The Lockmaster

Straining with all he had to offer, the young man leaned into the bar and pressed the crank around in tight circles. With tight muscles pushed nearly to their limits, he opened first one heavy, wooden gate and then the other, allowing the small sternwheeler to enter the lock. This young man then retraced his steps, leaning into the bar that turns the gears to press the doors together again, shutting the little boat into it's watery prison.

Then, lying down on one of the block walls, bent at the waist and stretching his arms down, the lockmaster received his toll before setting himself to the cranks at the other end of the locks, slowly letting in water to raise the boat over the dam. Then to the gate again. Muscles taught once more, the man walks the metal bar in circles, coming perilously close to the wall's edge in his single-minded effort. Finally, the gates open, the Nancy Ann toots her horn and paddles up the river toward home. Four pleasure-boats filled with families take her place on their journey downstream. No rest for our lockmaster on this blazing August day.

A week of goodbyes

It has been a long week of saying goodbye and of avoiding saying goodbye. The avoidances came early in the week, while I did actually bid farewell to people toward the end of my stay in Pittsburgh. It was kind of odd, really. On Tuesday I said goodbye to my field placement supervisor in Special Collections. He shook my hand, wished me the best of luck, and I left, saying a casual goodbye to my co-workers without any indication that it was a final farewell. Then on Wednesday I went off to work with the expectation that my housemates would be gone when I returned, but as they remained in their room until I left that morning, I made no effort to say goodbye. Nor am I disturbed by this arrangement.

When I got to work on Friday, there were muffins and orange juice waiting for me as a thank you/goodbye, and we all sat around eating and chatting for a while, but although I was the "guest of honor," I was by no means the center of attention. My goodbyes at the end of the day consisted mostly of well-wishes and a few hugs, but it didn't seem, and still doesn't seem, all that final, for we are professionals now; we will likely run into each other at conferences and such. Sunday was the big day for hugs and goodbyes, which is logical, since it's the day I actually moved and this was my church family. I had more hugs that one day than ever before at this church, and people who had never before spoken to me made a point to tell me how much they had enjoyed having me with them this past year. As odd as it sounds even to me, I do think they were sincere in their sentiments.

Ah, it's always difficult to leave, but at the same time, I'm happy to be home again and look forward to cheerful reunions with old friends.

Dances with Butterflies

The concept of dancing waltzed through my mind multiple times today. This theme has so inundated me today that it's had me spinning in circles. It began this morning as I was heading down to the bus stop and a small white butterfly passed back and forth in front of me. DoSaDoing around each other, we parted ways and I hurried on. Later in the day, I took my lunch break in Schenley Plaza, as I am want to do, and as I was reading in Pride and Prejudice about a ball at Netherfield, I was listening to the lunchtime music and thinking how wonderful it would be to dance barefoot in the grass with someone. I was in the midst of trying to decide whether the music would better suit a jitterbug or a lindy hop when the musicians introduced themselves as being members of the Boilermaker Jazz Band, who played at Swing City the last time I went. This made for a charming lunchtime entertainment, even if all I did do was read and dream of dancing. I returned to work and did an awkward little dance with a man I don't know, as we shuffled left and right together in a failed attempt to stay out of each other's way at the elevator. But it has now occurred to me that I may have left Elizabeth at the ball in my haste to return to work on time, so now I must return to Pride and Prejudice so that the poor girl may finish her dance. She must be mightily weary by now.

An outward expression of an inner faith... and...?

I made an important decision this past week or two, one I perhaps should have made some time ago. A few Sundays ago, my pastor announced that there would be a baptismal service during evening worship on August 6, and I told the pastor's wife that I thought I would be interested in taking part in this. I then went home, contacted a friend whose judgment on such matters I trust implicitly, and read through several scriptures concerning baptism.

You see, I was born into the church and don't recall there ever being a period of more than a few weeks where I have missed church services, and if there have been, they were likely due to either vacations or illnesses. I was born into the church and knew that baptism was a common occurrence, yet I didn't really know why we did it. I was never baptized as an adolescent, even though my sister was, because it really seemed like something that adults did. Then, once I grew older, I was somewhat embarrassed that I had never been baptized (though I still didn't know the significance of the ceremony), thinking that people at the church would naturally assume that, since I had always been in church, I had already been baptized sometime along the way. I was unwilling to expose myself to the humiliation of admitting that I had never done it.

In addition to this, all I had ever really heard about baptism was that it was an outward expression of an inner faith, but I knew there had to be more to it than that. That's perfectly nice, but it is too simple to really merit a ceremony of its own. We outward express our inner faith in far too many ways for this to be all it really meant. So, when the opportunity presented itself this time, I took it, and I did some searching. There are various passages that discuss baptism in the Bible, but most of them do not go into the why of it. But, ahh. Romans 6:1-14. This is, indeed, just what I needed to know, and it was the deciding factor. I was baptized this evening by Pastor Joseph Stump in someone's backyard swimming pool. Although 23 years is a long time to wait when you've been in church your entire life, I am truly glad I waited until now to make this decision, for now I understand what it is I have done. There are, of course, little sins with which I struggle from time to time, but through this I have proclaimed myself dead to sin; it has no hold over me and I only give in for my own weakness anyway. I realize that my being baptized will not remove all temptation from my life, but I do think that it means I have an even greater responsibility than ever before to resist temptation and to attempt to lead a life which is unblemished and pleasing to God.