The Call: The Good Fight

**Disclaimer: This piece was written pre-deconstruction of religious beliefs and faith system. Many of these beliefs inform the sentiments of the writing and are not in alignment with my values. As this is a part of my journey and an extensive blog over years, I have chosen not to remove a majority of my posts written on faith. Please as a reader, take this into consideration and take what works for you, leave what does not. I also apologize for any harm my words from this past perspective may cause to any readers.**

Tonight while walking to my car downtown, a man approached me. Addressing me politely and seeming perplexed, he queried, "You from here? ('Born and raised!') Is everyone always this mean? And this cold - it's awful!" "I love it here, the cold's the worst part -- and the passive aggressive."

He was a week new to Minneapolis from LA, his job moved him,  and lo and behold, his car got towed tonight. He paid cash to park in a lot, but somehow got towed - his wallet in the car, and only $100 cash on him, short the towing fee by $18. He told me how everyone he tried to get help from, let alone talk to, in the last two hours was downright rude to him. A guy from LA. The police were "a-holes", yes he self-censored and then apologized. He told me how he went up to another lady, with the same gentleness and courtesy, began explaining his predicament when literally she ran away. He was perplexed and kept telling me I was peaceful, that he'd spent two hours stressed and cold,  but now he felt calm.

We passed a DID (peacekeeping) officer who seemed suspicious at the mere sight of us walking together - apparently someone who the man had sought help from earlier, ironically. I made sure to loudly imply I was walking with this man fully consensually, under no coercion.

We talked as we walked, he said he didn't understand why when he needed help, the cops treated him the way they did. I bluntly retorted, "Do ya watch the news at all - have you heard what's being goin' on around here, lately? Yeah, they're a little on edge, not to pardon it by any means, but it is probably why."

The gentleman was a tall, heavier set, likely middle class, middle-aged black man. Wore glasses. In a mellow in but lively downtown, between 6pm and 8pm, no one would help him or give him the time of day.

Before he spoke to me, I'd seen him walking, I knew I'd encounter him on the sidewalk as I intersected it. I had a moment to choose, and I let it be a small one. Not a wink of fear in me, and why should there be? I didn't notice him for any other reason than he was a person, and so I engaged him, walked with him, and helped him, because he's a person and my city did him wrong.

We're so fearful we overlook, or we jump to conclusions. We leave people in the freezing cold because of our fear. It pains me to think of how we fail each other. It appalls me that assuming something about someone without even interacting with them, rather only by their skin, is somehow justifiable!

I almost told him this was how I was raised, but - no disrespect to my parents - it's not that. It is however that my God instructs me to value each and every life, because He does. My God calls me to trust Him for my safety, not to fear for it as a means to secure it, whilst trampling His beloved.

I am astonished to hear "bible-believing Christians" perpetuating and defending their hateful fear as self-preservation. Tell me where Jesus taught that?

He did however say, "Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me." (Matt 25, good chapter, check it out!) Earlier, He says the righteous did not ignore the least of these. This is by no means to say that others are lesser than us, but that somehow we as a society have let others become less, although their value is truly the same as anyone else's. They have inherent value and importance, as expressed by Christ himself for whom we call ourselves Christians.

I'm certainly not writing this to toot my own horn, so if you insist to perceive it this way, your ears are probably closed anyway; go ahead, quit now. This moment tonight was humbling. When these opportunities present themselves I consider it an honor to risk whatever to show someone kindness, while I lean into the Father's protection over me. To get to play a small role, and give away that which was so graciously given to me; to bring peace to someone's chaos; to bring support to someone's loneliness. This is our call. This is the good fight. This is mercy triumphing over judgment.

Dad's Trees

I gazed nostalgically at the tall, bushy pines on the hill that runs up from the freeway to the road that intersects the street I grew up on. As we drove by, I explained to my companion that when my parents first moved there twenty-eight years ago, those pines weren't there, rather it was a barren expanse of tall grass. When I was maybe about seven, I said, my dad climbed through a break in the chain-link fence which served to keep out the riffraff. He took with him some young pine trees, and a shovel. 

Those trees now served to remind of something, though I never really knew what. Often when I drive that road headed for the most familiar place I know, I admire the now tall pines and think of the mark my father has unknowingly left on something formerly drab and uninteresting. He unknowingly built me a memory, in planting those trees, and revealed a part of his heart that I hadn't fully understood for years.

Although he does have a thing for landscaping, my dad isn't exactly what you'd call a tree hugger. I even remember asking him about the pines when I was a teenager, because frankly, I'd always thought it was a little peculiar. Why go to the trouble of illegally planting trees on the side of the freeway, at least a football field's length from our home? He responded, so matter-of-fact, that that space needed something and he thought they would look nice. That answer not only surprised me, but it never quite felt sufficient. 

Recently, a neighbor who lives behind my parents went rogue, conquering their eight-foot privacy fence by ladder on either side to cut down some trees in their yard that he didn't like. Naturally this sparked conversation when my parents told me. Now, my father doesn't always seem like the most emotional person, but under a certain protective layer of toughness - which I can't rightly call a 'facade' - he is one of the most sentimental people you'd ever meet. After decades on this earth with him, I still learn new things all the time. He is a man of greater depth than he lets on, or perhaps even knows for himself. He told my mom and me a story that I found enlightening as to why he planted the pines all those years ago.

His mother had lived in the same house for many years, possibly the house he grew up in, I honestly don't know. His dad wasn't around a lot growing up, traveling often for work, so my grandma, Sally, was quite a tough little lady, by the sounds of it. I can tell by the way dad talks about her that he had a great deal of respect for her, but was also quite protective of her, as her only son. He told us how upon a return visit to his family home - some time after his dad had passed away - he was grieved to find that his uncle had convinced his mother (in some strange Canadian obsession with empty yards) to rip out the great trees that had lined the back edge of her lot for many years. Even as he gave the account, the disappointment resonated in his tone. 

He recounted that one day after school when he was young, probably about middle-school-age, his dad had called him out to the yard behind their humble rambler. There my Grandpa Joe was with a shovel and several young trees, ready to be planted. Eager to help and likely hungry for any smidgen of quality time, my dad ran over and started away at digging in his new little league uniform. His dad quickly scolded him for working in his white uniform (here my mom noted he still does yardwork in nice clothes) and told him to go inside to change. He did, and the two planted what would grow into tall, beautiful overseers of Granny Sally's little abode. 

My heart rose and fell within the span of that story. My dad doesn't often let on to such offenses having wounded him, but with the right attention the mysteries of his quirks unfold. As he explained the beginning and end of those trees in his yard, I understood him a little bit more than I had before. Those pines will now hold a different meaning for me; a new sentiment.

These are the moments I love; my dad is full of stories, and many of them seem to reveal things about him that I never knew were hidden beneath the surface. Many of these tales are tied to behaviors that have always been perplexing or curious. Many give a peek at the impressionable heart which drives him.

Now I just eagerly await the story that solves the mystery of his affinity for fake flowers...

When Death Wins

Sometimes it's hard not to feel like we're losing. The week before last, I woke in the middle of the night to awful news in an email that disturbed me as I fell back asleep. I woke again in the morning - hoping it wasn't real, but it was. A cloud seemed to float above me that morning. It's hard to approach a normal day with the dark staring at you like that. The thought so surreal, like the Cheshire cat's teasing grin. I spent a part of my day, trying to compose myself and move on, which seemed worse. Disrespectful.

It's hard when it feels like death is winning. Why does it get to win? That's how I've felt with every mass shooting over the last few years - though less so each time, the repetition numbing me slightly more with each report. It sounds terrible, I know, but to some extent it's a conscious numbing, because I can't let the weight of each death settle on me, crushing.

Then tonight, there's Paris. A city that holds a piece of my heart, from a defining time in my life. I think about people innocently going about their Friday night in the greatest city in the world, mercilessly killed. In the name of some thing no one fully understands. I have a lump in my throat, and going to sleep seems unfair. I am not numb to this.

As a Christian, this is one of my greatest theological struggles, when I want to shake my fist at the sky filled with the proverbial heavens - "Why again?"

Each age has had its own brand of darkness, certainly, but I struggle to say, "Oh death where is your victory?", for so oft it seems we see it. Then I find myself weary in the fight, even if the fight is not against death itself, rather to have hope in spite of perceived and some all-too-real perils.

It becomes clear, we live in a tension. Sometimes there it feels similar to stretching a tight or sore muscle. I know that the Lord is good, and that the fight is fixed, but the blows along the way can make it hard to get off the ground again.

Then the next question is, how do we - how do I - fight this battle? When fear has already taken such hold in this world and evil is no stranger hidden away in the shadows, what can be done?

When I feel powerless and defeated, all I can think is to say or do is mutter or tell a simple prayer, "God, where are you? Show yourself." My only hope is that He will be made known and that in Him hope and freedom will be found, in and in spite of everything. And I find comfort in knowing His heart is also grieved.

The We That Was

Pride is meaningless,
Empty.
Love remains, it resounds,
Into the empty space
of the pools of pride over my conviction.
Proud.
We sat,
unable to see eye to eye,
in more than one way.
One last kiss,
a confused and removed peck.
Maybe I don't understand how this works.
Pride is the last thing on my mind...
Or maybe it wasn't.
Either way there is a pit in my stomach
because I hate to cause hurt for the sake of myself.
I've always had a borderline naive hope in the good nature of others;
that they could protect my interest before their own.
Questioning that, I often feel untrue to myself.

You already feel so far away.
I missed you the second the words left my mouth.
It was a new silence for me, a new sting.
Dodging one another's glances,
An occasional unsure smile returned with a blank stare.
We didn't feel like us anymore,
Because we weren't.
All in an instant.
The we that was on a path together,
became the you and I at different paces.
I knew that when I needed
to let go
you would not understand.

Picking Up Our Cross & Acknowledging Him

**Disclaimer: This piece was written pre-deconstruction of religious beliefs and faith system. Many of these beliefs inform the sentiments of the writing and are not in alignment with my values. As this is a part of my journey and an extensive blog over years, I have chosen not to remove a majority of my posts written on faith. Please as a reader, take this into consideration and take what works for you, leave what does not. I also apologize for any harm my words from this past perspective may cause to any readers.**

What does it even mean to pick up your cross daily?

Some believe that means daily we fall prostrate before the Lord, thanking Him for having Mercy on us, sinners. Sure. That's an option, I'd guess. Personally, I don't daily fall before the Lord, and I don't know that I feel terrible about that. What I do feel not great about is my failure to be with the Lord daily. He is there, He is with me, but do I acknowledge Him? Do I surrender daily to Him?

Sometime in the last year or so, I had a revelation on a much used verse, it's actually my dad's favorite: "Acknowledge me in all Him in all your ways, and He will make your paths straight." I think part of my having "majored" in English helps me pull this apart - our job here is to acknowledge Him. How do we do that and what does it have to do with not leaning on our own understanding? If we lean on our own understanding, we see with only human eyes and only in part, but if we trust the Lord and recognize Him all along our path, He will guide it. Acknowledging Him in all our ways requires that we surrender our path to Him; surrendering our desire to control to Him. The reality is, we cannot make our own paths straight, and our understanding is faulty, save for the understanding that God is sovereign and always with us, preparing our path and lighting it, if we will let Him.

It's exactly what Jesus was talking about when He said his disciples would have to pick up our crosses daily. He not only said that, but that we had to deny ourselves and follow Him; that we could not find our lives, but rather must surrender them.

I think some Christians think this means we ought to martyr ourselves daily, and that again we are disciples if we earn it. I think what Jesus is saying is that to follow Him in carrying a cross, is to follow Him in being sacrificial with your life to the benefit of others out of love, and therefore you have internalized the teaching and are a disciple. It's not simply that we wake up and lash ourselves on the back for our sinfulness - no! Not even close. It's that we wake up and say, "Father, my life is yours - how do you want me to love others today?" And not just asking, but listening and doing. Because again, the example of Jesus was that even knowing He was going to excruciating death, He submitted His will to the Father's.

To carry our cross is also to acknowledge Him in everything. God is never gone, so if our faulty understanding tells us He is, we should acknowledge Him; call out to Him, in surrender and longing, that He would guide us, and make straight the way.

Writer's Block Isn't Real

Writer's block isn't real, writer's block isn't real, writer's block isn't real...

At least that's what I have to tell myself when I feel stuck. I heard someone talk about it once in a guest lecture at the U[niversity of Minnesota]. When I do feel stuck and tell myself this, it's like I only get more stuck. I hit these patches in life, dry spells if you will, in which I feel like I have nothing insightful to say. Nothing new to offer the world, and yet a hunger to write.

That's the side of writing I much prefer. I think one of the jobs of a writer is to deliver from their perspective. That's one of the beauties of writing, letting yourself come through. Literature snobs can get hung up about this, but I think it's a part of it. We as humans like to dive into the mind of another, even better if we can get lost there, swim around for a while.

Writing is a beautiful and incredibly challenging task. It feels like an ever-changing beast. Today, I feel ok at it, months ago I felt great at it. Tomorrow I might feel awful at it. Sometimes I'm driving somewhere, or walking around and a thought comes to me. BRILLIANT! I think, I'll write that later...Later then becomes forgotten, or later it comes out in much less an interesting manner than your high hopes perceived it would.

To tell a story seems easy. What are the facts? How does it arch? Who are the players? Who's your audience? Then, to make the proverbial rubber meet the road - to write. I don't think about any of that, to be honest. Whenever I was told to write an outline I went crazy. For some reason, when I think about it, it doesn't work.

Which is exactly why I sat down today, to write something of significance and somehow started writing about writing. Because I have "writer's block"...which isn't real.

In the end, I bet I have a story to tell - I think I have one in me. Maybe I'll give it a go...

Wisdom: Laying Down My Will to See His

I learned a really hard lesson once in saying no right now, in order that I could say yes later. I didn't even slightly know that that was what I was learning at the time, but as I saw it out and trusted, it unfolded...

I have written about it before, I was planning to study abroad in Paris one fall. I'd been dying to go for a while, so I started telling everyone in the early summer that I was going, (I'm still learning that lesson, I think) and almost completely believed it myself, though ignoring a small, quiet feeling that I wouldn't in fact board a plane in the coming months to fulfill my dream.

The nagging feeling clawed at my logic (thank God for giving me any at all!), eventually getting to me. The cost was so great, I could not justify it; it just wasn't right! With everything lined up but the plane ticket and signing away my eternity to the student loans to cover the trip, I decided not to go. In as much as anyone can be heartbroken over a thing and not a person, I was. I felt silly for going back on all that talk, and putting a dream on hold after leading myself to believe it was about to be realized.

Months later, as other plans and parts of my life came to a screeching halt, at this intersection I found another dream of mine: Youth With a Mission. I could not only go take a breather from my stinted life, but I could go to Paris and go to a Discipleship Training School with YWAM. That turned out to be the very best experience of my life so far; valued far beyond its cost, especially in comparison with my college experience! I cherish my time abroad as the perfect gift it was intended to be. His plans certainly did exceed my own.

It may sound mediocre to some, but to me this experience was huge. And I will never forget that God spoke to me in the midst of the pain of giving up my plans for the sake of wisdom. He told me He was with me, and that He had something far better than I had imagined. He is never wrong.

Sometimes, wisdom tugs at your pantleg until you acknowledge it. That tug is no small thing, but it is quiet and subtle, requiring faith to respond. Sometimes the things it calls us to may seem uncertain, even difficult, but surrendered in the hands of the Almighty, life will never be short on His goodness. I believe that when wisdom tells us to lay down our will at God's feet, we will get to see just how lavish His is.

Life as a Walkabout

I hate that I'm thinking about using the "life is a journey" metaphor, but cliches are sometimes truths. I often look back on my life, see what my circumstances are now that are different from another previous point in my personal history. It's one of my Strengths, they call it "context". It's when one is good at learning from history; seeing how things from the then and there came together to be the here and now. The people with this strength find comfort in this process, - I do.

The last few days at work have been busy. There are things pulling me every direction and every day I'm re-writing my To Do list. I have to stop and remind myself how fortunate I am to have my job. I quickly think back to a year ago when I was just leaving the honeymoon period at a job that was on a steep incline to painfully frustrating. Before that, I did something I loved but it wasn't long-term, which is ironic because it was incredibly short-lived due to a freak accident. Although I guess I should know myself well enough to know klutziness isn't abnormal.

Again, the cliche is true: it's not without looking back that you see how far you've come.

A lot of times in looking back I find hope that even when things are bleak and there's no dots to connect between where you are and where you want to be, it's possible to get there. That is life! (Ugh, I haven't written for pleasure in a while, forgive the oozing of cliches.) Sometimes you put one foot in front of the other without really knowing what you'll walk through, because life doesn't let you stand still.

I'm actually kind of a fan of getting lost. It gives me a chance to explore something new, experience something new, and at the end of the day there's always some way to get back home. There are seasons where we are forced to do this. There's an Australian aboriginal practice about this that [in theory] I'm fond of called a walkabout. While it's conceptually geared toward adolescent males as a rite of passage to go off and find themselves in the wilderness, I like it. It is an apt metaphor to the times in life when you don't really know where you're going, or the purpose of the walking, but in it you learn a lot about who you are.

Maybe it's not one specific event, maybe yours wasn't when you were an adolescent or even limited to one age in your life - heck, maybe you have never had your "walkabout"! Dreams are meant to be grasped and deserts meant to be explored, should you dare to try. And maybe along the way you will learn to hope.

The Risk of Love Notwithstanding

Guard your heart. A particularly nauseating piece of Christianese if ever I heard one. I'm of the thought that it needs to go wherever "kissing dating goodbye" went to die. (Too harsh? Sorry...sort of.)

There was a slow build of annoyance the more I heard this over the last few weeks. For starters, where did it come from? Second, I don't think it means what just about anyone means it to. Last, and most importantly, how in the heck are two people supposed to figure out if they are to choose each other for life, without being vulnerable? Isn't it more a risk of pain to flippantly engage in a relationship for months, for some even years, all the while "protecting" yourself and never getting to the real stuff.

Call me crazy because I do it a little backwards; I want to know there aren't any giant, glaringly obvious deal-breakers (nod to Liz Lemon) before I bother to invest my time and subsequently heart. The beauty of that is, that is how I do it; that is my style. It doesn't actually matter how different people would do it, they're not living my life. They won't know my pain the way I do, but they also can't know my joy the way I do.

I don't highly value surfacey relationships. If there's one thing I've learned from my broken hearts of yore, it's that having fun and shared experiences does not a lasting loyalty and selflessness make. So I also won't apologize for striving to quickly discover the other heart. I won't keep letting everyone sell me short of how well I know myself, how I approach relationships, or how I make decisions for my life.

I decided that "guard your heart" is for people who are always in flippant relationships, which added a layer of hurtfulness for each uttered reference, but nonetheless I think it could be the only logical use. Surely, you should protect yourself from being taken advantage of, for granted, abused, used, or whatever else. Those who don't understand consequence, pain, or themselves, surely ought guard their hearts.

Or maybe take it slow and guard your heart are meant to be "listen to your intuition, wisdom, and don't buy in before you know"...all of which are yet offensive implications that I wouldn't otherwise be doing that but...I think I've made myself clear.

I've never remotely planned to live my life cooped up in a cushy padded room somewhere, doing nothing. Not to mention the deeper I go with the Lord, I think that sounds crazy! Trying to protect ourselves. Rather, I choose to dare to love because He first loved me; that love will cover my story end to end, high highs and low lows. That love will keep my heart together, and put back the pieces when - inevitable to life - it falls apart.

I will end on this: I keep running into something lately, a notion. Jesus wasn't guarded. He wasn't anti-vulnerability. He was all-in, encompassing grace, mercy, and love, unbridled and sacrificial. I have my strong doubts that God has called us to live guarded lives...the risk of love notwithstanding.

Unafraid Over Wavering

Never would I have said that I am particularly susceptible to wavering with the wind. I may be indecisive, that I'll own, but easily-persuaded? Never. I never would have described myself that way. I have even unofficially (or unbeknownst to them) coached people in the art of gleaning wisdom, then making a decision for yourself! Somehow, here I sit feeling emotionally exhausted from being tossed from the left to the right, and back again in a vicious cycle. Though when I can pause long enough to get my bearings, I know how I feel; I am not wavering...then I get thrown again.

Several weeks back, God told me something very clearly: He said, "You can go headlong into what I have before you, unafraid." Unafraid. Months further back, He told me "There is no place unsafe to go with me." Nowhere unsafe with Him. Then just today I was reminded of a very similar word given to me by someone else, almost exactly a year ago; don't be afraid. That last one, - given specific to a relationship that would enter my life.

Being unafraid is a choice. Not only is it a choice not to adhere to mere logic, but it is a choice to acknowledge and trust God. To trust God beyond what seems logical is something I have been learning about for nearly a decade. It was about nine years ago that He brought me to Psalm 91, in an hour of great fear. It floored me that God was so bent on protecting me, that I could not "strike my foot against a stone," - or as I always paraphrase, stub my toe. "A thousand at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you." That's my life verse. That's what's tattooed in my very own, everyday sight-line.

So I become ever increasingly familiar with flack for such a lofty belief. Pfft, God as protector! Not just protector, Refuge. And yet, I am emotionally toiled. On one hand, I have this exciting new thing that I am not afraid of, rather I want to study. Then on the other hand, there are all these voices drowning out my ability to even hear the Lord. These voices are those of logic and reason, but in this I have further realized something: fear masquerades cleverly under the guise of "logic". Logic is so respected, we could never question its validity...but I think as believers we should. The Bible is an entire book of logic-defied; the very Messiah himself is logic-defied. So much so, there are people who still believe Jesus wasn't it! Receiving Grace in spite of being undeserved, that is logic-defied. Walking unscathed through fire is logic-defied.

I find it perplexing that I struggle to find people who believe in such a big, boundless God. That I receive criticism because I would much rather trust the Lord and seek His wisdom, than put my trust in the logic of this world. No amount of logic can truly protect me, but He can. And though I know I'll never be completely rid of the skeptical questioners, I hope that they will let me walk out my faith the way God has so graciously shown me to; trusting in Him. I hope that I root down deeper in that, so as to be unwavering.

Unexpected: Grace Meet "Danger"

I struggle with being judgmental. I'm not always that way, but I definitely have my moments. There are times when I lean right into it like it is as sure as gravity. I see with my eyes, and my eyes know what they're seeing. I am just as much a failure as anyone else when it comes to being loving to all people. 

While I tend toward altruism, the reality is I also size people up. Sometimes my perception slips over the wobbly line into judgment. It's been a learning curve. I sometimes think that's why God has let my heart get broken in some of the ways it has. Nothing teaches you compassion like coming out of pain; making it through to the other side, where it no longer rules you. I have certainly messed up with no one to blame but myself. I have certainly been selfish, prideful, even hateful. It's been a process of learning to understand God's heart. 

I grew up thinking the way a lot of conservative Christians in the comfort of their white-bread world do: you got yourself into that mess, you might con me, or you're ignoring God...or really whatever other presumption you want to make about people whose lives aren't what we think they should be. The crazy thing is it doesn't matter what we think: God is gracious. 

I have been stuck on grace again in the last week or so. In recent years, I had to come to a place where it wrecked me, and made me a little queasy, almost, with how incomprehensible the concept is. Not that I'm not still blown away from time to time, but I am learning more about practical application. (God knows me so well; He's gotta grab my heart before He has a chance at my head.) What does it look like to choose grace? Or what does it look like to choose love?

I am a horribly inconsistent member of a sort of small group that meets at my church. We pray and then take coffee and cups into downtown to share some joe and the love of the Father. I'm inconsistent for who knows what reason, because every time I go I come back encouraged. Tonight was one of those nights. One particular man we talked to stands out. I could tell he just needed someone to listen. As we talked with him and heard about his life, I noted to myself the kindness of his face and that was when it first occurred to me our skin colors were important. 

I could have thought that I should stay home, where I'm comfortable - not approaching strangers downtown at night to strike up conversation. I could have drawn up a prejudice, clung to it, and never engaged the man. None of that happened. Instead, I got to do one of the most exciting things I ever find myself doing: speak the truth of God over someone's life. To get to look them in the eye, and with sureness in my core, say that their wrongs are overlooked; that they are loved. That is the God I know. One who reconciles, redeems, and pours out grace. 

I love moments like that because though it was simple, it was powerful. I say this not to verbally or publicly pat myself on the back (I attribute this to God working in me), but to express what I'm learning and that is this: that moment was sweet not only because that man needed to hear truth spoken to him, but he needed to be valued by strangers, innately trusted by strangers, shown dignity. To me it was significant in a bittersweet way; that it even had to matter that I was a white woman talking to a black man on a sidewalk downtown Minneapolis after dark. Yet that's exactly what stood out to me. The reason it's not an attempt to tout myself is that it's not me: it's grace. That was special in part because that's what Jesus was all about: show everyone love. 

And it's crazy how fear melts, prejudice doesn't rear its ugly head - but you simply see a person as loved by God, and listen to their story, then speak to them love. 

While I would've ended there, I feel I must say as a caveat of sorts: I also do not tell this story to say I ignored my judgment by going out. I know and have known many Christians who would think that that is dangerous behavior on several accounts (whether race, or safety, or whatever else). I think truly living out the love of Jesus doesn't come without risk -- in the world's eyes. 

A friend asked advice this week on facebook, about a man she saw who had a nice smart phone and expensive headphones, along with his sign pleading for "help". Of course in this age, the post drummed up the usual ignorant responses from a comfortable white world, so I couldn't help but chime in. My closing retort was only this: Jesus wasn't worried about getting taken advantage of, or hanging out with the "wrong" people. He went so far as to the cross, to die a death He did not deserve, among criminals, to show us compassion born of love.

So why be afraid to give to someone? Why not go for a walk and share a cup of coffee and the message of love, with someone different from you? The more you sink into the concepts of boundless love and grace, the more easily it will launch you unafraid into territory you may never have expected. 

From Ritual to Revival

A few weeks ago, I took communion at a church where I hadn't before. While my home church, Mercy, already does it a lot different than many churches, this was even further from anything I'd experienced. For me it can seem a mere ritual and a backslide into some of the old ways, those of my religion.

I grew up in a much different way of practicing Christianity than what it looks like to me now. I honestly don't remember a day of my life without a notion of God existing; doing whatever He does, wherever He is, up somewhere. I went to grade school where I had to memorize bible verses that were theologically way over my head. I jokingly say you can only read about Noah's ark so many times, but it's somewhat true - I haven't much touched the Old Testament in a long time, partially because of my childhood. We attended weekly chapel services where we sang several hymns. None of what I was raised in was wrong or tainted me, but I lived so many years without understanding in my heart why I even believed all this stuff. Some of it is probably even tainted in my memory because of my lack of understanding.

Then while hearing the gospel presented while on a mission trip in Appalachia as a freshman, it clicked. There's no more of an in-depth story, save for the sweet memory of spending probably an hour alone in awe. Flash forward through all the years to follow that moment, I honestly think I would have been one of the ones who didn't make it, if it weren't for that mysterious moment of truly knowing. As my faith climbed, so it felt did the weight of the things I faced.

I remember so clearly, after a difficult few weeks there was a night where my best friend at the time confirmed she was walking out of my life, cold-turkey without so much as a warning or even a good blowout. She didn't even plan to tell me. The gravity of that moment could until recently still take my breath away. That night, I cried so hard my nose bled. Even in the aftermath of that, I don't remember all the gritty details, but that I spent a lot of time pleading with God to ease my pain and He did. I don't know where else I would have found hope.

My recent radically-refreshed taking communion wasn't necessarily different in the way you might expect. The pastor simply invited us all to take pause and ponder what Jesus' death has meant to us personally. In the span of those two or three spared minutes, a wave of gratitude came over me, as when someone gives you exactly what you need right when you do - because that's what I recalled all in an instant. Years of my life, learning to trust the God I learned so much about all that time, through the realities of the pain of life and even find the hope to press on with joy!

I often wish I had a better "story" to tell, because it's just so subtly knit into my life that it's hard to pinpoint a moment, or tell of something beyond God giving me peace or hope, but that is what takes my breath away now. Not the pain of anything that previously ruled my life, but now the gravity of how God's hand has been in it all, and the freedom I continue to know deeper in Christ.

Good Things Come

...To those who wait.

I went into this last season of job search, still a little stunned but with my quivering voice declaring, "God will make something of this; He's got me." Key word here: quivering. I was by no means perfect in my understanding of what was happening, or in my belief that God provides.

I heard an insightful teaching from a pastor recently on Abraham. He talked about how often Abe failed at trusting God. God would give him a promise, then there would be what he called a test; an opportunity where he could believe God was good for His word or try to do his own thing. Usually there'd be a do over, and Abraham would get it - the second time, that is.

There are plenty of instances of that in my life for which I could relate to Abraham, and this is one. I learned before about unemployment and God lining something up in the clutch, even having a more extended period of several months of searching. This time however, not wanting the something to be just something, I took my time and did my best to remember to breathe. I had to cut the lines of the proverbial safety net that was a concrete job offer to do something I could do (but why would I learn accounting), and effectively come to the decision that it was worth going after the kind of something that I really wanted.

It has been so refreshing to come on board in an environment that seeks to bring justice and mercy, and to spread the gospel. It's a place where everyone is welcoming and agrees to provide a safe workplace - a majority of who raise their salaries through support. I have a job where I'm encouraged and given space to learn more about issues I have wanted to. My supervisor asked my opinion, and genuinely wanted it. My first week, we invited the holy spirit into our communications meeting! It's been a two weeks full of information, preparation, and a lot of processing, but I'm excited to be exactly where I am.

[This was mostly written at the end of my first week at Cru Inner City.]

All Things for a Season

One of my favorite pieces of wisdom from the Bible is in the lovely book of Ecclesiastes. I think whether or not you believe in God, a higher power, or nothing, there is great truth in that book. Much of it focuses on the idea that everything is meaningless. At first, that's an offensive notion, but the more you sit with it, the more its truth resonates. It also has a famous part that says there is a time for everything and a season for every activity. I have found a lot of peace in my life with my own adaptation, which if you know me well you have probably heard me say, "all things for a season."

This past weekend I heard a really freeing teaching along those lines. The man was talking about how there are passages in the Bible that refer to us being like eagles. (And again, maybe you don't necessarily care what the Bible has to say, regardless I still find it to be relevant to humans.) The concept surrounded how mother eagles ween their babies from the nest; the formative safe place. Apparently, they do this proverbial ripping off of the blankets in which they hover over the nest and create a windstorm with their wings. This allows the down feathers of the eaglets to be fanned away, preparing them for flight. The feathers were there to help the growing creatures for a time, but they served their purpose and were no longer needed for the next stages of their lives.

The teacher said this is often like things or people in our lives. There may be things we thought would always be there, but the reality is that they would not. This isn't to say that all things inevitably will leave our lives, but rather that not all things are as essential to our progression as we might perceive in the height of their presence in our lives.

What an ultimate relief this was to me. See, I have a basic affection for many people; most people, but there are certain people who get closer. Best friends, family, friends that are like family - and I know it's not unique to me, most people are this way. It's the inner circle, so to speak. I tend to be loyal to a fault, heart-wise. While admittedly my actions or choices don't always follow suit with said loyalty, my heart firmly plants its feet in trenches; immovable. So when those relationships dissolve or fall away, I continue to question what I could have done differently to salvage it, or if there's any feasible way to reconcile.

I don't mean to say I have found an excuse for cutting ties, as that is not something I recommend lightly, but most of the relationships that have left my life involved some sort of toxicity that even still in hindsight was irreparable. I usually feel the pang for those relationships gone-by due to a reminder of the times that were good. There were things I learned in those relationships that I am very thankful for knowing, in some cases even the pain, but I need to be reminded it was okay to let go; it needed to be let go. It is okay to have had something for its time, to mourn it when it's gone, but then to keep moving forward.

This revelation even helped me to hold more loosely to the relationships and things in my life now. Where there has been pain in things or relationships not going the way that I want, I can ease up clinging to my ideals. I am slowly learning that not everything is forever, rather all things for a season.

Perseverance

Life knocks the wind out of us all
some time,
and it feels a lot like letting go,
which is never all that easy;
even the more you learn,
it feels like something
you never knew how to do.
Yet the choice will come again,
to dust off the dream,
and to learn once more.
It's just that: a choice.
Remain the same or
go after it with all you've got.
You'll never get your dreams
if you don't have them.
A day's end sighs much greater,
much sweeter
having known the chase.
Dare to breathe again.