, but not yet be on the ordination track or in seminary. Along the way I'll be picking up new skills that will make me a better minister some day, just like buying better shoes. 

It's time for me to buckle up, stick my chin up, chalk up, and climb on. 

Nuns > Olympics

Is it just me, or has everyone else felt like a terrible, lazy human being watching all of the incredible athletes  in the Olympics as they swim, catapult into the air, sweat, leap, paddle, and contort their faces into configurations of pure agony and physical exertion? All the meanwhile, you're watching this with a chocolate chip cookie in one hand, curled up on the couch with the dog?

I remember when I was 6 years old (read: last night), any time the Olympics came on -- or for that matter Power Rangers -- I would immediate get up and dance and spin and punch and jump and tumble around the room mimicking the athletes on TV. 

On the whole, I get incredibly inspired watching athletes on TV. Some of them come from such simple, humble places, and end up world stars. Granted, at this point in my life I'm not particularly seeking to become an Olympic athlete, I have still found myself looking up new workouts to try to get abs like a beach volleyball player, or do a yoga handstand (that's gymnastics, right?). I even found myself back in a pool swimming laps for the first time since I took a stab at high school diving. Health magazines and websites are capitalizing on the inspiration to suddenly get lazy plush Americans fit. It's great. It's like New Years resolution gym-rushes all over again.

This last Sunday, I was making a mad dash to church. I was running late, and sporting a walk that would have rivaled any Olympic speed walker (yes, that is a real sport. See.) Arms swinging, gazed fixed, and so much hip swaying I would have made the Baptists blush. I got there just as the sermon was finishing up (yea, I know that's really late, but at least I still went), and so I sat in the back (prime pew real estate! Better than the walk of shame to the front row.) I snapped back into reality and BAM. In front of me was a dark blue habit. Any tatooed bald guy in spikes and leather in a church wouldn't make me bat an eye, but this nun definitely got my attention. Sadly, the first thing I thought of when my brain adjusted to the situation was, "I found Waldo!" (if only nuns wore red and white stripes and hipster glasses. Alas).

During the Passing of the Peace, I was starstruck. It was like I was meeting a celebrity. She smiled and shook my hand with a "Peace of the Lord be with you." I stuttered back what I hope she understood as "Peace," but it could have easily passed as a foreign tribal language, "P-p-b-d-p-t-ee-sss." I know that communion happened next, 21 years in the Episcopal church has ingrained Sunday liturgy into my head, and while I should have been listening to the Breaking of the Bread, my mind was WAY off elsewhere. I started thinking about how cool it is to devote yourself to a monastic lifestyle. I thought about how neat doing the Daily Office with other people would be. Then I realized that I really can pray like that, and that I really should. I resolved that it is time to flex my prayer muscles better!

Usually, I count my time climbing as some of my daily prayers. When I'm up on a rock (or plastic, as would be the case at the Rec Center), I can clear my mind and find myself meditating on the existential themes. Lately, that hasn't been the case. I've plateaued with my climbing and have been a little in the dumps when I go. This means less climbing with each trip, and so less prayer/meditating/thinking time.

Seeing this nun on Sunday inspired me though. I realized that I need to diversify my prayer life a little more, in the same way that I've tried changing up my workouts recently. I don't always want to count on climbing as my prayer time because reading The Screwtape Letters has made me realize that too much of one thing can make you complacent. The happy God-connected feeling I get after climbing does not necessarily mean that I've deeply prayed.

So I'm going to better work out my prayer muscles. Just like I eat a lot of protein to build my physical muscles, I'm going to ravenously read scripture and some of the great writings of the saints. Like many Olympic athletes, we each come from humble prayer backgrounds, kind of weak and stuttering. Luckily, Jesus is like our own personal trainer, recognizing our talents and growing them in us, giving us the Lord's Prayer as a starting block, as our 3 lb. weights to learn proper form. From there, we can gradually increase until we are stronger, with healthy hearts and souls.  Like gymnasts on an off day, we may get off balance, not land correctly, trip and fall, but we'll have the muscle to get back up and keep going.

I'm pumped, I'm motivated, I'm going to don a new habit (get it?) Let's do this.

Let the games begin! Climb on!

Coffee, Climbing, and Calling

Ok, I'm going to admit it. I'm scared. 

From the comfort of my campus coffee shop, my favorite mug full of steaming Italian roast, barefoot in an armchair, I still feel scared. 

I have no immediate threat, and that is exactly what scares me. You see, I'm caught between an exciting and mysterious time -- I'm getting ready to start my senior year of college. I can look around me and see the comfort I've experienced in undergraduate academia, and I can see just far enough ahead to know that Real Life is waiting around the corner with a 2x4, poised and ready to smack me upside the head. The thing is, I don't know what this real life looks like, or exactly where I'm supposed to exit to find this corner that Real Life lingers at. 

For the last two years or so, I've felt a calling into ministry in the Episcopal Church. From the moment I finally understood the language of the nagging feeling I carried, I was excited beyond words. I've talked to as many priests as I can, interned under and shadowed many people, and tried to glean as much information I can about the impending journey. In this process, I've heard rumors that young people have a difficult time in ministry and that generally, I need to buckle up because it's going to be a bumpy ride. I did not fully realize what this could mean until I read this article last night. It may seem a little alarmist, and in fact, I am alarmed. It did not make me doubt my calling, per se. I'm still as starry-eyed and hopeful as ever before, but I did stop and ask, "Hey God, I know you're still really serious about this whole calling thing, and I'm fine with that, really. But, *gulp* really, dude?" And so I spent most of last night and this morning pondering what the future of the church means, what my role in that could possibly be, and if I'm really just feeding myself to the wolves. Dude, wolves are scary. So is the future. Scary stuff, man.

A dear friend enlightened me and reminded me that all of the great denominational upheavals were preceded by and followed by periods of mass confusion and frustration. Yup, that about hits the nail on the head, from the sounds of it. I guess I'm in disbelief. I can't fathom being a part of any great church movement. I knew ministry was not a settling career, but man I did not expect to be coming into something like this in my lifetime. I suppose I was naive to think that I would have to so drastically reconcile my own faith with the society around me; that certainly was not anything they told me about in Sunday School and youth group.  I suppose I feel this way about the article because, while I want to remain humble and never want to think I'm helping to usher some magnificent new thing with the church, it feels as though the level of complacency I witnessed with my pastors and priests growing up is far from attainable in what is to come. Not that I ever wanted to be complacent or hum-drum in my ministry, but the task at hand and what we are being called to is daunting. 

I’m excited for it, and also in awe. Much like when I stare up at a 60’ wall of rock. I’m excited to climb it, and while I can see a few crevices that I can assume will fit a hand or a ledge I can balance a toe on, I don’t actually know what is up there until I’m there. I can think like I’m planning what moves I’ll do, and once I get there realize I’m going completely the wrong way. Furthermore, I have no idea what grade the rock is, whether it’s an easy 5.7 or a grueling 5.11. (For you non-climbers, that is how rock climbing routes are labeled by difficulty. See Lexicon) I’m in awe and excited to face the rock and see what it has to show me, but paralyzed at the prospect of all of my abilities being humbled to practically nothing.

And perhaps I'm still naive. But what the article alludes to and what I've certainly noticed is that many of us feel this way. For that, I think that it is something that should not be ignored, even if it isn't realized in the way we would expect it to be. 

And so I’m still scared. I’m scared because I feel this calling, and yet I do not know what it will mean. So, I am starting this blog to track my sloppy and fumbling understanding of what my ministry will come to be. To track what my scrambling up this rock route of Life will look like, and how my lat muscles will grow and strengthen in the process. Will it mean jumping in (or up?) with both feet, gung-ho and ready to bring more glory to God in a generation that feels no need for organized religion? Will it mean exploring another career, one that can teach me skills seminary will not be able to, all in preparation and anticipation of a ministry someday? Whatever may come, I am going to keep trucking along, prayerful, dazed, confused, and caffeinated. I imagine that sometimes I will feel comfort and validation, and other times, like today!, I will feel scared and apprehensive and jittery. Maybe the lesson here, really, is that I need to drink less coffee.

We’ll see. Climb on.