i changed my mind

When I was in college, the dorm where I lived and worked had a chaplain assigned to it-- a seminary student applying classroom knowledge in practical situations. One chaplain somehow came to be a shining star in my cupboard of role models, and without realizing it immediately, I came to somehow covet her life. I wanted to be obedient to God, interested in social justice, silly despite my maturity. I wanted to marry a prince at a slightly more advanced age than the rest of the child-brides around me, and then move to an exciting new country to work. I saw her life as an amalgamation between liberal Christian and fairy tale-- where the heroin enjoys all the satisfaction of a materially-comfortable life, but still gets to stand for something greater: equality for the oppressed, reaching out to the wretched, spreading the Good News.

Let me not discolor this person in any way. She fully reached out with arms open wide, accepting, loving-- unflinching in the face of the boils and open wounds of the ones she received. She gave fully, and was one of the most genuinely good people I knew. I'm sure she still is. She was a major player in the early stages of my walk with Christ. I have much to be grateful to her for.

But I, who is far less good, accepting and loving than that, saw the merger of two worlds embodied in her life: the secular and the service-oriented, and I struggled in wanting them both. It ties in so closely with my conceptual struggles regarding the Southern (Christian) Wedding: Good Southern Baptist girls get the rock, the reception, and the relationship. None of this money or love business. You can build your marriage on the solid foundation of the love of Jesus Christ, but you can still spend daddy's dough on the matching bridesmaids gowns, the popular photography poses, and the honeymoon. I just can't see spending so much money on a party that will last a day, when you still have your whole lives ahead of you together. You shouldn't need the material things. But ask me if I want a diamond and the answer is currently still yes.

Ahem, back to the topic at hand. I moved abroad and applied to grad school, heard and answered my own calling to seminary. And then I found myself here, doing the numbers game, trying to plot the perfect time to marry the non-existent perfect man, imagining a life of travel and service together with him-- and the right age to bear the unborn children, all the while still imagining silly material things like our house, our china, and our technology (eventually, we'd be a mac house). I tried imagining all of these things so that I'd have the parts of her life that I wanted. As if you can plan to get married or have babies at a particular age.

But how boring would it be if I could have someone else's life? I've already seen it once-- I don't need to re-enact it. And how much better is true life going to be than anything I could possibly cook up? My friend I've been speaking of has recently had a baby. She is an ordained reverend, and she's working for a church. Her husband is working on a doctorate. They live in the US now. I was thinking over these facts recently, and it just hit me.

I wanted her life. But now I want more. I want more than that-- I don't even know what more is, but I know I can have more. It's not that her life is not enough, it's not that her life is deficient or lacking or malodorous in any way, it's just that it's not mine. It's not for me and I can't have it. I've been limiting myself even in fantasy about the expectations I have. Someone said to me today, "You don't even realize your potential. If you could only see your potential, you wouldn't be able to function." I think that might be true of all of us. If we knew what we were able to accomplish, we'd be overwhelmed to the point of paralysis. Each of us--our own self-- is the one who holds us back-- we are the doubter, the one who says we can't. We are are the diminisher, who says I am capable only of so much and not more. We are the reason we don't, each of us, down inside, because we aren't willing to say, yes, I know that I can, and therefore, I will.

But today I changed my mind. I won't be limited by wanting someone else's life when I can have my own. And I won't be the one to hold me back from claiming my potential. It's scary, but I know God is capable of great works through me, and who am I to limit what God can do? We should all ask ourselves that the next time we are tempted to name the limitations of our capabilities. If I can change my mind, so can you.

the dream gets organized

I missed the entire month of November. My favorite holiday, the presidential election, the official change of seasons-- somehow I forgot to make time for recording my thoughts throughout time I can't get back. If I believed in regret, I'd feel it now.

But it's okay; I'll pick up here and fill in gaps as I go to catch myself up to speed. So much has happened: I played my part in the 2008 election and participated in voter registration in a swing state, I saw the blessed union of great friends from my past and my present as they committed their future to each other, I broke bread and gave thanks with great friends for all that I have and yet do not deserve.

I worked on my plan to continue debt eradication and paid off a major credit card to under a $2000 balance. I committed to living in a Christian intentional community and have been continuously searching for houses in neighborhoods prepared for ministry. I strengthened relationships with my roommate, unexpected friends in a covenant discipleship class and new people from foreign countries. I reunited with old friends. And finally, the fire of Project Empowerment was rekindled; and I am overwhelmed with how great and beyond me my own vision has grown. It's mere proof that this dream is not my own.

I really want to talk about that (however scattered are these thoughts), so that I don't lose these precious new contributions to the overall design of the project. I spent two weekends, including the weekend and days leading up to the election volunteering in Columbus, Ohio on the Obama campaign. The presidential election has also been the highlight of an amazingly engaging class on religion and politics. After multiple conversations about campaigning and voter demographic targeting and community organizing and then after witnessing it-- and participating in it-- myself, I can only attribute these recent developments to Project Empowerment as influenced by what I have learned.

Throughout the debates and on SNL and other amusing programs I heard tons of talk of "Obama, the community organizer." So many doubting republicans attempted to discredit Obama as presidentially qualified because of his experience as a "community organizer" (apply air quotes where applicable). The smart-mouthed progressive Christians replied with "Jesus was a community organizer, Pontius Pilate was a governor" (and while amused, I'm not entirely comfortable with the parallel that draws, either). But I saw community organization myself, I helped to instruct others to canvass and walked the street on my own and saw from several levels how Obama organized his campaign. He WAS organized. He used those skills to motivate the masses, and once their energy was generated, he had the infrastructure to funnel volunteers exactly where he needed them, to beat the streets, make the calls, and reach the voters. And he won the election because of it.

I feel silly talking about the election now, after even folks in Washington, DC have moved on, but I really internalized that organization. The way things fell so satisfactorily into place has been constantly on my mind-- at the front and the back-- and I have begun to incorporate organizational ideas/strategies into my implementation plans of Project Empowerment. One of the things I would like to do when I travel and meet new communities to work with is be able to offer some sort of immediate assistance. Now, I know that I'll be spending one to two weeks doing my best to help in whatever ways possible; if they are planting trees, I'll plant trees; if they are building wells, I'll build wells; and in addition to my actual contribution of physical labor, I'll be photographing and writing and doing my very best to capture the essence of the work they are doing so that I can share it with my corner of the world (and beyond). Spreading the knowledge of the work is good. But even that seems not particularly helpful, when you consider the very real necessities of eating and surviving-- and PR doesn't do the work to make those possible.

Now the obvious form of immediate assistence would be money. But I don't know the rules about raising money, I don't want to be carrying large amounts of money, and I want to be able to be creative about meeting needs-- and money isn't the way to do that. So I had been thinking about other types of donations, and how willing are most people I know to donate to worthy causes. So the idea evolved: what if I could take up a certain collection for each community project, and provide them exactly what they needed? If I were visiting a school, I could bring school supplies. If I were working with the tin for guns program in the mountains where it's cold, I could bring scarves and hats, etc. A custom-fitted contribution, from caring individuals in the United States to wherever else in the world I might be. It's personal, it's personalized, it's precisely what I was looking for.

Precisely incomplete. This type of project presents several problems which I will attempt to list in completion here: 1) I am backpacking and under no circumstances will I be able to carry such donations with me-- two years and fifty sites worth? 2) That amount of donations would far exceed my ability to raise. Even at seminary and at church I don't have enough personal contacts to rally fifty different collections! 3) If I were able to do such a thing, baggage allowances are small and shipping costs are expensive! 4) This trip is not supposed to be about me doing everything; it's supposed to be about me changing paradigms and connecting people who are empowered to change their circumstances with people who don't think they can-- it's about me telling others yes, you can, and you should, and getting everyone I know involved on some level.

So it's going to take major organization-- a very real structure-- to get this done. It's going to require caring individuals working at the grassroots level to make big things happen on a massive scale. I have been thinking about a website for quite some time (after a very obvious suggestion from a supporter-- I still can't believe I didn't think of it myself!), but I finally began to see how a website would be a tool of organization. WHAT IF my website were the portal for the people in the know (about the project) to pass the word on to those who don't know? I struggle with sharing an accurate yet concise description of PE when I get the opportunity to-- so how much more difficult will it be for those who haven't thought every aspect of the project through? But if all the tools were at the click of a mouse, downloadable, re-printable, and you could even sign up to help on the website-- well, technology's a beautiful thing and we all buy into beauty.

The organizational structure of volunteer participants, co-owners in this beautiful vision was born: I will divide my itinerary into geographical regions, equitable distributions of projects. In this way, I limit the amount of work and the time frame a organizer would be responsible for. If I have 50 sites, I can enlist 10 organizers who would each be responsible, in turn, for recruiting 5 coordinators. This would be a six week to two and a half month (roughly, depending on the length of the project) commitment, and once that time frame had passed, the work would be passed with it. The organizer finds the coordinators, the coordinators run the donation collections, and voila! All the work is done. And I have involved just 10 people I know first hand-- but through that wonderful network of connectedness, 60 people have actually done the work, and each of them would have connected with hundreds more individuals who would donate to the collections for specific sites.

This really got me thinking of move-on.org and their AMAZING database of progressive democrats. I know that in politico-world, campaigns pay good money, millions of dollars trying to get people's information so they know how to contact and who to contact to get their candidate elected. Well, I don't really care so much about building a database (I can't see it's importance unless this project were to be replicated), but I do see the value in the organization of it all for the sake of posterity. How fantastic would it be to say, "These are the 3,491 names of the people that my small seedling of an idea grew to include?" Additionally, if I'm really interested in connecting people to people, I'm not just interested in your donation. I'm interested in you and how you can be improved by knowing the face of the one you just donated to. And I'm interested in giving items of practical use to people who need them, and being able to tell them, this is the name of the person who wants you to stay warm this winter.

So each coordinator would use his or her entire community to do good; they could collect from church, from school, from work, from family. But it doesn't end there.

I have outlined six ways for any individual to get involved. And this would be passed on through word of mouth, through the handing out of pre-made, ready to print cards with the website information on it so that any individual, anywhere, would be able to help. Forget six degrees of separation-- I don't have to know you first at all! You can find my card in a library book or on the bulletin board at the supermarket (and if you had every interested person distributing, think about the traffic! Think about the publicity!) So here they are:

1) TELL. Everyone you know. Spread the word. Tell your friends, then your momma, then your friends' mommas, then your momma's friends. Print the cards online. Hand them out. Leave them in libraries, stores, the DMV! Use the form email (available on the website) and send it to everyone on your email list! We all spend countless hours receiving and wading through email forwards for no cause at all or just for a laugh. Why not contribute a few more seconds to pass on one that could change the world? Share, share, share. You can send them in your Christmas cards! Send them with your kid to school to be distributed to all the parents in the class! Better yet-- talk to the principal about the school sponsoring one of the sites-- the school can host the donation drive, educate the entire community on the particular issue their site is facing, and possibly even recruit someone to work with me while I'm abroad!

2) ORGANIZE. The ten organizers I mentioned would be responsible for quite a lot of work. So maybe I'll need twenty five organizers, and each of them will be responsible for only recruiting two coordinators. I'm hoping this person will not only recruit the coordinators, but handle the donations after they have been collected. This person will need to ship the donations to particular addresses to be brought overseas and to keep track of their coordinators and the particular communities that they enlist to help. Besides the ten (or twenty five) organizers I mentioned already, I'll need organizers who will be willing to receive written material and photographs from me, possibly edit them into a newsletter and distribute newsletters (both hardcopy and electronic) to every donor and volunteer-- this project isn't going to disappear once you've contributed some crayons. I want you to know what you've become a part of-- and encourage you to participate more than once. It also might be helpful this way to get my writing distributed, in case there are possibilities for the writing aspect beyond a grassroots newsletter.

3) COORDINATE. We need fifty coordinators, each paired with a particular site, who knows the whole story of the site, understands the needs, and can handle collecting donations for them. This person would keep records on the donors who contribute to the collection and physically be responsible for setting out the box, picking up the box, sorting through what's been offered. Coordinators also help spread the word, to enlist other coordinators for his or her own Organizer or other Organizers. A Coordinator has to be willing to engage in his or her own community-- a church, a school, a business or company, etc. to gather enough persons willing to donate. Because of this, the Coordinator position might be absolutely ideal for my fellow pastors-in-training (who will likely be pastors by the time I depart for the first site of this journey). Additionally, we want to make sure donors and other volunteer people feel connected and appreciated for the work they do-- Coordinators will distribute the newsletters to their donors on record.

4) COME AND SEE FOR YOURSELF. I am ready and prepared to travel the entire trip alone, but one of my initial ideas concerning getting everyone I know involved was to invite them along! Come for a week or two-week long trip and we can work together to learn a community and their story. Select your site by choosing a social justice issue close to your heart, a culture or region you are passionate about, or just based on when you can get vacation time from work. Traveling Companions will also be responsible for importing donations-- the Coordinator/Organizer will domestically ship the donations box to the Traveling Companion who will be responsible for checking it as luggage. Because I understand the costs of long-distance travel, I presume I will have fewer Traveling Companions than sites, so potentially more than one Donation Box will need to be imported per Travleing Companion (It will be easier to ship domestically from within the foreign country). Additionally, smaller sustainability packages with personal items I will need will be passed along with Traveling Companions, as well.

5) MANAGE MY WEBSITE. Yup, that's right. This sounds like a LOT of web-based work, and I am certain I will be in places without even internet connections. I'll need someone to oversee the American side of operations, and to manage the portal (also known as the place where you can enter everything and download stuff). I need someone into design, who can create the cards for people to download, who can generate a coordinated collection of email banners and thank-you cards and newsletter headings (hopefully from the photographs I take while abroad). Who will be the keeper of information, and build the actual internet infrastructure to let Coordinators enter donor contact information, Organizers enter Coordinator information, and people who hear about the project through the grapevine to sign up to receive the newsletter. I'll need new articles and photos uploaded from wherever I am. This is kind of huge. I either have to find someone who loves me to do this, or I might have to pay someone (yikes!)

6) PRAY. This is a journey of FAITH, and I know the road is marked with ruts and potholes. I'd like to know you're praying for me (ahem ahem, website manager?), so that I can be built up by the care of my community of Christians, my church. I know how hard it is to travel, especially in new places, especially on your own, especially for long periods of time. I'm not sure backpacking is actually a sustainable lifestyle for two years (but I'm still willing to risk it). I will need all the prayer I can get. And I'm not the only one. We need prayer for every involved person on this project-- the communities who are working hard for change at their respective sites, dealing with their respective struggles, the Organizers, Coordinators, Donors, Traveling Companions, the Website Manager. And wouldn't it be great if we could send prayers (written, with names of the interceder) to the sites with the donation box? I once read of a terminally ill child who wanted to know what people were praying for her. So there was a system set up so that every time you prayed for her, you called her pager number and she would get a page and know. Another system had her receiving the prayer via text message. How comforting to hear the prayers of others! What a strong message it would send to the struggling in another country of love and encouragement and support to hear the words (or read them) of their brothers and sisters of faith! (ooh! translators!)

Well. I've gone and done it-- I've overwhelmed myself in one sitting. This goes so far beyond me I can't take it all in at once. And as a friend pointed out, there are several things I'll have to return to later; the impact my 'donations' may have on the local economy (would donating hats and scarves detract from business of a local tailor, for instance?), the vetting of sites-- I'll have to be very discriminatory in choosing to make sure that I and my work will be accepted, that the practices the community is engaging in are healthy and inclusive, etc. So much of the language of this outline reads like a business (which is weird because I don't know anything about that). I will think more on it. A dangerous promise, to be sure.

images of preparation

We're ready and organized to usher in change! Some images from the campaign office in Hilliard, Ohio.

vote for the one that brings you hope

I have been working out my issues with regards to Shane Claiborne's message concerning Christians rethinking their political allegiances (and patriotism altogether). Several weeks ago, I cast my ballot (absentee, of course) and thought that I would be the only one in my family to do so. I don't know where it was impressed upon me, because it wasn't from my parents, but I have felt that call of civil responsibility for as long as I can remember, and have only missed one election since I've been eligible to vote (I believe so, anyway; my absentee ballot never came when I lived in Indonesia). Well, that assumption was happily proven wrong today, as I realized for the first time ever that my ENTIRE immediate family is now eligible AND registered to vote. This truly is going to be an unprecedented turnout for this election. At least Obama can count on five votes in the state of Texas.

This occasion coincides with a visit I'm on to Elaina in Ohio. I've spent the last 24 hours following her around, asking for tasks to do to help her with her work, entering data into their voter system, and observing the process of the campaign. I've never enjoyed this level of political participation before, even when I interned for Congressman Chet Edwards, but I've enjoyed it. I have to say, however, that I have hardly done ANYTHING compared to what Elaina and all of the other amazingly dedicated organizers working for change are doing on a daily basis-- and I'm exhausted. We've been at it now for 13 hours, and we're still going. There is nothing besides pure, unadulterated trust and faith that could motivate and energize such a large following of dedicated workers. These folks sacrifice sleep, food, clean hair-- to enter more data, make more calls, talk to more volunteers, train more people to knock on ever more doors-- and it is working. Obama's campaign is working from the bottom up-- starting with individuals in the community reaching out to other individuals and then to families, and then to groups of people, creating a massive web of coverage that misses no one but those who want to be missed.

I'm incredibly motivated and consumed by a related sense of hope in the promise of change under a leader who is working for his country the way he encourages his campaigners to work for him. It's about time SOMEONE lost sleep over the mistakes that have been committed in the last eight years. And it's even MORE the time for someone who wants to, and CAN! correct them!

Get out there and vote, folks! Vote for the one who brings you hope for the future.

Experience Wrought

I've been unable to write. But I have much to say, and that means this entry had half a dozen great titles to choose from. You'll be reading about my Week of Lament, Fasting from Color, my new take on 'maturity', my heart that's broke, and a call I'm interpreting as a non-vocational call to the pulpit. See? It's been a busy week.

So first. Without going into details, I've just realized my emotional issues of the past week can all be summed up by the words, 'broken heart.' This did not come to me until today, when my friend Erica used her index fingers and thumbs to make the shape of a heart and then cracked it in half like an egg. I am experiencing a broken heart. It's an entirely new sensation. I've experienced disappointment, dashed hopes, been really let down or depressed before, but this is a new level of 'down'. The (of course entirely appropriate) irony is that the object of my broken heart has no idea. That is the story of my life-- passing under others' radar because I'm too AFRAID to disturb the waters.

The heartbreak has inspired a truly interesting week for me, whence I've decided to embrace feeling low in a Week of Lament. The Bible is pretty full of both exaltation AND lament-- so it makes no sense to me why as Christians we are always focusing on the exaltation. SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED TO LAMENT. And not feel guilty about NOT being happy, or feeling fine, or that you just want to go back to bed when you wake up in the morning. I have decided that God allowed humanity to experience both the highs and the lows-- we have the capabilities to feel great sorrow and pain as well as joy, and I find it difficult to believe that we would feel the former just to appreciate the latter. Surely feeling crummy has merit on it's own? I should throw in here that I have no biblical basis whatsoever for what I'm doing, but it somehow still makes sense to me.

In order not to become actually clinically depressed and the mopey friend no one wants to be around, I've set a cap on my season of Lament. So I'm giving myself one week to be down, to give in and tell people who carelessly ask, "How are you?" that I'm UNWELL. One week to beg out of social engagements I just can't fake my way through-- without guilt. One week to not care what I look like, to be late (within reason), and to not have to smile when I pass people on the sidewalk (though this is hard with people I know because I don't want to be RUDE). In addition to these things, I'm fasting from color. It seems doubly appropriate: color brings me great joy, it's probably the sole reason I enjoy photography and painting (neither of which I have any measurable talent). So by fasting from color (which means I am not wearing any, only black), it is a kind of symbolic gesture of my Week of Lament. Additionally, lament, which is about grief, despair, and mourning seems perfectly associated with the color black. Lamentations are songs, poems, or music expressing grief, mourning, or sorrow. I'm proficient in none of those things (songs, poems, or music), but I reason that life is itself an artistic expression not unlike poetry or music. So living is my art.

In keeping with that theme, I have finally reached a plateau in my week, when this whole mess has finally reached it's height, and after climbing the mountain blind now as I can finally see from the top, things are beginning to make a little sense. 'Experience Wrought' is a suitably appropriate title for this blog, a phrase stolen from another song by The Cobalt Season (called Help Me Out Here, check out the lyrics and then use the media player on the right to hear the song). This week is all about a first experience, and the fruits of experience wrought. The word, 'wrought' (adjective form) itself means worked into shape by artistry or effort. See how things are coming 'round?


My pastor's sermon on Sunday was all about the fear that paralyzes. How faith is sometimes wading through that fear to follow where we are led, regardless of how high the waters. She used the story of Moses parting the Red Sea to illustrate her point: it turns out that scholars and translators have a different take on this parting of the waters thing than we laypeople understand from movies like The Prince of Egypt. As it turns out, the waters probably didn't part so Moses and crew could see clear to the other side. But they probably had to start walking through the waters hip-deep, before they cleared fully. Like God, there was water before and behind them, all around them, and what an act of faith that must have been! To begin walking into the sea believing God would make a way but having no proof of that act, as the waters slapped around your waist and soaked you, skin-deep.

Her sermon on fear instigated my own thoughts on fear and the ways it has paralyzed me in the past. I found myself thinking that maturity-- growing up-- is about conquering that paralyzing fear and doing something new. Maturity is about experience. Fear keeps us from experience. If like Moses, we can be more faithful than fearful, the experience wrought from fighting that paralysis is maturity. And the greater the fear and the further distance we travel in our act of faith, the more experience wrought, the more mature we will be. Standing on the banks of another land, with a sea teeming between who we were and who we have become by making faith more important than fear, we'll finally understand. Experience wrought.

So how does this tie in? Well. My paralyzing fear has been being NOTICED. How sad is it that I would rather hide than stand out? I have restrained myself from acting, speaking, and living into the gifts God has given me, the potential I have, because I don't want people to see me. And people haven't. And that is part of why my heart is broken; because I have hidden and then expected people to see me anyway. This week has proven that, beyond a shadow of a doubt (if someone you know starts consistently wearing solid black and not smiling and actually telling people that she's UNWELL-- well, at least have a discussion about it). I'm not going to hide myself anymore. I want to learn to preach. I have been feeling drawn to the pulpit for some time, but always afraid that I would say something wrong, or that I have a problem speaking in front of people, or that I could never be so obviously seen. I've finally caught up with what I've been thinking: that I don't care what people think of me. I am ready to be seen.

So, from the top of the mountain, I'm jumping into the sea.

mountains out of molehills

It has struck me lately, how often I tend to make mountains out of molehills. I don't think this unfortunate tendency is my habit alone; but I think that we as a thinking community tend to place a lot of emphasis on the details, when perhaps we shouldn't. We over analyze every word, touch, glance. We attribute major feelings and intentions to the barest of efforts. In movies, in books, even in sermons, unraveling the plot of the narrative always seems to ride on the briefest glimpse of subtle action. The villain has been under our noses the entire time, and if we had paid more attention to his lisp, his tell, the fact that he doesn't make eye contact-- we would have known.

Society trains us to pay attention to the details. In magazines, blown-up images of celebrities' minuscule accessories, body language on vacation, loss or gain of 5 pounds-- this is reported as news. We infer from these details who is engaged to whom, sleeping with whom, who has serious eating or health issues. And so we learn to attribute great importance to things that should bear little importance. We lose sight of the big picture for the details. Who cares about these things more than the value of the person in question?

For me, this has translated into a compulsion to read meaning into meaningless things. And regardless of how much I try to logically disregard those meaningless things, I am incapable of letting them go at times. I feel myself becoming one of 'those women,' the kind who repeats every word, trying to extract a deeper meaning from what was spoken. The kind who picks up on a mere coincidental fact and turns it into fate. It's a dangerous place to be.

Even in my spiritual life, I take these coincidences and concurrences as signs from God. I pray about needing direction for my future and my eye falls on a bible verse in Jeremiah saying that God has a hope and a future for me. I start to feel convicted about debt and decide to get a job; the next day I come across a job advertisement. Even when I was coming to DC, I felt called to my church because it had the same name as my home church in Texas, the pastor was also a woman, and her name was the same as my name. Big decisions made on trivial details. (It is important to note that I also stayed because I felt God at work among the congregation and that I also felt at home and called to work there. But the draw to my church in the first place hasn't changed.)

I think it is beneficial to take notice of details. I think it is detrimental to associate more importance to those details than they are worth. It is time to strike a balance between attention and obsession. I understand God to be a God of the bigger picture and of the details also, but that merely means that God has control of it all, and less reason to worry. As I prepare over the course of the next three years for my journey, I hope I can remember to notice the details but not to make decisions on what I infer from them. I hope that I can learn to make fewer mountains out of molehills. Spend more time in conversation about things that deserve conversation and less thought and brainpower in pursuits that in the end, God will bend toward his will anyway. I want to hear beyond the diction and listen to what the speaker is really saying. I want to devote my energy to doing and not to wondering.

Except when wondering leads directly to doing.

not so boring, after all...

Praise the God of inspiration and ideas! After my previous blog it was clear that I was in need of both, and today has not disappointed. I started off slightly dubious as I headed out ridiculously early (in relation to game time) to buy tickets to the Nats/Phillies baseball game. My first baseball game, I was completely waiting to be unsurprised by discovering I had decided to devote my Labor Day holiday to something of little interest unworthy of the driven, die-hard devotion of thousands of baseball fans worldwide. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that I really enjoyed myself at the game, both understanding and watching how things work and getting into cheering for the home team (no offense Phillies fans, I don't have any REAL baseball loyalties...). It was also great to be outdoors, in the sun, even sweating (weird, I know). I can see why baseball is the American past time.

But better than that, I got to hear other perspectives on my dry spell. I've decided that perhaps I'm not so boring, after all. Maybe just momentarily feeling bored. But definitely not boring. And my life isn't, either. I want to go everywhere and see everything and get my hands in it. How can someone with a list like that possibly be boring? And so what if I don't run marathons or speak languages and I can't speak with eloquence yet about current world events or politics? I'm learning, and I'll be there one day. In the meantime, I've got some major trips to plan, and tons of people who have no idea about them. I've got a photographer to nail down and 48 communities who are working to change the world to make connections with. A website to build. Details to hammer out. And separate from that, I've got a major part to play in the building of an intentional community and covenant writing and another international trip to plan. Just thinking about how full I forgot life is gives me that anxious-I've-got-to-pee-but-don't feeling. You know?

In addition to that I'm blessed with people who can put it in perspective. People with the perfectly right words to say when I need to hear them, and the ability to be where I need them to be when I least expect it. I'm blessed to be inspired by a friend who is giving selflessly so much of herself to something she feels passionate about that at the end of the day, there's hardly any left. And blessed to be inspired by a friend whose ideas and honesty constantly amaze and motivate me, and leave me in AWE of the person God has created him to be. Through my friendship with both, I am challenged to be a better woman than I am. I strongly desire to be to them a mere fraction of what they both are to me. They are going to deserve their own entries, very soon. Until then, suffice it to say that I am blessed.

And not so boring, after all.

i am boring

Today, I had this thought. I was sitting at a table, surrounded by friends, good food, and celebration, and I couldn't think of anything to say. I didn't have any ammunition to begin conversation, despite my potential conversational partners. I sat there and stared at the other diners and had nothing. I felt that my inability to make conversation was due to a lack of interesting thoughts in my mind, which was directly tied to the fact that I'm a boring person.

I can't make conversation like several friends of mine whom I admire; I cannot discuss topics like the presidential election with insight or articulate the problems occurring between Georgia and Russia. I don't have innovative ideas on a regular basis that I can share with others. I am not a visionary. I don't have interesting habits or abilities; I am not athletic and I do not speak multiple languages. I can't discuss my own interests with others, because it appears I have none. I don't meet new people, because I don't talk to strangers! Where is the passion, the fueling desire that motivates all other action for me? What is the underlying spark that lights the fire that consumes the rest of my life? There is none. Right now, I just go to work. Then I go to school. And that is it. I am suffering from occupation withdrawal: my time is no longer occupied 24/7 and I am at a loss to fill it. Who knew that only working one job while going to school would be so traumatic.

But no hobby, marathon, project, ambition, goal, task, or person is going to fill this feeling of incompletion. Those things make my friends interesting, but do not supply their self-worth. I can't quite understand where this is coming from and I don't have an explanation of why I feel this way. I don't have a cure. This is a moment of loss for me; loss and lack of understanding. Why does life not feel full anymore? Why do I feel so cut loose? Am I having a more difficult time adjusting than I thought? It's true that the summer was full of challenge, excitement, and healthy uncertainty. But I can't think about the next three years being this way-- a drone in an office, a part time student, slowly aging faster and faster than my classmates, who continue to get younger and younger. I can't!

I need to remember again why I'm here. What I'm doing, why I'm working. I need a lead on Project Empowerment, something to keep me going, to help me to look forward to the future without disregarding the present. I need a sign! A sense. I need reassurance from God! Something to renew my sense of self-worth without being a substitute or a time-filler or just another thing I do. I need to remember how to stand still and be at peace. I need to find certainty in my chosen course of action. What a scary feeling, to not feel sure. I need not to believe that I am boring. I hope I find my footing quickly.

prayers for the people

On Tuesday, I attended my first ever Wesley chapel session. I am not feeling the least bit guilty about having never gone before, because before when I worked more than one job and lived at my home, it was a major inconvenience to come for chapel. The Tuesday chapel was before class, so I would typically be writing my papers at the last minute when chapel met, and the Wednesday evening chapel always coincided with me caring for Ben and not wanting to come back to school. So, I had my reasons.

Anyway, in Methodist church, apparently, (and probably some others, but just not in mine), there's included in the worship service something called prayers of the people. This is a time when the congregants can feel free to call out names of people or families or situations that they want lifted up in prayer. It does do something good to hear a reverently spoken name in an empty, yet full chapel sanctuary. But I get the feeling that prayers of the people probably doesn't work at all with big churches. I can kind of see my church going on and on and taking forever if we tried it in our Sunday worship service. But to play off of that, I thought that I'd write some prayers FOR the people on here-- kind of things that I want to lift up for people I care about. So here goes.

I pray for R, and settling in again in a new place. For starting over once more. For trying something new. For knowing what is truth and being able to discern truth, when necessary from teachings. I pray for R's family, and all the drama that might exist in that situation.

I pray for MT. I pray that she continues to recover, and I say a thank you for her kind and thoughtful heart, always good even in the midst of personal issues. Let me be a better friend to her.

I pray for Ash. That she has not bitten off more than she can chew, that she does not get sick, get burnt out or fed up with me. I pray for our living situation and patience and honesty.

I pray for E. That she is able to remain strong in the face of exhaustion, that she continues to believe in what brought her there, that she might miss us all, but not too much. I pray that she be given access to the avenues and paths that might broaden her mind and her heart and her options for the future. That she holds on to what she needs to keep but can let go of what she is meant to lose. That she resists temptation. That she gets enough sleep. That our friendship remains strong despite great distance. That I can be the friend to her that she has been to me.

I pray for D. That his ideas continue to be what makes him special, but do not get away from him. I am grateful for his friendship. For familiarity. For plans. For potential. I am grateful he is who he is. That he might always make his way, after you, Lord.

I pray for ELB-ow. For her hives! For the year ahead of her and her work and her work, and her hard work. Thank you for a present companion, God. Help us to remain friends despite growing up. Thank you for letting us be silly. To pretend we are younger than we are. That she grows in her faith and continues to be a good role model for young Christian women.

And for JKJ. That she pushes through in her academic work, but not at the sacrifice of personal relationships. That the year passes quickly for her, but not too quickly. May she remember the time at hand and be grateful for it in the future. Keep her spirits up and help her to remember how much she is loved.

I pray for Skari, my sometimes forgotten friend. For his patience despite my lack of follow through. For whatever might be occurring in his life that I do not even know.

I pray for JL. I am so proud of her strength and her courage and so grateful for her loyalty and her hard work and the depth and growth of our friendship. Let her not feel too homesick. Let her feel at home among her brothers and sisters in Christ.

I pray for the princess. Lord, I am grateful for recovery. For healing and habit. Thank you for her servant's heart, and help me to be more caring and more open-minded and more patient with her. Let this year be one full of growth for her, for maturity and understanding. I pray that her current situation leads directly to those qualitities.

And I am quite sure there are more prayers to lift up, but my life is like a big church and this blog is only big enough for a small congregation. Know that I have more prayers than I could ever record, and that God hears them all despite my inability to do so.

Amen.

too comfortable

I'm settling in. The past few weeks have been rather tumultuous for me, and have helped me to formulate a stance on how I view change and how change fits into my life. I think my stance is summed up best by Brandon Heath's "Don't Get Comfortable". Because just when I start to feel comfortable-- in my living situation, with my routine, with my schedule and my 'place' in life, in my world, that is exactly when I start to feel the pulls of change. I don't adjust to change well. But the urge to change things up, to never be too comfortable, seems to come from God.

Recently, the hard change I've encountered has been my living situation. I've been living in total comfort: I've had my own basement apartment, clean, relatively new, safe, air conditioned, and completely unshared. I've acquired things in the last year to supplement that comfort, things I don't really need. I've surrounded myself with stuff and blocked out the rest of the world. That comfort was a grateful reprieve from the life I lead in Indonesia. The amenities were completely different: from living without a shower or western toilet and spotty water and electricity to my own washer and dryer, dishwasher, and wireless internet. Perhaps that was something that really helped me to adjust to a new life in DC. But lately I've been feeling a call to live a different way, and have been actually feeling nostalgic about living in Indonesia and the way that I lived (it's so NOT about amenities...). So I said goodbye to my luxurious digs and moved in on campus-- with a roommate in a shared efficiency apartment. I haven't slept in a twin sized bed since college. And I haven't slept in the same room as another person in... well, anyway, I haven't had a roommate in 5 years. Try fitting all the crap of an entire apartment into the space of half an efficiency... well, my roommate is an amazingly gracious soul and I am grateful.

At first it felt really hard. Even though I knew that I was doing the right thing by giving up my apartment and moving here, once I was in I felt completely frustrated and wondered what the heck I was doing. But slowly, slowly, it's coming together. It's small, but cozy. And I live with a great girl. There's no commute-- I walk across the parking lot to work every morning and every afternoon. (So no gas! And no pollution! I bet I could get away with not driving for a whole WEEK! At my other apartment I drove EVERY SINGLE DAY). It has been a fun challenge to see how the pieces fit-- kitchen things, linens, clothes, but as someone else said to me-- I'm good at organization. And the community! Tonight, I had fellowship with old friends, and even got an invitation to a weekly breakfast group from a classmate I hardly know. I'm in love with Wesley once more.

I was worried about sharing, though. And making room in my life for the needs of others. My old lifestyle was sometimes lonely. I worked hard and had long hours and sometimes would fall asleep on the couch after dinner. I didn't have to worry about how my behavior affected someone else, didn't have to share my belongings or have much discipline in the way of keeping things clean. But so far, my roommate has been my workout partner, my meal partner, and has kept me putting things in their place just with her presence (also, in a space this small with as much stuff as I have, not putting things in their place would get out of hand pretty quickly). I'm finding that I like to ask if Ashlinn wants tea when I boil water for myself, that I enjoy cooking for two people instead of just one, and that if I'm thinking she needs the shower, I'm less inclined to waste time and water by staying in longer. I keep thinking Christians are meant to live in community. I've been out of practice.

That's the other major perk of this situation. I'm preparing for a move (again! oh, gosh!) to the Intentional Community (or IC) in the spring (more on that later). I'm hoping that this experience will pave the way to living with others in a more intentional way. I want to think about others without having to think about it. I want it to be automatic. I want to serve others on a regular basis and be less self-sufficient (imagine that!). I can't exist on my own; living with others will help me to remember that, and will also pave the way for me to be a better Christian for myself and for others. This is the first step. I feel God calling me to change MORE; to keep changing, to step by step be better and live more fully into His calling for my life. Let the God of change continue to shake things up and continue to keep me in His comfort without allowing me to be too comfortable. Thanks for a successful first step. Amen.

united

I am back. 3,746 miles on the road, and the whole time there was one recurring theme to my thoughts. Possibly because I'm at the stage in my life when it seems like the world is moving on without me. Many of my friends have already gotten married, and many are becoming engaged. Possibly because a portion of my trip was devoted to the wedding celebration of old friends. And possibly because my departure and homecoming were bookended with talk and letters of relationship news and wedding gift thank you cards.

But whatever the reason, I kept thinking about getting married. Let me tell you 3,746 miles is a LONG way. But 3,746 miles when you can't quite wrap your mind around something and can't move on to think about anything else is EVEN LONGER. The entire concept of marriage has me thinking: we each seem to have such strong feelings about marriage these days. Where did they come from?

When most of us start to think about marriage, what probably comes most quickly to mind is the wedding. The celebration of becoming united. The idyllic white dress, bridesmaids, church, and cake. The showers and bachelor party. We fail to consider first the planning and preparation necessary to make it to that stage. How much exactly has to fall in place for two people to meet, realize one another's compatibility, and fall in love. More than that, for two people to make a conscious decision to commit themselves to the other for the rest of their lives. For those who marry so young, I sometimes wonder, how is it possible to even understand the gravity of the decision being made? Just as I decided to become a Christian before I understood what a Christian was, I sometimes wonder how many marriages happen that way.

And beyond that. When we think of marriage, we do not first think of the rest of our lives together. We think of the beginning of the rest of our lives. How often do we consider the hard times ahead, paying the bills, moving homes, sacrificing personally for the sake of the unit? When we think of marriage, do we think of the day to day routine, the waking up and going to work, the schedule of being away from one another and the reunion at the end of the day? Do we consider the bigger picture of what being united means?

For many, myself included, the thoughts of marriage originate with the wedding. And this is, after all, the first celebration with loved ones of the decision a couple has made to share their lives. The wedding service is a good start to an understanding of what marriage means. And the recent wedding I witnessed got me thinking about some of the traditions that we relish as little girls (or little girls at heart), and the meanings behind them. For instance, at the start of the ceremony, when the officiant says, "Who gives this woman to this man in matrimony?"

Now, what does that sound like to you? Because once, that might have sounded like the climax to a tearful goodbye to childhood and the beginning of womanhood: the response, from the father, "Her mother and I do," and then maybe a choked, "I'll always be your little girl..." from the bride to the father. Kind of like the scene from The Little Mermaid (old school, I know), when Ariel gets to marry Prince Eric and says goodbye to King Triton of the sea after he's given her legs! and lets her go. Hey, I was a little girl, once. I've thought about this.

But now, I hear that question differently. Now I hear "who gives this woman to this man in matrimony?" and I hear possession. I hear an exchange of property, and it makes me think of the time when a woman was chattel and a marriage was not a choice, but a political bargaining tool. When a union was not about a decision two people made in faith to God and each other but about power: Power among men, power over property, power to own and to rule. For how long do we continue a tradition when we understand its roots? For how long do we continue a tradition if we do not?

This is just one of the things regarding marriage I considered as I drove. I realize now that there are definitely many too many thoughts to include in just one post tonight, so this will have to be part one of a series! But the answer that I came up with, at least for this portion of a wedding service that had my hackles raised was that it's time to make a change. If I ever experience the joy of the union, I think this question is one that will have to change. The more I've considered marriage from my new community perspective, the more I see it as a reflection of my idea of baptism.

For me, baptism was explained as the community celebration of the personal decision one makes in his or her heart to follow Christ. You become a Christian not through any rite or ceremony. You become a Christian when you commit your heart to God. The baptism service is a symbolic act of rebirth to signify the personal decision you've already made, a sharing of your decision with your community. And then you celebrate. Well, isn't a wedding just the same? The decision to marry comes so much earlier than the wedding itself. The love you feel for your significant other does not change when you say, "I do." The sentiment is not altered by the ceremony. But it is a public declaration of the decision you've made together, and in your hearts to spend your lives together. You share with your community the monumental decision you've made. And then you celebrate.

I've been thinking lately, as I consider the Intentional Community that is developing around me, how important the role of community is. For both of these epic steps in a Christian's life, the community must be present, must play an active and affirming role for the private decisions to be validated. A Christian is meant to live in community and to share these decisions together. So doesn't it make sense, then, for the COMMUNITY to give the bride to her groom and the groom to his bride?

So, it would go like this.

Officiant: "Who gives this woman to this man, and who gives this man to this woman, to be united in holy matrimony?"
Community: "We the community lovingly give this woman to this man and this man to this woman to unite in holy matrimony."

Then you can get rid of all that pesky "any objections?" portion of the service, too. Now, for the next blog on the subject of "holy" matrimony...

scary stuff

I recently completed half of a 3,500 mile solo road trip, and just an hour and a half short of my last destination, I had a really scary encounter on the road. I had been warned by several people of a hurricane on the move, set to hit Houston just as I was set to arrive. I knew there would be rain, but I thought nothing of it-- Houston has terrible weather all the time. The last time I drove home, some tropical storm or whatever was hitting the Gulf at the same time and I remember my drive through Lousiana as one of the hardest in the rain. The rains were so heavy, I could only see the taillights of the car in front of me. And I could only see the road for the taillights. That time, I was afraid. This time, I was not.

So I had been driving for days already. I left DC on Friday afternoon after work and drove to Columbus. Saturday I drove to Newark, OH. Sunday, I drove to Cincinnati. Monday, I drove the crazy 13 hour drive from Cincinnati to Edmond, OK (and let me tell you I was practically delirious when I got there... OK has boring tollroads!). And I was in my last 8 or so hours from Edmond to Houston. I had already been slowed down by two major accidents (one right after the other) in Dallas, that had literally reduced the speed on the interstate to a complete stop. I drove past both scenes, one more serious than the other, but I got very emotional when I saw someone being pulled from a mutilated vehicle on a body board. Scary stuff.

But I had passed all that and was SO close to home. I was in Madisonville, just before Huntsville, then Conroe, then the Woodlands on I-45. The rain had been drizzling for more than an hour already, more of a nuisance than a real danger, I thought. There was water on the road, but it wasn't raining hard, if you understand, the majority of the issue was really water being kicked up by the vehicle in front of you. Nevertheless, I admit I was not being as careful as I ought to have been. I was doing a lot of passing, (legally) to get out from behind 18-wheelers, so I wouldn't have to deal with their water. So I was doing a lot of driving in the left lane.

Once, before it happened, I felt my vehicle skate on water in the road. It was very quick, and I didn't lose control of my vehicle or anything, but it should have been a warning to go slower, under the speed limit because the road had bad traction in the rain. Instead, my heart beat a little harder, a little faster for a minute, and then I continued on as I was. And so when my vehicle hydroplaned and I actually lost control, I knew what was happening, but all I could feel was disbelief. And then, a wonder, was this it for me?

So I was driving in the left lane, having passed another 18 wheeler not too long ago. I hydroplaned on water in the road and the wheel of my car was wrenched from my hands. I skid counter clockwise, the nose of my car going first left, off the road, and then right, back on the road, and then left again, swinging me across both lanes of traffic and down into the grassy ditch on the right side of the road. There was no shoulder. I ended up facing the right direction, six or so feet below the highway, half in the oncoming lane of traffic on the farm road. I sat for a moment in shock before I could school my response: look for traffic on the farm road, shift into park, reach for my phone, dial my mother. I was shaking uncontrollably and I didn't know really whether I was fine or if I wasn't fine. Writing right now I can still feel the car swing, that feeling of being out of control. It's like the phantom feeling of a roller coaster after you've gone home and gone to bed. I can still feel it. With the memories, I have fear, but when it was actually happening, I wasn't afraid.

Eventually, after speaking with my mother, I was able to pull myself together enough for her sake to drive again. Very slowly, I pulled myself up onto the farm road and at a crawl, followed the farm road to a nearby gas station. The rain and wind had picked up so much so that when I got out of my car to check, under the awning of a gas station, I was pelted with water droplets anyway. Miraculously, the vehicle was completely unharmed. I was completely unharmed. After I hung up with my mother, I let myself have a good cry, as my mind began to wonder at how I had been saved from how very badly this could have been. I-45 was full of construction, and before the rain got heavy, I had seen construction crews packing up on the road. What if they had still been there? What if I had injured or killed a construction worker? What if there had been concrete barriers on the road? I would have smashed into them, been in the way for other vehicles. What if there had been signs? or blockades? or parked vehicles on the side of the road? What if there had been vehicles in front of or behind me? What even happened to that 18 wheeler I had just passed? The ways in which my misfortune could have resulted in true misfortune took my breath away.

And now, too, I wonder at my response. This was not the first time I have faced possible death. When I was nine, I unknowingly came very close, but an exploratory surgery in the nick of time saved my life. Again, more recently, when I lay in bed delirious with fever, I thought that it could have been it for me. An emergency evacuation to medical care would not have saved my life if I had dengue hemorragic fever, instead of dengue strain A. And now. On the road. So easily, life can be taken away. So quickly, we could reach our end. I think if that had been it for me, I'd be ready, but I'm not volunteering. There are so many things in life I still want to do! And so many things I feel that God has set before me to do, which I accept, whether or not I am yet excited about doing them. I am overwhelmed by God's desire to save me, again and again, from my own lack of care-- really recklessness with my own life. How little respect I have had for His creation of me!

So that is the complete accounting of the incident on (and off) the road. Let this be a lesson to all, and not only to me, that we can be better stewards of ourselves. Being careful on the road is a whole new facet to self-care I had never considered. But we cannot hope to care for anyone or anything well if we cannot first care for our own lives.

growth

Today was business as usual. I went into work, took some phone calls, answered some emails. And then I was in a meeting, discussing the details of our upcoming new student orientation, when I was overcome by the magnitude of my personal growth over the last year. It seems that as each year passes, the progress becomes more significant, the pace quicker and quicker. And this year was no letdown-- no, no, this year was beyond my most extreme imaginations. This year was unprecedented growth and unpredictable change.

This understanding was all brought on by, as I mentioned, a meeting discussing orientation. As my boss and I tried to nail down the most finite of details, I found myself straining to recall orientation from the other side-- that of a student instead of a planner. And I realized that it had been just one minor year between the scared shitless, unsure, quiet transplant from Texas and the slowly strengthening, quiet, independent woman who has learned to bloom where she is planted. Just a year ago, I was recovering from dengue in comfort, readjusting to life in the US, exploring the newness of my first romantic fling, and getting ready to pack up my life and step out in faith, once again. Just a year ago, I packed my car to the brim, filled up my gas tank and said goodbye to my family again, with a destination in mind but no real plans. Just a year ago, I had no understanding and no clear idea of God's call, but I heard it leading me to DC. Just a year ago, I had no job, no place to live, no friends, no church, and no knowledge that those 1500 miles separating me from the place where I was raised and the place where I was going to grow up would become 1500 miles between who I was and who I am. Just a year.

And now, my circumstances are radically different: I found and negotiated my own position for my lodging, re-entered school and became a student once more, I found a job, joined a church, made new friends. I started paying my tuition with student loans, and now I am paying my own way through school and paying my loans goodbye. I once couldn't see the ground before my feet, but now I see the future. I have a plan and I have a desire to be where I plan in five years. I have a network, a community of people I trust, love and can call on to support me.

The orientation I attended last year was my first solo ride on the metro. I arrived late, did not understand the reaffirmation of baptism service, was afraid to trust the kindness of my classmates, and was COMPLETELY freaked out by liturgical dance. I sat in on my first UMC service, was out past dark my first night in DC, and met so many of the people who have become regular characters in my life: Erica, Drew, Sammy, and Craig. And this year...

This year, I'm planning the orientation.

How's that for growth? This stuff that God makes happen... you can't dream this up. It's so encouraging when you work so hard and can look back and recognize progress. It just makes you excited for the future.

taking time to stray

Last night I indulged in some social trivialities; namely hanging out. With drunk people. Instead of doing laundry. Or packing, or cleaning, or getting ready for my impending 3,500 mile journey... what can I say? I'm an habitual procrastinator.

There's not much else to say about being social with friends of friends, people you don't know, because it's rather difficult to make connections with strangers who are drunk when you're not. It also made games considerably more challenging.

But one benefit of the evening was getting to know my friend Mike a little better. Mike is a really cool person. He's incredibly well-articulated, witty, and intelligent, and more than all of that, Mike is a NICE GUY. He's nice the way I wish I were, but never could be, because I learned to care for myself before I learned to care for others.

I took him home at the end of the evening, from Friendship Heights to Eastern Market. Now, I have been in that neighborhood before. But not driving. And not in awhile. And not at night. So while it was simple enough for Mike to get me to his door, it was much less simple to go home the way I came. I have a horrible sense of direction. Or maybe, it's less my sense of direction and more that I've just stopped worrying so much about taking wrong turns. How bad can my direction really be if I always eventually get to the right place?

I headed home with the intention of going home, but as soon as I realized I was not where I meant to be I decided that I had been presented with the perfect opportunity to take some time to stray. I'm never downtown at night, and I almost never have my camera on me. But I've started to carry it in my purse so I have it every day, and I realized that with few people on the road, I could stand to take take some pictures at red lights.

Or green lights.

There's so much to this city I haven't even seen yet, so wrapped up in responsibility, I've never given myself the chance. One of the things I'm looking forward to since I'll only be working ONE job and going to school in the fall is going to be free evenings. I'm going to make it a priority to stray more often. To start practicing letting my sense of adventure take over my sense of responsibility sometimes. To stop being more afraid than in awe and to start being more free than tied down.

There's so much you miss when you don't give yourself the time to slow down and really see. I have passed this embassy at least twice every Sunday for the last six months, and I have never taken enough time to notice how beautiful the minaret is. Or absorbed the fact that there IS a minaret right there on Massachusetts Ave! I'm not sure if it can actually be a minaret if it's not a part of a mosque, or if it's just a part of middle eastern architecture, but it made me miss Indonesia.


Sometimes, when you least expect it, when you're minding your business and set on one task, you'll lose your way. It doesn't really matter that you're committed to the journey, or even what the journey is. It might be accidental, accidental-on-purpose, or a forced detour: whatever the reason, embrace it! Without knowing it, straying from the road well-paved could be exactly what you need, when you need it. You might just find that at the top of that hill, around the corner, your eye will catch on something you've seen a million times, but THIS time, well... this is the time it'll take your breath away.

the most beautiful thing I've ever made

The summer is nearly at a close. The last remaining weeks are passing quickly by and very soon, the season which not long ago was so anticipated, and which filled me with an unprecedented sense of expectation, will be a fresh memory. That feeling of anticipation has not passed, however, and I'm starting to think that summer was merely the beginning. The excitement was not for summer, the excitement was for the work God did in my life during the summer-- work that's not yet finished!

Today I had the opportunity to thank someone who has been instrumental to this summer growth. She has pushed me farther than I ever would have pushed myself, someone who has encouraged, empowered, and challenged me every week like clockwork. She is a powerful minister, an exceptional advocate, and an insightful teacher. In addition to my gratitude, however, is grief borne of separation as I am in the process of saying goodbye as she leaves our church in an official capacity to discover what God has in store for her next. True to her work ethic, she's staying with me and her other disciples until the very last second before she leaves-- and I am sure that even after she is no longer my mentor in an official capacity that she will remain a very salient and powerful presence in my life.

So to thank her for her work in me (and in others), I made a stole today for her to use in her future ministerial endeavors. I wanted to create something that was meaningful for me and for her, but also something she could wear on the street! Mary's heart is for 'unchurched' people, which makes perfect sense why she became my mentor, then. I think it is fitting that I had never attempted to create a stole before, just as this summer it was her influence that empowered me to try many other new things. And just as I feel those other new things have been for me, this stole turned out to be the most beautiful thing I've ever done. Have a look for yourself:


The fabric is hand-stamped batik from Indonesia, a particular cut of cloth I have been coveting for many years and using very sparingly. I love that I was able to share it with her. Purple is a very liturgical color, the color worn for both Advent and Lent, so it is a stole that COULD get a lot of use in a traditional church. I had never made a stole before, so I snuck into Cokesbury last week and traced one of their overpriced stoles to get the shape of the neck right.


The embroidery is silver metallic thread, very simply done, a french-stitched cross. I originally wanted to do an ichthyus on either side of both crosses, because I feel that Mary exemplifies Jesus' call to his to disciples to "come follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." I recognize there's a lot of mixed metaphor there, so that's another reason I kept it simple. I think it turned out much better than I ever could have anticipated.


And this is the finished product. She was speechless when she received it and even more so when she realized I had made it for her. I was SO excited to give it to her. It just goes to show that it is better to give than it is to receive. Mary told me I'll have to add this to my list of spiritual gifts (one of my assignments for the summer)... definitely not part of the school of thought that believes the nine listed in the Bible are all there is. That's okay, though. We're untraditional. A little ironic, no?

on being a grown up

This summer for me has been a lot about growing up-- more. I have been on my own, independent in every way for quite a long time now, but fear and complacency have kept me in the same place for much too long. As I explored this summer my calling regarding ministry, I also grew further into adulthood. Which makes sense. I certainly couldn't have answered an adult call with a child's maturity.

Recognizing spiritual growth came first though. It was a big deal for me to take on a pastoral care role-- when being an authority in the church is such a terrifying prospect for me. But I said yes because I felt God move, and it has been such a blessing. I spend time with, love on, and pray for eight summer camp counselors as they adjust to their own burgeoning adulthood. I am fumbling my way in the dark, but learning that my eyes are not for seeing, and my spirit is. It's hard to remember now, how I even felt two months ago when I began the summer with a beautiful feeling of anticipation for the life-altering season before me.

Since saying yes, I have led my first devotional, said my first prayers with a group, held people through their tears, laughed with them at their own mistakes, and puzzled out their next steps of faith. I have held one-on-ones and I have been a confidant to their secrets. I have discovered that I DO have gifts. I DO have the ability to be used by God, and my heart is willing for Him to call me to things that I fear. I have stood before my congregation and read the Word, agreed to write the Call to Worship, and even begun to help plan an entire worship service. I have cried with these young men and women, marveled at their strength, and promised to be their strength when they no longer have any. I've shared of myself, my gifts and my talents, and I have never been so richly rewarded.



My experience stepping out in such faith has led me to a decision I had been postponing for awhile. I have felt the gentle tugs of God, calling me to explore ministry for six months. But I have been unable and unwilling to act on something so far from my own idea of the future. I have been afraid and ignorant of God's intent for me. This summer has been the experience I needed to help me understand the power of a willing heart: and to recognize that mine has not been a very good example of a willing heart. But no more. I'm ready for the world to change again-- to look different from the world I know. I'm ready to follow in whatever God calls me to, no matter how antithetical that calling is to the picture I once had for myself. I'm ready.

That kind of maturity, to give up the selfish, juvenile ideas I created for myself, to accept something that scares me, to be willing to change my life for something I cannot explain-- that's new. And for me, the realization of it's ownership is exciting! A little surprising. No one ever wants to admit in the present tense that they are not mature. But in retrospect, how can I call myself anything else?

After a good and long discussion with a dear friend this evening, I realized quite another big thing about myself. That I like being a grown up. Being a grown up has become liking the woman that I am, and valuing myself as a part of God's Creation. Wanting to change to better reflect the name of "Christian". Being willing to sacrifice parts of my past for my future. Not being ashamed, unsure of myself or my decisions. Being led by the Holy Spirit to make mature decisions based not on my selfish desires but on what is right. And, as my friend pointed out tonight, that although I may have self-doubts in the end, I can genuinely appreciate God's creation of me.

Here's to growing up.

hearing whispers in church

In church on Sunday, with the thoughts from my previous entry very much in my mind, I listened as Pastor Amy preached on the necessity of the church. As my struggle with the concept of the modern church has grown in recent months, I found myself very attentive to the sermon. I wanted her to give me reasons to shelve the thoughts that have been circulating lately about the importance of worshiping in church-- the physical body that is church, and not every follower of Christ, the body of Christ, the church. Especially as I grow into new gifts this summer that I have previously not taken ownership of, and as I contemplate what my acceptance of them might mean for my future.

So I was listening. But the sermon only raised more questions and really settled no doubts or uneasy feelings for me. While I have begun to doubt the necessity of the modern church, I do not doubt it's importance. Ah ha, there is a difference. Surely something or someone can do good work, but still not be necessary, don't you think? Anyway, I'm saving those thoughts for later. But one of the arguments she posited was that in the time of the early church, when those first, brave, early Christians were living radically, the church was a place for them to come home to, and to draw strength from, and to find fellowship for living radically in a Roman world. These Christians were persecuted for their decision to live as Christ taught, and I imagine being a Christian in Rome was as marginalizing as it was to be Christian in Bukittinggi, West Sumatra, only ten times more intense. I never had anyone refuse to shake my hand because I was a Christian (like my father said he was taught), but I got very curious looks after I revealed I was a Christian. For me, the hard part was just being so different, alonef-- and so visibly, noticeably different (as a non-Muslim, I was only one of a very few who did not wear the hijab in Bukittinggi). And, then of course, let's make it life or death. I just can't imagine what they might have faced in pioneering a new way of life in an era like that of ancient Rome. So it's easy for me to understand that they NEEDED fellowship with the body of Christ-- why church was NECESSARY for them.

But Christianity today is not the same as it was. I won't condemn the changes that have occurred-- it is my understanding that many of those changes were necessary for our survival as a faith. But in some ways, I DO think we sold out. We began to incorporate Roman standards into our ways of living, to blend in, to survive-- standards that made it seem (and still might, depending on your faith tradition) that some Christians are above others (I'm talking about the subjugation of women to men and the justification of slavery found in the household codes of Ephesians and other parts of the New Testament). If we were still living radically, if we hadn't assimilated, maybe. If America weren't governed like we expect everyone to be a Christian, or that Christians are the majority, or if the American flag didn't find its way into our churches and "God bless America" didn't end up on car bumpers, maybe. But let's challenge ourselves for a minute here: are Christians today still living radically? Or have we BECOME Rome?

So anyway, all of this was swimming around in my mind, me thinking a million miles per second and trying to retain all of my thoughts, but still just wanting to find the comfort of complacency (please just tell me I'm wrong!), and then Pastor Amy read this verse, from Matthew. The author, here, was instructing the disciples in the ill treatment they could expect for their fulfillment of Jesus' teachings, and also comforting them that they should not fear those who would oppress them. He says, "So do not be afraid of them. There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs." Mt 10:26-27.

And it was the word, "whispered" that stood out. My mind changed tracks-- I wasn't thinking about the necessity of the church anymore, I was thinking about the whispers I've been hearing lately. The whispers about gifts and capabilities, and new callings and... ordination. About ministry as a vital and necessary part of fulfilling MY commitment to Christ. About a conversation I had with a friend about what evangelism is-- the way all Christians should live their lives, as a testimony to the powerful love of Christ-- and is not-- an oppressive, superficial get-the-word-out about Christianity, Bible distribution.

Although bringing it all back round: ordination BY a church body, yet feeling there is no necessity of church, and my own powerful desire to follow into whatever dark and scary place God calls me-- even if that means ministry and said ordination, (phew, take a breath) means only more questions and less understanding, I too am comforted by these words that nothing concealed will not be disclosed, nothing hidden will remain unknown. And while I might not be ready to proclaim from the roofs that I'm accepting this call to seek ordination, I will acknowledge that I am hearing it. And I am willing to explore what that means with my community of believers now, instead of hiding it in my heart. Now, that's progress. Let's hear it for whispers in church.

whispers of more

Tonight, I ventured downtown to meet with Mary, my advisor for the pastoral care resident position at Camp Fraser. In addition to this very important relationship, I also feel very connected to Mary in terms of my spiritual journey. In a sense, I feel as though Mary’s experience is kindred with mine, because it seems she’s already experienced so similar a calling to what I am now discerning, and because our unique circumstances are so familiar to one another’s.

So Mary speaks my language. She knows exactly what I need to hear and when I need to hear it. And she is able to make me really understand, and she listens to my doubts and understands even as she tells me they are groundless, and she empowers me because she sees my spiritual gifts. Which I don’t, yet.

So in our conversation tonight, we touched on multiple points that I’m still trying to absorb. Like, this summer isn’t about whether I have pastoral gifts, she says, this summer is about accepting them. There is no question that I have gifts here, according to Mary. I wish I could see what she is so clear about.

But in deciding where I would hold Camp Fraser Friday Debrief sessions, we went into the sanctuary. It was evening and it was dark and Mary put the lights on only in the pulpit… and then she invited me to stand behind it. And the place where it is holy revealed more to me. I stood from behind the pulpit, illuminated, and looked out into the rows of pews, the vaulted ceilings, the intricate stained glass. And I imagined people’s faces. And I had my breath taken away.

The sanctuary has never been such a place of peace before. And yet, amidst that peace, I felt a tiny twinge of fear, because I think that I can hear God whispering, but I don’t understand why. Why would He call me to this, when I feel so unworthy? So incapable? I almost said to a friend today, that I don’t think I deserve to represent the name of Christ. I’m so utterly human. I know that none of us is deserving, and yet I feel that I am even less so. Like Isaiah before he answered God’s call, I am completely unworthy – RUINED- with “unclean lips”.

So I left the church, wondering at this new revelation, this further step toward acceptance of God’s plan. And as I stood on the metro platform, watching all the different, beautiful faces walk by, the world tilted on its axis again, and words I read months ago suddenly became truth for me. Shane Claiborne says that Jesus gives us new eyes, and with these, we can look into the eyes of those we don’t even like and see the One we love. Well, I wouldn’t fathom to say that I’m where Shane Claiborne is, but I started to see a little of what he meant. I’ve never seen the face of a stranger and thought, “Beautiful, glorious work of God,” before. But as so many people streamed by me—with their children, their significant others, alone; in their work clothes, the only clothes they had, clothes that didn’t match; with their burdensome bodies, and limps, and some with their smooth, proud, steady gait—I thought, You are beautiful, and I can see God in every ‘flaw’ and ‘imperfection’—each of which He intended. And it occurred to me that while this was a major step for me in learning to TRULY VALUE CREATION, it must be remarkably easier to see God in the face of the ones that you don’t know, and will likely never know, than to see the face of God in that of the ones you know and do not like. There is always more.

As I watched people walk by, I saw a face that looked like my friend D’s significant other, whom I’ve only seen in a photograph once, and then another man who was slightly familiar… and then I saw my friend D! What a beautiful surprise, to first see God in strangers, and then to see friends among them. God is so clever. He really knows what He is doing.

I don’t. But I’m trying to learn. And I’m starting to hear the whispers of more.