I realized recently how much I've allowed myself to stray. From people and relationships I once highly prized. How much I've let others down. How much I've unintentionally changed. I've become a judge of others' loyalty but thought very highly of my own sense of loyalty without realizing that I have been as loyal to some of my relationships and commitments as a twenty year old gold digger in a retirement home. How much I have failed.
I can't be any more loyal than I perceive others have failed in their loyalty to me. Perhaps loyalty doesn't exist. Like moths, we are drawn to the light that is the brightest, until we get so close we are burned up in the flame-- wherever that light comes from, we go. We don't stay with a dull light when there's a better, brighter one attainable.
What can I say except that I am sorry, so sorry for neglecting my commitment? What can I do besides try to repair the damage I have created, avoid recommitting my former neglect? Cease to judge the disloyalty of others to myself and remember that just as grace is received, grace must be extended? There is nothing left to it.
Perhaps it's also time for me to make some long-term commitments to myself, as well. It's not so different to let myself down as I disappoint others. I'm always happy with myself until I'm not and then the self-loathing... it's so antithetical to the way I normally feel, but in those moments I can find the resolve to change rashly. Why does the long-term commitment to change disperse so quickly? And where is the investment in myself as a person, to avoid feeling like I've been unfaithful to myself? Tonight, I'm singing a little Ingrid Michaelson as I contemplate a REAL season of change. Especially the beginning lyrics of her new song, "Everybody," which go like this:
We have fallen down again tonight
In this world it's hard to get it right
Trying to make your heart fit like a glove
What it needs is love, love, love
Time to love myself, and love others. And not stop.
Hear for yourself: click 'audio' at the top of the widget, then play "Everybody."
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
aware
This morning when I woke up, I was slightly chilly. I sleep with the windows open, now that I can stand the cicadas and noise of traffic I hear falling asleep (the firehouse chatter somehow doesn't wake me), and I have to say that this morning feels more like fall than any of the reasons I've already said 'it's fall!' in the past week.
The thing is, I've never been aware of seasons before. I grew up in Texas, and truth-to-God, our only seasons are 'unbearably hot' and 'less hot'. I have memories of wearing shorts throughout our 'winter'. And then I spent a year in Indonesia, which is has tropical, equatorial climate and doesn't have four seasons, either. Which can certainly be nice. Then I moved to DC, and, well, I guess I'm slow on the uptake. Because I remember being absolutely awed by snow, my first real snow, sitting in Philosophy class, and seeing those magic little flakes fall from the sky and cover the world while I watched out the window. And to be taken surprise by true 'winter,' must mean that I missed fall the first time around. And the second.
But this fall, I am aware of the change of the seasons. Almost like my 'first snow' that first year, this fall feels like a first. I am shocked how quickly we moved from mild summer to chilly-nighted fall, and I have to also say that it wasn't until this summer that I was even really able to express my love for summer nights in DC. I am becoming aware of the change of the seasons, and at 25, it seems like just a shame that I wasn't able to understand before now. My friend E likes to say that I frequently dress myself 'seasonally-inappropriately'-- and in my own defense I believe it is because I did not understand what seasons were. When you can basically wear the same clothes year-round in Texas and Indonesia, it doesn't at first make sense to have a 'hot' and 'cold' wardrobe. But now I begin to understand.
I like that this dawn of understanding is holding hands with my learning about where my food comes from. I so appreciate being able to identify what foods are in season, but I just hate that it also comes with the knowledge that those foods that are not in season, which are still being sold from our produce stores have been genetically altered to withstand out-of-season temperatures and conditions, or were shipped in from hella-far away, which means that the price we pay for food (not just as individual consumers) is more expensive than any of us can afford. Practically none of which would return back to the farmers. Listen to me, I sound so earthy-crunchy-hippie. But responsibility is a beast, and once you know, you just know, right?
Anyway, I think that's enough waxing on about Fall. It's time to go enjoy it, starting with a trip to the farmer's market to pick up my weekly produce straight from my farmer. I hope you're enjoying fall as much as I know I will today!
The thing is, I've never been aware of seasons before. I grew up in Texas, and truth-to-God, our only seasons are 'unbearably hot' and 'less hot'. I have memories of wearing shorts throughout our 'winter'. And then I spent a year in Indonesia, which is has tropical, equatorial climate and doesn't have four seasons, either. Which can certainly be nice. Then I moved to DC, and, well, I guess I'm slow on the uptake. Because I remember being absolutely awed by snow, my first real snow, sitting in Philosophy class, and seeing those magic little flakes fall from the sky and cover the world while I watched out the window. And to be taken surprise by true 'winter,' must mean that I missed fall the first time around. And the second.
But this fall, I am aware of the change of the seasons. Almost like my 'first snow' that first year, this fall feels like a first. I am shocked how quickly we moved from mild summer to chilly-nighted fall, and I have to also say that it wasn't until this summer that I was even really able to express my love for summer nights in DC. I am becoming aware of the change of the seasons, and at 25, it seems like just a shame that I wasn't able to understand before now. My friend E likes to say that I frequently dress myself 'seasonally-inappropriately'-- and in my own defense I believe it is because I did not understand what seasons were. When you can basically wear the same clothes year-round in Texas and Indonesia, it doesn't at first make sense to have a 'hot' and 'cold' wardrobe. But now I begin to understand.
I like that this dawn of understanding is holding hands with my learning about where my food comes from. I so appreciate being able to identify what foods are in season, but I just hate that it also comes with the knowledge that those foods that are not in season, which are still being sold from our produce stores have been genetically altered to withstand out-of-season temperatures and conditions, or were shipped in from hella-far away, which means that the price we pay for food (not just as individual consumers) is more expensive than any of us can afford. Practically none of which would return back to the farmers. Listen to me, I sound so earthy-crunchy-hippie. But responsibility is a beast, and once you know, you just know, right?
Anyway, I think that's enough waxing on about Fall. It's time to go enjoy it, starting with a trip to the farmer's market to pick up my weekly produce straight from my farmer. I hope you're enjoying fall as much as I know I will today!
Monday, September 7, 2009
a million things
There are a million things I did not do this weekend. Starting the list with laundry, sweeping, and bed-making, I could go on for quite some time. Let's see. There's the supper co-op supper I've yet to cook. The mounds of reading I've yet to do. That bag business I hoped to start. The bathroom I meant to clean. Etc, etc, etc.
But let me tell you where I am right now. I'm sitting on my front porch. There's a big mason jar full of sweet, iced black tea on the table next to my cushioned chair. The sun is setting, and dark is coming on. Candles are lit. The rain brought in the breeze. Ingrid Michaelson is playing (thank you for taking me back, Pandora). And I've got an acorn in my hands (currently set on my keyboard) that tells me that summer is over... and Fall has come!
Despite the million things, there were important milestones passed this weekend. I celebrated, and took my first breath since the start of my third year of graduate school. I took time to be with friends that make life good. I cared for others. I labored over the word of God, and I let the Holy Spirit in, to speak through me-- and together we moved (quickly!) through my first sermon. I've become a preacher (broad claim-- SO much more work to be done, areas to improve!). I continued in certain commitments to be a better steward of creation, and I began thinking of new ones. I dreamed big dreams.
Sometimes I think it doesn't matter how many lists that I make to keep me 'on track': it's the moments that I can't think to list that make life worth living. It's not taking out the garbage, changing the oil, or working on the degree plan that keeps me going. It's the impulsive things, the things we do at the urging of the Holy Spirit, or a sense of adventure, or a need that cannot be explained but must be acted upon.
It's deciding on a drive home that it's time to make a bold statement of commitment, and then walking into Tattoo Paradise in my Sunday best, nervously declaring, "I'm here to get my nose pierced."
It's leaving a meeting with a million new things to add to the list in progress, but ditching the responsibility to climb in the back of someone's truck to enjoy the beauty of the end of day with friends.
It's reaching across the table to uncover Scripture and understanding that it's time to take a bold step ahead on an uncharted path: then agreeing to preach with no preparation but the assurance of the Holy Spirit.
It's sitting in a car in the rain. Hearing a story of hope. Renewing my belief in the existence and power of love.
It's whatever grand gesture it takes to remind you of the grandest gesture of all: your own creation. It's the big things, or the big little things, or the unexpected things; it's the forgotten things, the take-you-by-surprise things, the remembered things. It's the changing of seasons. The changing of minds. The changing of hearts, and the decisions made in response, shared with others. It's whatever it takes to remember you're alive and living!
Every so often, I understand the need in my life, to participate in a grand gesture. It's so easy here to do so much without doing anything at all, we talk and don't act. We push paper but don't see people. I used to feel bad for the things I would do every so often in response to these areas of disconnect in my life, explaining them away as my three-month need for craziness, or saying "I don't care." But I will own them now-- those acts of minor insanity, yes, desperation, they were responses to my inability to communicate my need to connect with existing as a creation of God. They were all about me making a change, or seeing a change; all frustrated attempts because I got so caught up in the millions of things I had to do, I couldn't see and I couldn't hear and I couldn't feel the millions of things I am. I am. I exist. I will be.
I'm going to change those frustrated attempts. My three-month act of craziness this time will be to rest in the stillness of my own understanding. To make grand gestures, but not out of frustration or misunderstanding. To make them out of readiness to take risks for all the good things in life that make it worth living. To continue to connect with my understanding of creation by taking time to sit on my porch with a glass of tea. I commit myself to celebrating the seasons of my life and all creation-- and all the beauty, hope and a million promises that such celebration will bring.
But let me tell you where I am right now. I'm sitting on my front porch. There's a big mason jar full of sweet, iced black tea on the table next to my cushioned chair. The sun is setting, and dark is coming on. Candles are lit. The rain brought in the breeze. Ingrid Michaelson is playing (thank you for taking me back, Pandora). And I've got an acorn in my hands (currently set on my keyboard) that tells me that summer is over... and Fall has come!
Despite the million things, there were important milestones passed this weekend. I celebrated, and took my first breath since the start of my third year of graduate school. I took time to be with friends that make life good. I cared for others. I labored over the word of God, and I let the Holy Spirit in, to speak through me-- and together we moved (quickly!) through my first sermon. I've become a preacher (broad claim-- SO much more work to be done, areas to improve!). I continued in certain commitments to be a better steward of creation, and I began thinking of new ones. I dreamed big dreams.
Sometimes I think it doesn't matter how many lists that I make to keep me 'on track': it's the moments that I can't think to list that make life worth living. It's not taking out the garbage, changing the oil, or working on the degree plan that keeps me going. It's the impulsive things, the things we do at the urging of the Holy Spirit, or a sense of adventure, or a need that cannot be explained but must be acted upon.
It's deciding on a drive home that it's time to make a bold statement of commitment, and then walking into Tattoo Paradise in my Sunday best, nervously declaring, "I'm here to get my nose pierced."
It's leaving a meeting with a million new things to add to the list in progress, but ditching the responsibility to climb in the back of someone's truck to enjoy the beauty of the end of day with friends.
It's reaching across the table to uncover Scripture and understanding that it's time to take a bold step ahead on an uncharted path: then agreeing to preach with no preparation but the assurance of the Holy Spirit.
It's sitting in a car in the rain. Hearing a story of hope. Renewing my belief in the existence and power of love.
It's whatever grand gesture it takes to remind you of the grandest gesture of all: your own creation. It's the big things, or the big little things, or the unexpected things; it's the forgotten things, the take-you-by-surprise things, the remembered things. It's the changing of seasons. The changing of minds. The changing of hearts, and the decisions made in response, shared with others. It's whatever it takes to remember you're alive and living!
Every so often, I understand the need in my life, to participate in a grand gesture. It's so easy here to do so much without doing anything at all, we talk and don't act. We push paper but don't see people. I used to feel bad for the things I would do every so often in response to these areas of disconnect in my life, explaining them away as my three-month need for craziness, or saying "I don't care." But I will own them now-- those acts of minor insanity, yes, desperation, they were responses to my inability to communicate my need to connect with existing as a creation of God. They were all about me making a change, or seeing a change; all frustrated attempts because I got so caught up in the millions of things I had to do, I couldn't see and I couldn't hear and I couldn't feel the millions of things I am. I am. I exist. I will be.
I'm going to change those frustrated attempts. My three-month act of craziness this time will be to rest in the stillness of my own understanding. To make grand gestures, but not out of frustration or misunderstanding. To make them out of readiness to take risks for all the good things in life that make it worth living. To continue to connect with my understanding of creation by taking time to sit on my porch with a glass of tea. I commit myself to celebrating the seasons of my life and all creation-- and all the beauty, hope and a million promises that such celebration will bring.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
small steps, big changes
I have to write quickly, before my wildly gobbling brain moves on to the next exciting thing and all of these small steps lose their newness. There have been several topics lately which have been subject of my personal research. Here are where my off-time brain power has been focused:
1) smart grocery shopping. I've been reading books on how to maximize savings at grocery stores using coupons during sales, and 'stockpiling' on things I use regularly. I've learned a lot lately about how grocery stores work, which has contributed to being able to shop better. When you know what can be frozen and how long, what good prices are for the things you buy, and what is better to make yourself, than buy prepared, you can save quite a bit of money. I also recently discovered that while I know that usually 2/$4 sales don't mean you have to buy 2 to get that price, I didn't know you could use a manufacturer's coupon AND a store coupon for the same item. I hadn't made a habit of getting rainchecks when sale items were sold out. And I didn't know my local stores doubled coupons up to $.99. Live and learn.
2) being more conscious of where my food comes from. This is the first summer I've ever tried to garden. While my summer garden wasn't super successful (in terms of fruitfulness), it was a very interesting learning experience. There are still tomatoes on the vine. And there are new peppers budding. Anyway, since I couldn't grow my own produce (although I'm not done trying yet), I've joined a CSA (community supported agriculture)! I placed my first order today, and I pick up on Saturday morning. I ordered a whole lotta basil (pesto!!!) and a whole lotta tomatoes (a ten pound box! I'm going to try my hand at puttin' by--canning for later). I'm excited to know exactly where my produce comes from, support a local famer (Pennsylvania), and have a regular steady supply of produce, to help encourage my diet to be more fruit and veggie-centered, instead of meat centered and heavier on fat and processed foods.
3) researching sustainable living. This includes both 1) and 2), and budgeting, learning how to make my own laundry detergent, and learning how to preserve. I've also been focused on reducing my carbon footprint-- I can proudly say last week I walked to work 5/6 days, and I'm making a good faith effort this week. There are so many benefits to making these small decisions: exercise, the knowledge that I didn't waste energy or add to the exhaust we breathe, and saving money on gas. Eventually, I'm going to be able to implement the envelope system for budgeting and spending my money in an effort to live on less, and the more I read, the more I feel like I could change.
...and now back to searching for salsa recipes for canning, preferred conditions for eggplant growth, and articles on how one knows when to pick and eat figs! hooray for small steps that lead to big changes!
1) smart grocery shopping. I've been reading books on how to maximize savings at grocery stores using coupons during sales, and 'stockpiling' on things I use regularly. I've learned a lot lately about how grocery stores work, which has contributed to being able to shop better. When you know what can be frozen and how long, what good prices are for the things you buy, and what is better to make yourself, than buy prepared, you can save quite a bit of money. I also recently discovered that while I know that usually 2/$4 sales don't mean you have to buy 2 to get that price, I didn't know you could use a manufacturer's coupon AND a store coupon for the same item. I hadn't made a habit of getting rainchecks when sale items were sold out. And I didn't know my local stores doubled coupons up to $.99. Live and learn.
2) being more conscious of where my food comes from. This is the first summer I've ever tried to garden. While my summer garden wasn't super successful (in terms of fruitfulness), it was a very interesting learning experience. There are still tomatoes on the vine. And there are new peppers budding. Anyway, since I couldn't grow my own produce (although I'm not done trying yet), I've joined a CSA (community supported agriculture)! I placed my first order today, and I pick up on Saturday morning. I ordered a whole lotta basil (pesto!!!) and a whole lotta tomatoes (a ten pound box! I'm going to try my hand at puttin' by--canning for later). I'm excited to know exactly where my produce comes from, support a local famer (Pennsylvania), and have a regular steady supply of produce, to help encourage my diet to be more fruit and veggie-centered, instead of meat centered and heavier on fat and processed foods.
3) researching sustainable living. This includes both 1) and 2), and budgeting, learning how to make my own laundry detergent, and learning how to preserve. I've also been focused on reducing my carbon footprint-- I can proudly say last week I walked to work 5/6 days, and I'm making a good faith effort this week. There are so many benefits to making these small decisions: exercise, the knowledge that I didn't waste energy or add to the exhaust we breathe, and saving money on gas. Eventually, I'm going to be able to implement the envelope system for budgeting and spending my money in an effort to live on less, and the more I read, the more I feel like I could change.
...and now back to searching for salsa recipes for canning, preferred conditions for eggplant growth, and articles on how one knows when to pick and eat figs! hooray for small steps that lead to big changes!
Sunday, August 16, 2009
thinking about global community
This moment of introspection is becoming the best part of my day.
I was nearly half an hour late to church this morning. I did not miss the sermon, however, and the message was widely centered around the idea of community. We follow the lectionary at my church, and the gospel reading this morning was quite lengthy-- the service of foot washing that Jesus does for the disciples. How in those simple actions, Jesus was once again in service to the world, service born of love for community. And the prime example of how we are all called to serve-- our love is an action-- our community. We experience community in relationships; relationships between two people-- ourselves and another-- but our community is not just those relationships put together. We understand on the micro level, but we are not limited to a micro community. Our community is not just who we know and spend our time with, our community is the entire body of our human brothers and sisters. The global community and every living thing in it.
I realize how 'hippie' this sounds. But it feels so enlightened. I was not reared to care this way for others-- sure, I was taught to be fair, and to not harm, and that my actions have consequences. But to actively seek loving others-- no, no, that I still am learning how to do. The more time I spend not struggling to care for me, the more energy I have to devote to keeping my eyes and ears open to witness the rest of the world live. And open eyes, once opened, cannot be closed without remembering images of what has already been seen. It's okay if I sound 'hippie,' because I'm finding out that if caring for others is 'hippie,' than that is a moniker I'll gladly accept.
I was able today to remember a not-too-distant dream of living in intentional community. And just because my first opportunity to live in intentional community did not come to long-term fruition, does not mean that the idea of living that way has failed. I still really believe that when you live together with others, when people born from different families depend on one another for their livelihood and in service to each other and to others, still, family is created. No one can control the circumstances of their birth, but we all can control where we go from there. I so often feel on the verge of getting it. On the verge of being able to cast away my materialism and consumeristic nature, to not only know logically that the things in life that are important don't have anything to do with how I look or how much I have, but how when I share what I have with others, I create beauty. Today, I remembered how close I have come to that feeling, and that it exists. I remembered why I wanted to start this blog, and more what the idea for this project was centered around-- the global community. To see what others are doing, beyond my sheltered life. To spread a message of empowerment and hope to more and more. To hear their stories and to acknowledge and preserve them as a source of encouragement to others who feel that they simply can't. My hope is to live and breathe and sleep and dream community. How could I have forgotten?
In conversation with a friend this weekend about living in service to community, she shared with me a really intriguing idea. It seems that she keeps a list. A list of 100 things-- a life list. I think this is probably somewhat similar to the 'Bucket List' idea, although I never saw the movie. The only difference here, is that you can't make your list all about you. It shouldn't be 100 things to do before you die that will bring you glory. Or even all things for the sake of doing them. The point is to make a list of 100 things that will benefit your community. Things that will make you a better person, more equipped to serve others. Things that will directly or indirectly provide some sort of service or relief to someone in need. And while that sounds really specific, (and also really 'hippie'), it needn't be boring. For instance, my friend has on her list that she'd like to own a beach house some day when she has extra funds to invest, so that she can volunteer her beach house as a retreat center for young people groups to gather for fellowship. While I don't necessarily want to add that to my list, I can understand that it's a bit more realistic for someone in her (or my) position to have a goal like that than to put on the list, 'give all of my possessions to charity'. In creating a goal, it is sometimes necessary to be realistic. I've only had a few days to think about it, but I thought that I would start my Community 100 List here-- and since I fully anticipate this blog will stay with me as I work toward #1, perhaps I'll get to cross some other things off the list, as well.
Community 100 List
1. Experience global community through the preparation and two year adventure of Project Empowerment (Project Global Community! Should we rename?)
2. Pay off my student loans, through my own blood, sweat and tears-- and never borrow again
3. Graduate with (not only degrees but) ideas and understanding to implement them
4. Understand and be able to communicate with enough Spanish and French for Latin America and Africa
5. Eat locally
6. Learn how to preserve and can
7. Garden and share the bounty with others, successfully
8. Walk more, drive less
9. Live more generously, bury selfishness
10. Meet brethren, and sit with God on all seven continents (or in the getting to of all seven continents)
11. Be a storyteller with hopeful and sometimes disturbing narratives-- and publish them
Clearly I'll be thinking about more ways to contribute to the global community-- and listing them-- this week!
I was nearly half an hour late to church this morning. I did not miss the sermon, however, and the message was widely centered around the idea of community. We follow the lectionary at my church, and the gospel reading this morning was quite lengthy-- the service of foot washing that Jesus does for the disciples. How in those simple actions, Jesus was once again in service to the world, service born of love for community. And the prime example of how we are all called to serve-- our love is an action-- our community. We experience community in relationships; relationships between two people-- ourselves and another-- but our community is not just those relationships put together. We understand on the micro level, but we are not limited to a micro community. Our community is not just who we know and spend our time with, our community is the entire body of our human brothers and sisters. The global community and every living thing in it.
I realize how 'hippie' this sounds. But it feels so enlightened. I was not reared to care this way for others-- sure, I was taught to be fair, and to not harm, and that my actions have consequences. But to actively seek loving others-- no, no, that I still am learning how to do. The more time I spend not struggling to care for me, the more energy I have to devote to keeping my eyes and ears open to witness the rest of the world live. And open eyes, once opened, cannot be closed without remembering images of what has already been seen. It's okay if I sound 'hippie,' because I'm finding out that if caring for others is 'hippie,' than that is a moniker I'll gladly accept.
I was able today to remember a not-too-distant dream of living in intentional community. And just because my first opportunity to live in intentional community did not come to long-term fruition, does not mean that the idea of living that way has failed. I still really believe that when you live together with others, when people born from different families depend on one another for their livelihood and in service to each other and to others, still, family is created. No one can control the circumstances of their birth, but we all can control where we go from there. I so often feel on the verge of getting it. On the verge of being able to cast away my materialism and consumeristic nature, to not only know logically that the things in life that are important don't have anything to do with how I look or how much I have, but how when I share what I have with others, I create beauty. Today, I remembered how close I have come to that feeling, and that it exists. I remembered why I wanted to start this blog, and more what the idea for this project was centered around-- the global community. To see what others are doing, beyond my sheltered life. To spread a message of empowerment and hope to more and more. To hear their stories and to acknowledge and preserve them as a source of encouragement to others who feel that they simply can't. My hope is to live and breathe and sleep and dream community. How could I have forgotten?
In conversation with a friend this weekend about living in service to community, she shared with me a really intriguing idea. It seems that she keeps a list. A list of 100 things-- a life list. I think this is probably somewhat similar to the 'Bucket List' idea, although I never saw the movie. The only difference here, is that you can't make your list all about you. It shouldn't be 100 things to do before you die that will bring you glory. Or even all things for the sake of doing them. The point is to make a list of 100 things that will benefit your community. Things that will make you a better person, more equipped to serve others. Things that will directly or indirectly provide some sort of service or relief to someone in need. And while that sounds really specific, (and also really 'hippie'), it needn't be boring. For instance, my friend has on her list that she'd like to own a beach house some day when she has extra funds to invest, so that she can volunteer her beach house as a retreat center for young people groups to gather for fellowship. While I don't necessarily want to add that to my list, I can understand that it's a bit more realistic for someone in her (or my) position to have a goal like that than to put on the list, 'give all of my possessions to charity'. In creating a goal, it is sometimes necessary to be realistic. I've only had a few days to think about it, but I thought that I would start my Community 100 List here-- and since I fully anticipate this blog will stay with me as I work toward #1, perhaps I'll get to cross some other things off the list, as well.
Community 100 List
1. Experience global community through the preparation and two year adventure of Project Empowerment (Project Global Community! Should we rename?)
2. Pay off my student loans, through my own blood, sweat and tears-- and never borrow again
3. Graduate with (not only degrees but) ideas and understanding to implement them
4. Understand and be able to communicate with enough Spanish and French for Latin America and Africa
5. Eat locally
6. Learn how to preserve and can
7. Garden and share the bounty with others, successfully
8. Walk more, drive less
9. Live more generously, bury selfishness
10. Meet brethren, and sit with God on all seven continents (or in the getting to of all seven continents)
11. Be a storyteller with hopeful and sometimes disturbing narratives-- and publish them
Clearly I'll be thinking about more ways to contribute to the global community-- and listing them-- this week!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
no day has to be ordinary
... and so, today was not. Work was business as usual, and there was nothing particularly alarming or frustrating or productive, per se. But there were definitely special moments that make today special. I started my day like this:
Cheerios and skim milk. I love those silly little travel containers-- perfect portions and the milk fits in the cereal container, to boot. I've got an 8 oz one to go with that 4 oz one, which is perfect when I bring a peanut butter and strawberry jam english muffin for brekkie.
Erica and I sweated it out cleaning out closets in the unairconditioning, but now the office is unboxed. We worked more on community news centers (read: bulletin boards). And we had a nice lunch in the narthex of the chapel. Maybe my blueberry brownies were involved.
After work I took a walking fieldtrip to... (drum roll, please!)
the LIBRARY!
It's been well over a year since I've been to the public library, despite its close proximity to my house. I mean, I suffered without access to the library in Indonesia. And now, here I am literally a five minute walk around the corner, and the last trip I took was with Ben. Talk about an untapped resource. How wealthy I am and how much i squander it.
I decided I wanted to look for a book about canning/preserving, but there weren't any on the shelves. Instead, I checked out tons of books on green, sustainable living! I was surprised there were so many options (I do live in DC, though... I probably shouldn't have been). I really picked up some great titles. I'm excited about an alternative to Netflix movies!
And after the library, there was time for cooking tasty food. Erica had pizza for lunch and man, it left me with a craving. I decided to make my own-- homemade sauce, homemade focaccia crust, and sauteed eggplant and red peppers with turkey pepperoni and GOAT CHEESE toppings! Not only tasty but healthy, too-- I used 2% milk mozzarella, whole wheat flour for my crust and an entire red bell pepper and eggplant, not to mention the can of whole tomatoes and whole onion in the sauce. Please forgive the unclean stove in the background.
See all the ways in which my day was not ordinary? Well, I'm utterly convinced-- I'm satisfied. That might be all I can ask for. And now, for a little more bedtime reading...
Cheerios and skim milk. I love those silly little travel containers-- perfect portions and the milk fits in the cereal container, to boot. I've got an 8 oz one to go with that 4 oz one, which is perfect when I bring a peanut butter and strawberry jam english muffin for brekkie.Erica and I sweated it out cleaning out closets in the unairconditioning, but now the office is unboxed. We worked more on community news centers (read: bulletin boards). And we had a nice lunch in the narthex of the chapel. Maybe my blueberry brownies were involved.
After work I took a walking fieldtrip to... (drum roll, please!)
the LIBRARY!It's been well over a year since I've been to the public library, despite its close proximity to my house. I mean, I suffered without access to the library in Indonesia. And now, here I am literally a five minute walk around the corner, and the last trip I took was with Ben. Talk about an untapped resource. How wealthy I am and how much i squander it.
I decided I wanted to look for a book about canning/preserving, but there weren't any on the shelves. Instead, I checked out tons of books on green, sustainable living! I was surprised there were so many options (I do live in DC, though... I probably shouldn't have been). I really picked up some great titles. I'm excited about an alternative to Netflix movies!
And after the library, there was time for cooking tasty food. Erica had pizza for lunch and man, it left me with a craving. I decided to make my own-- homemade sauce, homemade focaccia crust, and sauteed eggplant and red peppers with turkey pepperoni and GOAT CHEESE toppings! Not only tasty but healthy, too-- I used 2% milk mozzarella, whole wheat flour for my crust and an entire red bell pepper and eggplant, not to mention the can of whole tomatoes and whole onion in the sauce. Please forgive the unclean stove in the background.
See all the ways in which my day was not ordinary? Well, I'm utterly convinced-- I'm satisfied. That might be all I can ask for. And now, for a little more bedtime reading...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
it's been quite awhile
since I've written. Yes, class and work are major consumers of my time, and when I'm focusing on deadlines and responsibilities, there is sometimes not a lot of time left for things that don't seem to be apparent priorities. But class and work have not been my sole reason for taking a hiatus from writing. I think, for awhile, I just didn't want to be introspective. I didn't want to take time to reflect on how my daily actions were reflecting the desire of my heart, which is this project. I didn't want to devote time to either what I was doing now to further that dream, or rather, what I wasn't doing. And I didn't want to devote time to thinking about how lack of action might mean that the empowerment project never comes to fruition-- and that I might become trapped in a life of comfort attempting to justify to myself why I didn't go. So, I just stopped: thinking, writing, brainstorming, networking, and planning.
But I did not stop dreaming. I did not stop talking. And I did not erase the hope that this project has created in my life.
So now, after a modest break from classes and a moderately lightened workload, I have had time to think. To put some perspective in the picture of this project (alliteration, anyone?). And I am ready to resume the regular periods of thought and self care that this journey will require of me.
I had a wonderful conversation this evening with new and old friends. We were talking about the things in life which we love. How those loves can define us, and how we can find happiness in pursuing those things. Now, ultimately we were operating from the assumption that the things that we love are healthy, good for us, and that these passions in life were pursuable. And generally speaking, the things that we shared around the table were: photography, reading, sewing. And I responded, "breathing," and felt both dumb and obvious.
But that is really my response, and I'm glad I've come to realize it. I love the act of living, how each day is an adventure, and how, when I give myself time, I am able to see my own self evolve. I love how I am capable of being taught and teaching others. I love breathing in all the wonderful things about my life: taking time for breath between my roles as student and administrator, breathing in the scents of summer, the aromas of new and interesting things to eat, the scent on the air in a foreign place-- including the smoggy streets of Jakarta and the salty seas of Delaware. And I love it most of all, when life takes my breath away-- when I see God working in my life and in the lives of others, when joy or excitement overwhelm me, and when all those little things line up and create big moments.
I'm an adventurer now, albeit a late-blooming, somewhat cautious adventurer. I am ready to take on more, to see more, to hear more, to experience more, to do more. I am ready to make a commitment in my life to do the things that I have forbidden myself to do, the things I am not most likely to do, and the things that I am afraid to do. A friend of mine and I recently had a conversation regarding life expectancy after my twenty-fifth birthday and how, if I live to be 75 (near the average life expectancy for an American female), at 25, one-third of my life has now elapsed. It really got me thinking about the things that have yet to be done, that I only have two-thirds left to do (if I'm lucky). I'm not going to keep myself bound to the expectations of others if I can't validate them. I'm not going to hold myself accountable to the things I said I'd 'never do' or 'always do' any longer if there's not a reason. It's time to create my own alternative reality: a different way to approach the practice of life that hopefully will defy some rules of society, will definitely defy former rules of mine, and hopefully will help me understand more that reality is not the life that society presents to me, but what I choose to accept.
I feel that I've grown up so much in the last six months, but still that I'll never be a "grown up". And in a lot of ways, I totally am, but there's still so much room for more. I've been reading the blogs of others (so much wisdom shared out there), and I've been exploring new and radical (to me) ideas of community, sustainable living, and creative life. I've been pretty moved by the ways others have committed themselves and their families to practices that most Americans would consider strange. They have joined community supported agriculture (CSA) organizations, have made budgets and committed to keeping themselves accountable to them, and have organized communities which are counter-cultural. Despite their unfamiliarity, I've been increasingly inspired by these actions made by individuals which demonstrate how they live out their convictions. I've always wanted to be opinionated and to stand by my convictions, but it has taken me until now to really feel strongly about the act of living. Slowly, as I learn more and understand better how things are done, I am developing opinions on how things should change. Now, that is radical.
So anyway, I'm excited by a ton of new ideas, and want to make this blog also (it's so multi-purpose) a catalog for the ones I'd like to adopt. I really feel that in the details of how I exist here and now, I will enable myself financially, emotionally, and spiritually to continue the dream I began this blog about. I also am ready to be a more reliable blogger, and hopefully beyond this post I can demonstrate that this vision is a priority for me, and not just pie-in-the-sky.
But I did not stop dreaming. I did not stop talking. And I did not erase the hope that this project has created in my life.
So now, after a modest break from classes and a moderately lightened workload, I have had time to think. To put some perspective in the picture of this project (alliteration, anyone?). And I am ready to resume the regular periods of thought and self care that this journey will require of me.
I had a wonderful conversation this evening with new and old friends. We were talking about the things in life which we love. How those loves can define us, and how we can find happiness in pursuing those things. Now, ultimately we were operating from the assumption that the things that we love are healthy, good for us, and that these passions in life were pursuable. And generally speaking, the things that we shared around the table were: photography, reading, sewing. And I responded, "breathing," and felt both dumb and obvious.
But that is really my response, and I'm glad I've come to realize it. I love the act of living, how each day is an adventure, and how, when I give myself time, I am able to see my own self evolve. I love how I am capable of being taught and teaching others. I love breathing in all the wonderful things about my life: taking time for breath between my roles as student and administrator, breathing in the scents of summer, the aromas of new and interesting things to eat, the scent on the air in a foreign place-- including the smoggy streets of Jakarta and the salty seas of Delaware. And I love it most of all, when life takes my breath away-- when I see God working in my life and in the lives of others, when joy or excitement overwhelm me, and when all those little things line up and create big moments.
I'm an adventurer now, albeit a late-blooming, somewhat cautious adventurer. I am ready to take on more, to see more, to hear more, to experience more, to do more. I am ready to make a commitment in my life to do the things that I have forbidden myself to do, the things I am not most likely to do, and the things that I am afraid to do. A friend of mine and I recently had a conversation regarding life expectancy after my twenty-fifth birthday and how, if I live to be 75 (near the average life expectancy for an American female), at 25, one-third of my life has now elapsed. It really got me thinking about the things that have yet to be done, that I only have two-thirds left to do (if I'm lucky). I'm not going to keep myself bound to the expectations of others if I can't validate them. I'm not going to hold myself accountable to the things I said I'd 'never do' or 'always do' any longer if there's not a reason. It's time to create my own alternative reality: a different way to approach the practice of life that hopefully will defy some rules of society, will definitely defy former rules of mine, and hopefully will help me understand more that reality is not the life that society presents to me, but what I choose to accept.
I feel that I've grown up so much in the last six months, but still that I'll never be a "grown up". And in a lot of ways, I totally am, but there's still so much room for more. I've been reading the blogs of others (so much wisdom shared out there), and I've been exploring new and radical (to me) ideas of community, sustainable living, and creative life. I've been pretty moved by the ways others have committed themselves and their families to practices that most Americans would consider strange. They have joined community supported agriculture (CSA) organizations, have made budgets and committed to keeping themselves accountable to them, and have organized communities which are counter-cultural. Despite their unfamiliarity, I've been increasingly inspired by these actions made by individuals which demonstrate how they live out their convictions. I've always wanted to be opinionated and to stand by my convictions, but it has taken me until now to really feel strongly about the act of living. Slowly, as I learn more and understand better how things are done, I am developing opinions on how things should change. Now, that is radical.
So anyway, I'm excited by a ton of new ideas, and want to make this blog also (it's so multi-purpose) a catalog for the ones I'd like to adopt. I really feel that in the details of how I exist here and now, I will enable myself financially, emotionally, and spiritually to continue the dream I began this blog about. I also am ready to be a more reliable blogger, and hopefully beyond this post I can demonstrate that this vision is a priority for me, and not just pie-in-the-sky.
Friday, March 6, 2009
it is time to reflect
Tomorrow, I move into my new home. A home that has widely been anticipated for over the last two months. A home that initially was not my first choice, but which has become my salvation. A respite from the rigors of displacement, and more than anything else, a real lesson learned. Now is the time to reflect on what the last two months of displacement, and the prior two months of uncertainty have borne.
I have written before on the subject of intentional community, back when a group of students and I were hoping to practice living and loving together. Well, our group put our guaranteed housing on the line and went for it, house hunting and hoping, sacrificing the security of our dorms for the promise of family living. Each of us held a share of the dream of living together as brothers and sisters would live, learning from one another in daily interaction and give and take, and we gave our vision everything we had. In the end, however, it wasn't our time, and we jointly decided not to continue to pursue our project after the spring semester began.
For me, as I'm sure for the others, this was a major loss. I originally experienced it as something of a death. Isn't the loss of an ideal, an acceptance of something less than what we know we are meant for, akin to a part of ourselves dying which cannot be revived? We had all been thinking and dreaming about this for quite some time, some even longer than others, and I had spent time since last summer in contemplation of the ways this would work and what it could become. I had grown so attached to the idea I could not contemplate it's failure until failure was moments away. I had no reasonable contingency plan, and I wanted no contingency situation. So when we had to move on, away from what we had seen ourselves doing in this home, I almost could not. At this point, much of my belongings were stored illicitly in closets and furrowed in storage units, I had already spent an entire week commuting from a friend's home twenty miles from school and work (which translates to a 50 minute commute during the work week), and I was beginning to run shy of the meager rations of shampoo and toothpaste I had determined would see me through my period of displacement. I felt the loss of our communal dream, and I felt untethered, unconnected to anyplace I could consider home.
But in that place of loss, I found a place of belonging. My old friend Na used to say that God uses the broken things best; it's my most beloved lesson from college, the infancy of my Christian life. And it is still true. When you think you're whole and you don't need God, you're not. But when you know you're broken and turn to God for what you lack, that is where you can find your strength again. That is when you become yourself.
I was taken in, by friends. Friends who had to sacrifice to take me in, friends who were inconvenienced by my presence but who did it anyway. Friends who put up with my complaining, my new late hours, with the things that went missing from their refrigerators. And my belongings, which I've all but forgotten I have-- they have been stored in corners of friend's dorm rooms, in places where their things ought to be stored instead. My coworkers have looked past the boxes behind my desk at the office, and friends have overlooked the piles and stacks of possessions in my car (with the exception of a few well-intentioned jokes about the 7-Eleven on wheels). Friends have fed me, picked things up from the grocery store for me, lent me clothes, shoes, laundry detergent, closet space. I cannot remember a time when I've lived with less, or a time when I've felt like I still had so much.
The lesson here is that faithfulness does pay off. Perhaps not in the ways that you think it will; perhaps you still won't get your way. You might have to give up dreams you had, but new ones will grow, and you'll be glad you didn't let go of what you felt you were called to. I wouldn't ever have been in my displaced predicament if I hadn't believed enough in the idea of the intentional community to sacrifice something for it. But I would never have felt the love I have experienced, or understand how grateful I should be, always, if it weren't for that, either. And just because we end up somewhere unexpected doesn't mean that it isn't as worthwhile as where we hoped we'd rest.
This all has lent to my focus during the season of Lent. Because, while overall I was faithful to the calling of intentional community I felt, I have a tendency to be less faithful than I ought. I second guess myself and my unconventional desires and ideas, and more often than not, I am successful in talking myself out of doing things that might be meaningful to me if others might notice. I behave in a way that will never draw attention to myself. And so I am ignored.
This has been most evident in my recent decision to continue to pursue something I refused to recognize that I should not have pursued. In retrospect, I knew that I should let it be, I KNEW I should. But I was so curious and so strong-willed that I refused to acknowledge what I knew was the answer to prayers of uncertainty. I ignored myself when my thoughts began to drift towards the truth that I knew God was revealing to me. Which sounds completely flighty and ridiculous and yet I have no other words to explain how you know something is the right thing for you when there is no clear right or wrong.
So I felt admonished at the start of Lent in reading of Jesus' baptism-- that which I have come to understand each Christian participates in as a symbolic act of forsaking old ways and committing to a life in which we do our best to follow the path that God leads us toward. An act the Israelites could have participated in, (of course, not before Christ) if they could have renounced their selfish ways. But the Israelites who wandered in the desert, who felt they had nothing, but whose every need was seen to by the provision of God-- still they complained they had nothing. I was an Israelite, too. I felt I had nothing, yet are not all my needs met? How can I possibly continue to complain, especially since I have already taken on that symbolic act of baptism? I have already forsaken the old ways of faithlessness, haven't I?
So I needed a new symbolic act, a rebaptism if you will, to signify my commitment not only to faithfulness in Lent, but to renew my committment to follow where God leads and as an affirmation that I will try better to listen to that voice inside myself in future. I needed a way to listen more to the things I talk myself out of doing, and the things I commit to out of obligation. With this new idea of follow-through in mind, and an understanding that Christians are called also to lead a defiant life, to live in ways which by their very nature draw attention to them from the world they live in-- I committed to following through on the next thing I might have talked myself out of. It just so happens that the next thing I might have talked myself out of was piercing my nose. So instead of convincing myself it was unprofessional, painful, a waste of money, stupid to do alone, or so outrageous as to be disregarded with no other foundation-- well I didn't. I said yes. And then I went and did it.
So that I have a frequent reminder to say yes when I might automatically say no, so that I might also remember that my actions and deeds are ones that will frequently call attention for their radical nature if they are truly in the spirit of Christ, and so that I close this period of my life in which I have lived-- and survived-- on the kindness of friends who remind me to always be faithful even if it turns out in ways I might not have guessed, I have pierced my nose.
Though you might never guess just by looking at me. And which goes to show that faith will lead you places you might never have imagined. Thanks for bringing it all back 'round, God.
I have written before on the subject of intentional community, back when a group of students and I were hoping to practice living and loving together. Well, our group put our guaranteed housing on the line and went for it, house hunting and hoping, sacrificing the security of our dorms for the promise of family living. Each of us held a share of the dream of living together as brothers and sisters would live, learning from one another in daily interaction and give and take, and we gave our vision everything we had. In the end, however, it wasn't our time, and we jointly decided not to continue to pursue our project after the spring semester began.
For me, as I'm sure for the others, this was a major loss. I originally experienced it as something of a death. Isn't the loss of an ideal, an acceptance of something less than what we know we are meant for, akin to a part of ourselves dying which cannot be revived? We had all been thinking and dreaming about this for quite some time, some even longer than others, and I had spent time since last summer in contemplation of the ways this would work and what it could become. I had grown so attached to the idea I could not contemplate it's failure until failure was moments away. I had no reasonable contingency plan, and I wanted no contingency situation. So when we had to move on, away from what we had seen ourselves doing in this home, I almost could not. At this point, much of my belongings were stored illicitly in closets and furrowed in storage units, I had already spent an entire week commuting from a friend's home twenty miles from school and work (which translates to a 50 minute commute during the work week), and I was beginning to run shy of the meager rations of shampoo and toothpaste I had determined would see me through my period of displacement. I felt the loss of our communal dream, and I felt untethered, unconnected to anyplace I could consider home.
But in that place of loss, I found a place of belonging. My old friend Na used to say that God uses the broken things best; it's my most beloved lesson from college, the infancy of my Christian life. And it is still true. When you think you're whole and you don't need God, you're not. But when you know you're broken and turn to God for what you lack, that is where you can find your strength again. That is when you become yourself.
I was taken in, by friends. Friends who had to sacrifice to take me in, friends who were inconvenienced by my presence but who did it anyway. Friends who put up with my complaining, my new late hours, with the things that went missing from their refrigerators. And my belongings, which I've all but forgotten I have-- they have been stored in corners of friend's dorm rooms, in places where their things ought to be stored instead. My coworkers have looked past the boxes behind my desk at the office, and friends have overlooked the piles and stacks of possessions in my car (with the exception of a few well-intentioned jokes about the 7-Eleven on wheels). Friends have fed me, picked things up from the grocery store for me, lent me clothes, shoes, laundry detergent, closet space. I cannot remember a time when I've lived with less, or a time when I've felt like I still had so much.
The lesson here is that faithfulness does pay off. Perhaps not in the ways that you think it will; perhaps you still won't get your way. You might have to give up dreams you had, but new ones will grow, and you'll be glad you didn't let go of what you felt you were called to. I wouldn't ever have been in my displaced predicament if I hadn't believed enough in the idea of the intentional community to sacrifice something for it. But I would never have felt the love I have experienced, or understand how grateful I should be, always, if it weren't for that, either. And just because we end up somewhere unexpected doesn't mean that it isn't as worthwhile as where we hoped we'd rest.
This all has lent to my focus during the season of Lent. Because, while overall I was faithful to the calling of intentional community I felt, I have a tendency to be less faithful than I ought. I second guess myself and my unconventional desires and ideas, and more often than not, I am successful in talking myself out of doing things that might be meaningful to me if others might notice. I behave in a way that will never draw attention to myself. And so I am ignored.
This has been most evident in my recent decision to continue to pursue something I refused to recognize that I should not have pursued. In retrospect, I knew that I should let it be, I KNEW I should. But I was so curious and so strong-willed that I refused to acknowledge what I knew was the answer to prayers of uncertainty. I ignored myself when my thoughts began to drift towards the truth that I knew God was revealing to me. Which sounds completely flighty and ridiculous and yet I have no other words to explain how you know something is the right thing for you when there is no clear right or wrong.
So I felt admonished at the start of Lent in reading of Jesus' baptism-- that which I have come to understand each Christian participates in as a symbolic act of forsaking old ways and committing to a life in which we do our best to follow the path that God leads us toward. An act the Israelites could have participated in, (of course, not before Christ) if they could have renounced their selfish ways. But the Israelites who wandered in the desert, who felt they had nothing, but whose every need was seen to by the provision of God-- still they complained they had nothing. I was an Israelite, too. I felt I had nothing, yet are not all my needs met? How can I possibly continue to complain, especially since I have already taken on that symbolic act of baptism? I have already forsaken the old ways of faithlessness, haven't I?
So I needed a new symbolic act, a rebaptism if you will, to signify my commitment not only to faithfulness in Lent, but to renew my committment to follow where God leads and as an affirmation that I will try better to listen to that voice inside myself in future. I needed a way to listen more to the things I talk myself out of doing, and the things I commit to out of obligation. With this new idea of follow-through in mind, and an understanding that Christians are called also to lead a defiant life, to live in ways which by their very nature draw attention to them from the world they live in-- I committed to following through on the next thing I might have talked myself out of. It just so happens that the next thing I might have talked myself out of was piercing my nose. So instead of convincing myself it was unprofessional, painful, a waste of money, stupid to do alone, or so outrageous as to be disregarded with no other foundation-- well I didn't. I said yes. And then I went and did it.
So that I have a frequent reminder to say yes when I might automatically say no, so that I might also remember that my actions and deeds are ones that will frequently call attention for their radical nature if they are truly in the spirit of Christ, and so that I close this period of my life in which I have lived-- and survived-- on the kindness of friends who remind me to always be faithful even if it turns out in ways I might not have guessed, I have pierced my nose.
Though you might never guess just by looking at me. And which goes to show that faith will lead you places you might never have imagined. Thanks for bringing it all back 'round, God.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
when in Rome
It is Wednesday afternoon at the 2009 Global Baptist Peace Conference. This week, I have met people from Zimbabwe, Uganda, Kenya, Italy (of course, we are in Rome), Indonesia, Liberia, and so many other places I can’t list them all right now. I have thought about being in Rome for this conference, and returning; I have thought extensively about Calvary’s trip to El Salvador in October and my participation in that educational/cultural opportunity, and more than anything, and more than in a long time, I have thought about the EP. This is the beginning of making contacts for my trip; I already have added at least three definite locations to my itinerary (Liberia; working with Jimmy Diggs in reconciling/peace activism in the local church, Uganda; a women and girls’ ministry centered around craftivism, and back to Kenya for PHARP, the Peacebuilding, Healing and Reconciliation Programme). In addition, I have made a major contact in the Rev. Septemmy Lakawa, an Indonesian woman from the island of Sulawesi in Indonesia who has roots in 1) Christian-Muslim relations, 2) is a female minister and 3) works as faculty at the Jakarta Theological Seminary. Uh, hello! Definite educational exchange possibility.
Being in Rome is making my world grow. I am seeing and thinking and planning not only for the EP in two years, but for my thesis, internship opportunities, and my future beyond this. I am considering my ministry opportunities as I am surrounding by ministers actively working in the pursuit of God’s peace and justice in the world through so many diverse avenues my mind might explode.
Also, today I caught myself responding to someone’s introductory, “Are you a pastor?” with “Not yet.”
What?
Guess I’m a bit more open-minded, God, than I thought.
I am so appreciating this conference for its networking opportunities and it’s presentation of the application of faith and peace at work. Suddenly my options for the future are taking shape. And I am already thinking about the next Global Baptist Peace Conference and how we can expand its mission and service to extend the benefits beyond the attendees. I can see myself presenting a paper or leading in worship at the next conference in a few years (which I still find incredible: it’s been less than a year since the first time I participated in leading a worship service and preparing a devotional), and I think I’d actually be good at it.
And while those are all selfish, apply-to-me thoughts, I am impressed with so many who have given their lives in the service of others. Stories of ministers who stepped up between warring parties, literally putting their lives on the line; victims of war and violence who carried their children on their backs to safety, only to return to save more lives in promoting peace in conflict-rent situations, and those who have sought asylum in foreign countries because their work for peace in war has led to threats on them and their loved ones’ lives. These are my heroes; these are my role models. I want to be that kind of worker for peace, I want to be that kind of Christian, I want to be the radical lover that Jesus calls me to be. I want no other future than to share the peace that God affords me, even if that means in the process I lose myself.
Just think; if there was one peacemaker for every ten warmongers, if there was one radical lover for every ten who participate in acts of hatred. What a different place this world would be; what a difference the one would make in the lives of the ten, of the tens of ten touched by those ten… It is so much more worthwhile to spread peace than anger, to turn victims into survivors, into bearers of hope.
And today in Rome, it snowed.
I can see a different life for myself than I could see last week, and I fear the world will never be small again.
PS, Sorry no photos.
Being in Rome is making my world grow. I am seeing and thinking and planning not only for the EP in two years, but for my thesis, internship opportunities, and my future beyond this. I am considering my ministry opportunities as I am surrounding by ministers actively working in the pursuit of God’s peace and justice in the world through so many diverse avenues my mind might explode.
Also, today I caught myself responding to someone’s introductory, “Are you a pastor?” with “Not yet.”
What?
Guess I’m a bit more open-minded, God, than I thought.
I am so appreciating this conference for its networking opportunities and it’s presentation of the application of faith and peace at work. Suddenly my options for the future are taking shape. And I am already thinking about the next Global Baptist Peace Conference and how we can expand its mission and service to extend the benefits beyond the attendees. I can see myself presenting a paper or leading in worship at the next conference in a few years (which I still find incredible: it’s been less than a year since the first time I participated in leading a worship service and preparing a devotional), and I think I’d actually be good at it.
And while those are all selfish, apply-to-me thoughts, I am impressed with so many who have given their lives in the service of others. Stories of ministers who stepped up between warring parties, literally putting their lives on the line; victims of war and violence who carried their children on their backs to safety, only to return to save more lives in promoting peace in conflict-rent situations, and those who have sought asylum in foreign countries because their work for peace in war has led to threats on them and their loved ones’ lives. These are my heroes; these are my role models. I want to be that kind of worker for peace, I want to be that kind of Christian, I want to be the radical lover that Jesus calls me to be. I want no other future than to share the peace that God affords me, even if that means in the process I lose myself.
Just think; if there was one peacemaker for every ten warmongers, if there was one radical lover for every ten who participate in acts of hatred. What a different place this world would be; what a difference the one would make in the lives of the ten, of the tens of ten touched by those ten… It is so much more worthwhile to spread peace than anger, to turn victims into survivors, into bearers of hope.
And today in Rome, it snowed.
I can see a different life for myself than I could see last week, and I fear the world will never be small again.
PS, Sorry no photos.
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