Quotes from Michelle Huneven

I didn't want to feel such love for someone else. I still wanted to be the object of that tidal wave.

To find love is the great human undertaking...and it's always complicated by our compulsions and unconscious patterns, to say nothing of issues of trust and control.

I tore open a bag of truffle chips---really truffle-flavored potato chips---that cost $3.95: a novelty I'd never buy on my own. I shook them onto a small plate and the scent of truffles, at once earthy and faintly metallic, filled the air. That scent always triggers a free-floating longing in me, the ache of a bittersweet memory, but with no specific memory attached. (Did such poignancy make the chips worth twice as much as the Lay's?)

What does it mean to be human? What are we doing here on this planet? What should we do with all the beauty and the horror? I spent a year as a hospice chaplain and what did I learn? That everyone wants to live. Even if just to gaze out a window at the sky.

The more specific we were about what we wanted, Helen said, the better chance we'd find a good fit. "And beware," she said, "of ministers looking to pre-retire at a smaller church in sunny SoCal. With only a few working years left, they won't care so much if the fit's not great." At five, Helen gave us an assignment due in the morning. "Write about what brought you to church and what has kept you there over time. Dig deep on this one.

When I'm stymied, troubled, or sad, I go to that sun-warmed stone bench where my soul—subdued by deadlines, to-do lists, by my incessant inner chatter—unfurls and stretches like a cat. Should I never enter the sanctuary again, I'd always find succor in our leaf-littered paths and courtyards. The old deodars and oaks are like calm, noble parents. I always leave feeling new. Just driving by the property, my soul stirs.

The Michael Servetus: habanero-steeped tequila, lime, Seville orange liqueur, and smoked salt The Trinitarian: pomegranate, huckleberry, and plum brandies with soda and fresh fruits The Mary Oliver: white wine spritzer with fennel ferns and ginger bitters The Carrie Nation (NA): huckleberry and plum syrups, cream, soda water, and fresh fruits

In the seminar room, Helen had lit the chalice and given a short speech about not focusing on one kind of minister—a man, a woman, a person of color, or someone within a certain age range—when the person who most needed to hear this slipped in.

Helen laid out our fall agenda: we'd conduct a survey, we'd lead "cottage groups" with church members about the search. We'd receive anti-oppression training and create a "packet." As recording secretary, I'd write newsletter squibs to keep the congregation informed of our progress. Clearly, my vision of the search committee as a series of intense theological discussions was a chimera!

When I got home, I couldn't stop crying, so Mark asked Rev Tom to come over. Rev Tom said that losing our child was not a punishment and miscarriages happen for medical reasons. He was so kind and nonjudgy, I decided to come to your church and left First Cal. I have felt so accepted, especially here, on this committee, which is such an honor to be on. I am so thankful for all of you.

You'd quit long before she ever would." This stopped me. "What makes you say that?" "Jennie has an agenda. You're still equivocating. I watched you observing, taking notes. Hugging the sidelines. Not sure if this is your milieu—just like you were in seminary: never sure if you should be a minister or a writer, so not committing to either." "I still wonder if I made the right choice," I said. "But am I really that obvious?

If the Methodists have arranged marriages," I said, "what would you say the UUs have—love matches?" "Love matches based on a very brief courtship." "And which method do you think is more effective?" "Honestly? When professionals decide, it's cleaner. Search committees are amateurs

UUs can call anyone they want as a minister, ordained or not, UU or not; but clergy from outside the association doesn't get institutional support.) Eager to be official and serve an established (and more remunerative) church, Bert was getting his master of divinity degree. We five women thought him conceited and liked to torture-tease him, calling him BS and making endless stupid jokes about his name: Would you like to Share?

Every search committee I've worked with has been full of surprises. And you've got such an odd group. I love that Black therapist—what's his story?" "Adrian?" A proprietary pang hit. Helen, as a therapist and spirited extrovert, was sure to interest him more than I ever could.

Like what?" I said. "Like you have one official leader and one shadow leader," Helen said. "Charlotte will have to develop a strategy because Robert's Rules and a covenant won't contain that Jennie. She likes disruption

The world calls on us to listen. Listen, says my daughter, who is writing a paper on Emily Dickinson. Listen, says my son, tucking an earbud in my ear so I can hear the angry rap song that he loves. Listen, says a friend, I have to tell somebody what just happened. . . .

The best listening, Elsa said, was silence dilated by love and attention.

Don't buy anything," he said. "It's full of lead." "I don't care," I said. "We're old. It won't have time to kill us.

I think God listens when I pray," Curtis said. "I think He listens in the way you said is the best kind of listening. He takes it in deep." "And how does that make you feel?" "Like He hears what I'm saying and understands." "That can be very powerful," Elsa said. "And I imagine very helpful." "Very helpful," said Curtis.

The search has already brought one old friend back to you," he said. "Who knows what else lies in store?" Church started up after Labor Day. I was obliged to attend and wear a special blue name tag so that people would know that they could ask me about the search.

Charlotte said, "Don't worry. The minutes are strictly confidential." Guilt pang. Afterward, Charlotte walked outside with me. "Of course the minutes can be subpoenaed in court," she said. "Funny," I said. "Jack said that, too.

You're as spiritual as you are comfortable being alive.' And

Her preaching theme, indeed, her modus operandi, might have been Include all!—she was always dragging some person she'd just met to our lunches and meetings and events—but how abruptly and thoroughly she'd excluded me.

How do we live in this world where friends disappear for years and years and reappear as if nothing has happened?