Effective, Efficient, and Joyful

You few but faithful who likely only come across this blog because you subscribed to it years ago when I used to update it regularly, may have noticed that I haven't been good on updating this blog since I started having another outlet for creative writing and teaching and reflecting (read: preaching).

Another thing I'm not big on lately? New Year's Resolutions.

But like everyone else on the planet, I've been thinking about things of old, and what may be yet to come.

2013 is likely not a year that will stand out for years to come. It was a year with lots of hard lessons and struggles with a few good things thrown in between.

But looking forward to 2014, I have a great deal to look forward to.

This year, I turn 30. An age that, just a few years ago, made me a bit sad and realize that I would one day need to "settle down" and all that jazz "adults" talk about. But somewhere in the early part of 2013, that seemed to happen. I already feel settled and content and though I still look forward to opportunities to "go" - I also always really, really look forward to coming home.

My 20s were epic. Really, truly: even I can't believe everything I saw, did, and experienced in those short few years. But at the same time: I'm glad they're behind me, and I can't wait for the next decade that starts this year. I can't wait to turn 30.

So: 2014, Bring it on! As I referenced above, I haven't set resolutions in a while. But this year? This year I have some pretty great goals to look forward to! Above all else, my goal this year is to be effective, efficient, and joyful in my life, my adventures, and my work.

"Work" - both at/through the church, in the "general" church, and in my ordination work.

Because this is the year. This is the year that has been in the making for over 10 years. The year that I will spend a great deal of my time stressing, thinking, over-thinking, and stressing some more over answers I struggle to put into words, and words I struggle to edit perfectly that will still manage to be imperfect no matter how many times I edit them. This, is the year I give up on the fear and the doubt, and declare that God willing, I will effectively, efficiently, and joyfully submit all of my paperwork for ordination, pass a psychological evaluation that says I'm fit for ministry, and pass my interviews with flying colors.

This is the year that I will travel to the Philippines for a "work" meeting with the Global Young People's Convocation and the Young People's Ministries of The United Methodist Church. This is the year I will not stress about how long that means I will be away, and instead will enjoy the time I piggyback on being in that part of the world to go see my South African sister Amy in Japan.

This is the year I will do these things effectively, efficiently, and - above all else - joyfully.

This list is only the the beginning of what I know will be great in the year to come. I can't wait to discover all that is yet to be revealed! I can't wait to find out if I will have a new niece or nephew. To meet my friends' young, beautiful children. To meet strangers who will soon be friends. To see how many miles I put on my car "just because."

Because this - 2014 - will be a year to be remembered. and all throughout it, I will celebrate things my life, my work and my ministry. I will celebrate my friends, my family, and my community. and I will celebrate moments in life, great and small.

As I prepare for this year of effectiveness, efficiency, and joy, I must say: I hope I will get to celebrate some of them with you!

1,000 Words

I have been thoroughly enjoying daily reflections through the photo-a-day challenge hosted by Rethink Church.

If photos are worth 1,000 words, then these photos shall prove to be my 40,000 words of reflection for Lent. Follow along on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook: I've been posting them on all 3.

Today's Reflection:

Day 6: Wonder.
Surveying the wonder-ful, wonder-filled cross.
 #photoadaylent #rethinkchurch

Who Am I?

Today is Ash Wednesday. The first day of Lent.

I have contemplated what practices I might add or things I might let go for this season, and as I did so, I kept coming back to this:

The United Methodist Church's "ReThink Church" campaign.

At first, I thought it seemed silly. Like an excuse to use social media more during Lent.

But then I read the topics more closely. and I thought: what an opportunity. Because in a photograph, it not only invites creativity, but requires a greater deal of reflection on each of them than I might offer on any other day.

Take, for example: today. All day I thought about this question and how I might depict it honestly....

Who Am I?

The same words rolled over and over again in my head...

From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.

But what does that even mean?

For me, today, it means that I am nothing without the God who knit me in my mother's womb.

I am nothing without the God who feeds my soul
and makes life worth living.

I am nothing.

Who am I?

I am dust.

#rethinkchurch #photoadaylent

Just another Sunday Morning

The sun casts its shadows and creats colors of clarity in the early morning.

Cool crisp air wraps around and fills my lungs, offering a welcome reminder of the sacredness of winter; offering reason for celebration of life itself.

Two morning worship services complete with children's choirs and a feast with breads from around the globe as we celebrate World Communion Sunday.

A peaceful afternoon preparing to celebrate the life of a loved member of our community.

An invitation by another family preparing to return from different corners of the world to to celebrate and honor the life of their beloved mother.

Cherished moments indeed.

If my cup was overflowing before, then we better get prepared for a flood...

Overflowing

I've had so many amazing conversations with incredible people from around the globe in the past couple of weeks that I can't even keep track of them all. I'm still processing much of what I heard, saw, experienced, learned. As I reflect on all of these things, my favorite hindsight discoveries are the ones about me and how I've changed.

Such as: Last week I ran into an old aquaintance I see now and then at different United Methodist gatherings. It didn't take long to recall that we originally met several years ago at a National Council of Churches General Assembly. I was only beginning to get involved in the Ecumenical movement then, but I loved it! Since then I have fallen out of connection and not been involved with any organized ecumenical work.

As our conversation continued, I was asked if I had considered/would consider applying for a scholarship to attend the World Council of Churches General Assembly in South Korea. It would be fantastic to get involved again! and better yet: I have never been to South Korea. What a great opportunity!

But then I heard words come out of my mouth that never would have a year (or even 6 months!?) ago. "I'd love to, but I just don't have time for another trip right now, and I certainly can't take up any more commitments."

Words that surprised me, but are every bit as true now as they were when they rolled off my tongue. And the best part? These words are not just true, but bring a great satisfaction to me. Right now, my life is overflowing not with commitments that are holding me back or requiring me to say, "no." Rather, my life is overflowing with so many great things that I can't imagine taking time away from them to do something else, even if the other things may also be things I would love.

I can't imagine saying yes right now because right now, my cup is full. More than that: my cup is overflowing.

Life is Good.

I am not the person I was a year ago. I am settled and content and happy to be spending time at home. I know I won't be getting on a plane for close to 6 months, and I couldn't be happier about it.

My, how times have changed! But God is good, and it is great to be in this place that I am called to. A place I am learning to call home.

Life is good.
     and my cup is overflowing.

Praise be to God.

Thoughts for Maundy Thursday

"Around the table of death and life, bread and wine, where we can still meet each other, there are sounds to hear if we listen carefully. There is the sound of going down into the abyss and being lifted up, heart and body, not to heaven but to the good earth. There are sounds of the lively ghosts of God, laughing still with love. There are the sounds of men and women, stirring, standing. There is the sound of the season's changing. And wine. There is the sound of day breaking. And bread."
--James Carroll

Plumblines for Justice

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking back to my office after meeting with friends for lunch when we saw an innocent construction worker standing on the corner. I have no doubt our simultaneous reaction to him caught him off guard as we exclaimed, "Plumbline!" and immediately asked to take our picture with him.

With my co-worker Chett and our local
plumbline-holding construction worker.
Photo Courtesy of Amy Stapleton

You see: for me, a plumbline has become much, much more than a construction tool. It is now a reminder of our theme verse for the organization I work for, the Methodist Federation for Social Action (MFSA). At MFSA, we often quote Amos 7:8, "I am setting a plumbline in the midst of my people, I will never again pass them by." Plumblines help us to stay level, to keep on track, and at MFSA, to stay in line with the justice to which we are called to bring to God's creation.

Fast forward a week and I cross that same street as we arrive in front of the US Supreme Court Building to take part in the Affordable Health Care Witness. This time, I am walking on the exact same corner talking to folks and listening for good quotes I can tweet as I carry a sign (pictured below) that reads, "People of Faith for Heath Care!"

The photos we took throughout during the witness have become some of the most commented-on posts on MFSA's Facebook page. It has led me to reflect on why and how, which has become a great inner-dialogue about more than social media strategies. It has also been an invitation to consider what we do that matters, that affects lives, that allows people we are working so hard for to truly know that we care. How does our work impact individual lives?

Most of the time, it doesn't. It feels like red tape or too much paperwork. But the reality is, it does. It trickles down. It leads to small moments like a staff outing to the Supreme Court (less than 1 block from our office) so we can stand together, firm like plumblines of justice who are called to step in on behalf of those whose voices are not being heard. Our national platform allows our voices to be heard as those of faith leaders who care about all people and take seriously Jesus' call to care for the sick.

We are just a collective group of imperfect people trying to (and often falling short of) living our lives in accordance with the call Jesus has placed on us. Imperfect or not, moments like these are the ones that make me grateful for the opportunity to do this work to which I am called, with nothing less than the best team I have ever had the privilege of working with.

MFSA staff in front of the Methodist Building following
the Affordable Health Care Witness on March 26

Bidding Farewell

Today is an occasion for celebration. I havne’t worked for MFSA for long (nearly 6 months), but I have loved getting to know my co-workers in that time.

Today is the day that Rob, our current office manager, leaves us. On the best of terms, of course: he leaves us for his retirement!

I’m excited for Rob as he enters the next phase of his life. I'm excited for him to say goodbye to office work and early mornings with long commutes (he rises at 3am to get here in time!). I’m also sad to bid farewell to a friend whose physical presence I’ve been able to rely on in an office that is often “mobile” as many of us travel for work.

Most of all: I’m going to miss this:
Rob’s door. 

Every day, Rob reads comics. Sometimes, he finds great ones worth posting. This is only part of the collection of “worthwhile” comics Rob has found throughout his time working at MFSA. I hope he doesn’t take it down!

Today: we celebrate. We celebrate Rob – his work, his commitment, his colleagueship, the next chapter of his life. And we do it the best way anyone could:

With food!

Last night I spent the evening baking for just this occasion: I made banana bread, cookies, and, at his request, even chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing. This is my sacrifice and gift today: I managed enough restraint not to sample any of the chocolate (reminder: I am allergic to cocoa and sugar: both of which are potent in these delicious cupcakes!).

Off I must go now to celebrate, as our party begins and our lunch will be delievered soon.

Congrats on your retirement, Rob: you’ll be missed!

A Decade Later

A lot has changed in the last 10 years.

Like any other American I’ve ever talked to, I still remember vividly every detail of this day ten years ago. I remember where I was at 9:47am EST. I remember what I was wearing. I remember who I was with. I remember how I felt, and the overwhelming confusion and disbelief I experienced as the day seemed to move in slow motion.

It amazes me how much I remember about that day, and how the days, weeks and even months that immediately followed seemed to do so in slow motion. I was, after all, still a child. A youth of 17 years that thought I was all grown up and ready to take on the world. I had just begun my senior year of high school, and I was excited about venturing out into the world I (thought I) knew as I prepared for graduation the following May.

Yes, I remember it all with amazing detail. And yet it isn’t the details alone that I keep thinking about today: its how those details shaped, molded, changed me from the inside out. And in a strange way that I haven’t quite figured out how to articulate, I can’t help but be honest and say that I am grateful for the ways I have changed as a result of this terrible tragedy.

My eyes were immediately opened up to a world beyond my local community: I’ll confess I’d never gone out of my way to engage with national or global news, and it wasn’t readily available in the small, contently isolated town I lived in. For the first time, I realized there was a world of people out there who hated my country I’d been raised to love, and even more difficult was the realization that those people also hated me, purely because of where I was born. They didn’t know that really, I was a good person and didn’t want to do anyone harm. And they didn’t care about the individual stories of the people in those planes, the World Trade Center, or the Pentagon, either. Following from this realization, I also had another first: for the first time, I began to question our administrators, Republican politicians (I’d been raised to always question Democrat ones), and “defense” techniques.

I had a lot of questions.

The most powerful questions I immediately and unexpectedly faced came from my adversity to the hatred I was surrounded by. In the following days, weeks, and now years, I heard many racial slurs and ethnocentric statements referring to all people from the Middle East - especially “those Muslims.” I admittedly didn’t know the first thing about the Middle East or the politics around it. But Muslims? I kept hearing how terrible and hate-filled and anti-America they all were… and yet I couldn’t forget the details of my morning of September 11.

I couldn’t forget that since it was my first day back to school post-knee surgery, I got there early so I didn’t have to fight the hallway traffic on my crutches. I was just getting settled when my friend Basim came running in going on about details about some big accident at The World Trade Center in New York City. He turned the television on and we watched in horror as one building burned… and seconds later we watched the second plane go into the other tower…

I remember the details of lots of emotion, horror, confusion and fear that followed. I remember crying together with that small class, Basim included. and I remember that he was as confused and sad as any of us. I also remember that Basim seemed to fill in gaps for the many questions I had in my admittedly naive awareness of the world. You see: Basim already had a global perspective. I’d never thought much of it before, but Basim was from Pakistan. And he is a dedicated to his faith tradition: Islam. I had always respected him for this, especially in our white, “Christian” community.

So if Basim (and his family) were the only Muslims I’d ever met, and they were great, trustworthy, honorable people: then how could the world suddenly be afraid of and full of hate toward all Muslims? That certainly wasn’t my experience…

My naive questions have proven to be incredibly formative in the years since then. Instead of buying into the fear I’ve been sold, I have continued on living my life... working adamantly against that dreaded 4-letter F-word: Fear. Instead, I work toward living into Faith... and the love of ALL God has called us to...

I made the mistake of stopping and watching television for about 5 minutes this morning. I took a moment to mourn with the mourners. To listen to the sad voices reading names. To hear an interview clip from “the last survivor” who was pulled from the rubble. These stories are moving, and sad, and did their job of making me emotional, bringing me to tears as I relived those dreadful moments with the rest of the country…

and then I walked away. I couldn’t watch any more. I don’t want to forget (I never could) - but it isn’t healthy to re-live it, either. It was a terrible enough day to live through once. We can’t do it every year. I know I can’t. Not even on the 10th anniversary.

But I couldn’t let my sadness go, and I couldn’t figure out why.

So I moved on and walked to my boarding gate to take a seat. That’s right: my boarding gate. Today, on a day that most of my fellow citizens are most afraid to fly, I am not only flying, but flying into Washington DC’s National Airport: where my plane will touch down on a landing strip right next to the now fully-repaired Pentagon…

Why fly today? For one, I’ll be honest: it was convenient. and I didn’t really think about it when I booked the flight. I did realize it in plenty of time to have changed it: but why? To let  fear win? I do not believe in fear. Especially not this irrational, media-induced fear we have been sentenced to live with. On the contrary, lets be honest: security is so high today that it’s probably one of the safest days to fly.

So I am on my plane as I write this. And as I do so in an intentional stance of my rejection of the fear many want me to have, I do remember those whose lives were lost in 2001. But my sadness does not stop there.

Instead, most of my sadness is focused on the survivors. It is wrapped up in remembering victims of the fear-induced hatred that has engulfed and changed so many of my fellow American citizens.

The country I live in and that I am proud to be a citizen of is one whose citizens spent hours building sandbag walls around every house in my home community when they were threatened with flood waters. It is one that wasted no time arriving to help victims of the multitude of tornadoes that hit this past spring… And that took care of and celebrated with my teammates and I small town after small town when we were hot, hungry, thirsty and exhausted while riding our bicycles across America in the heat of summer.

That is my favorite picture of the America I love. It is vast and diverse and embraces the joy of community as we were able to realize that really: no matter where you come from, we are more alike than different.

The America I truly love is the one that opened my eyes up to the reality of the world as I watched the Twin Towers fall. As I watched people on the other side of the world dancing in the streets because we were suffering (an image I regrettably saw in reverse when Osama Bin Laden was killed…), I knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such hatred for the first time. Living in my naive bubble in my small town in South Dakota, I really did not know that people hated our country, culture and people until that day.

So as we look back an talk about “10 years later” - that is what I keep thinking about. About how fear and anger have consumed much of our society. I wonder (perhaps hope?): is this the same as it has always been, and my eyes are more open to it now? Or, is there something we can do to stop it.

It all starts with one. As I sit aboard my American Airlines flight into DCA, I renew my pledge with you - all people of the internet (who are still reading). A pledge to do more to “act justly and love mercy” - and to walk HUMBLY with the God who has been so full of love, justice, and mercy for me.

Won’t you join me? I promise, the world will be a better place...

Silence.

I have now been a resident of Washington, DC for two weeks.

During those two weeks, I have moved into my new home, managed to get everything unpacked (almost: I have one box of books left to shelve), explored my way around my neighborhood, learned to navigate the metro and bus systems, and started a new job where I feel like I’ve truly “hit the ground running.”

For the most part, my days off have been spent shopping by day (for everything from bedding and curtains to food and basic household items) and settling by night (unpacking, cooking, hanging curtains, etc.). While it has “only” been two weeks, I am completely exhausted by these things. I feel like I have done nothing but run around! and I have been in desperate need of a true day “off.”

Today is Good Friday, so my office, affiliated with the Methodist Church, is closed. It feels weird that Good Friday - a day in the midst of the crazy-busyness that is Holy Week - would be a day “off.” Alas, I realize today that is one of the blessings of being a “lay” person. I have spent time thinking about all that is today in “Good Friday” and will go to church tonight, but in the interim, today really is a day “off.”

I woke up around 8 and stayed in bed: simply because I could. I got up a while later feeling rested and refreshed. I spend the morning dodling around in my new home, having a late breakfast, checking email, reading a few friends’ blogs I’ve fallen behind of. Really doing one of my favorite things on a day off, easily defined as: “nothing.” Or, as I like to call it: “self care.”

As the day grew close to noon I decided to progress into some delicate, slow-paced productivity. I washed the dishes, swept the floor. When I began to do so, I plugged my iPod into the stereo with a new cord I finally managed to buy this week. As the music filled the apartment it felt good and right: I did play one of my favorite energizing playlists, of course!

But that’s when I realized I was missing something. It took me a minute to figure it out, and as I was thinking about it the phone rang. I turned the music off and answered my phone. After a short conversation, I reached to turn the music back on, but that’s when I realized it: The thing that was missing, was the silence.

I spend all week with noise. As an extrovert, I celebrate that I am able to either always be talking to people or have my music playing while I work. As I walk (or take the bus) home from, work, my life is filled with the sounds of others around me.

This morning I realized that my time alone in the apartment was special for one reason above all others: for the first time, I was granted true silence without interruption. A silence that provides not just time for reflection, but also an opportunity for clarity and refocusing.

Truly, this is what taking sabbath is all about. Even if it comes on an unexpected day like Good Friday.

I know I won’t keep the music off forever: I probably won’t even last the afternoon. But for now, I appreciate that the only sounds I can hear are the clicking of the keys on my keyboard and the dishwasher running in the kitchen.

Truly, on days like today, there could be no better sound than the sound of silence.

Holy Thursday

Tonight I had the privilege of being one of few to worship at Mount Vernon UMC here in Washington, DC.

This is a place I have instantly begun to feel at home in. After only having attended once before (on Sunday), I already recognized faces and even remembered a couple of names. I found the place incredibly familiar and didn’t really feel like a visitor. It is an incredible feeling to have that feeling in a church. Especially in a city that is in so many ways still foreign to me.

It could be said that it is common for a service of footwashing to occur tonight: Maundy Thursday. It is the night that we not only remember Jesus’ last supper and sharing of bread with his disciples, but it is also the night that Jesus humbled himself - and his disciples - and washed their feet. Jesus didn’t just invite that his disciples - and all of us - follow his lead and humble ourselves as servants: Jesus commanded it.

That always strikes me. That Jesus commanded something: and yet we only really talk about it and act on it once a year. It got me to thinking about other ways we figuratively “wash one anothers’ feet.”

I was thinking about this as I went up to have my feet washed by the Deacon of the church: my good friend Jason. I observed the care with which he poured the warm water on my feet, and how delicate and intentional his hands were as they “worked” to dry my feet. This process really is humbling and beautiful.

Then came the hard part: I sat down.

Let me be honest: especially as Holy Week has arrived, I have missed serving in a church. Crazy, I know: but while all of my clergy friends are running around fretting, my life has carried on “normal” and my only focus on the holiness of this week came tonight: at a service I thought about not attending because I was so tired.

So as I sat in my pew half thinking about servanthood and Jesus’ commandment, I was also half thinking about wanting to be more actively involved in leadership (and leading worship) in a church.

That’s when it happened: I literally had to restrain myself.

I saw my Deacon friend Jason kneeling, sitting before the bucket with water and clean towels, waiting to wash others’ feet: but no one was coming. We had finished: the last person was having their feet washed by the pastor on the other side of the room. But Jason just waited. As if he didn’t notice.

And the longer he sat there, the more I thought, “I should go over there. Someone should wash his feet.” The voice telling me to do so grew louder and louder as I contemplated what to do. Was this the voice of God telling me to go and bless him in this way? Or was this my other voice: the one who wants to be involved. The one who has a hard time letting go. and most of all: the one who has a hard time just being served.

I didn’t go.

I wish I could say it was because this last part occurred to me in time to be content and listen more closely to Jesus’ command to be humbled and both serve and be served.

But I can’t say that.

All I can say, is that I didn’t go because about the time I had convinced myself it would be okay and I wouldn’t be stepping on toes in this new (albeit homely) church if I did so, the music stopped and I realized the others had finished.

Before I knew it the candles were extinguished and the alter was being stripped.

Before I had time to finish processing, people were starting to leave in silence.

Silence that came too quick. I knew it was coming, but I wasn’t ready for it.

But all the same: it has arrived. let the night of prayer and fasting begin as we move onward toward Good Friday...

Holiday

Today is a public holiday here in South Africa, which to me sounds like an invitation to just “be.” I've had lots of necessary time to rest lately, and now I think my body is transitioning from needing this rest into just really liking the rest and extra sleep, even if I don't need it.

But today, I don’t mind.

So as I write this (on my iPod), I'm lying on my bed with all the windows around me open. Light music is playing in the background. Fresh, cool air is pouring in: I wonder if it's going to rain? If not today then likely tomorrow. I look up and see purple: my mosquito net is untidily swept behind me, not serving it's purpose, of course, but then again on a carefree day like today, who cares?

There is work I could or probably should be doing, but instead, I am doing this: "work" I believe to be good for my soul. It's been a hectic couple of weeks and it's nice to have peace, quiet and rest amidst a day when I'm finally feeling alright. I'm now only waiting on peace of mind that I hope will come with lab results on Monday. ... But that's not today. For today, or at least for this morning, I'm on holiday…

Self Care

Sometimes, an excuse is all thats necessary.

Sometimes, that excuse is as simple as, “its good for my soul.”

Which, I suppose, is to say that I need no excuse at all.

What am I talking about, you wonder? A reason to go. To get away from the city and find peace under the large oak trees at a campground near Stellenbosch.

Why wait for a weekend or a holiday or other “reason” to go, when my very-flexible schedule allows me to go on a Wednesday night?

So that’s what we did. We left after Lisa finished work on Wednesday, and we both went straight back to work when we arrived back in Cape Town early Thursday afternoon.

The weather was perfectly stunning, the timing was right, and we kept reminding each other that this much fun was okay - even in the middle of the week.

Time well spent, and indeed, it was “good for my soul.”

All Saints Day

Since Monday, I have been thinking about a tradition or “holiday” that I love in the church. A tradition that will be celebrated in churches throughout the world, including United Methodist Churches, this coming Sunday. The first Sunday of November is known as “All Saints Day.”

All Saints Day is a day when we as a church recognize the saints who have come before us. Often, we read the names of loved ones who have passed away in the previous year. I have taken part in All Saints Day practices from lighting candles to writing names on a strip of cloth that was later weaved together and used as an alter cloth.

It is a day to lift up and remember those who have come before us and led the way for us as Christians, as a body of believers, who claim to be, in the words of the Apostles Creed, a part of the “communion of saints.” “Communion of Saints,” of course, referring simply to a community made up of past, present and future disciples of Christ.

So tomorrow is All Saints Day, and I’m preaching. All week I have been battling with what to preach about. The Methodist Church here does not celebrate All Saints Day. Sure, I recognize that this does not mean the congregation would not appreciate a once-off celebration of the saints among us here. The problem is deeper than that, though: the problem is that I am aware I’m being called to preach on something else.

So the battle continues. I have two sermons: the one I want to preach, and the one that came from the lectionary text.

I have been cognitively aware of the difference in these two, affirmed now by the fact that the one that’s drawn from the text is finally coming to be, while the one I initially wanted to preach has come to a standstill and feels a bit un-inspired.

So there you have it: I feel a bit as if this week I have been wresting with these texts as Jacob wrestled with God, and am grateful that in the end, I am not the one who has won. I am sure this is not the first time such a match has taken place, and I know it will not be the last. I just pray that the next time such a match takes place, the winner is as clear as it has been today.

Thankful

Contrary to here in South Africa where there have been huge "HAPPY CHRISTMAS" signs hanging in the shops for a couple of weeks now, in the US, everyone is gearing up for Thanksgiving. and every American knows Christmas is not supposed to appear in the shops or on the radio until Black Friday - the day AFTER Christmas.

It seems these past couple of weeks of preparing and celebrating for some of these holiday traditions (Halloween, All Saints Day, Thanksgiving), I've been missing them. Little pieces of home that go with the changing of seasons. Sure, its a different change of seasons here, but as my fall turned to winter here last year, I still had holidays to mark that change: Easter, for example.

But this time, I'm left without those markers that bring the mark of the new season.

Seeing as how just living in another country doesn't take the American out of me, I've decided there are things about these traditions worth keeping, so I'm seeking to educate and share rather than lament them. To do that, I'm planning things like a Thanksgiving feast for a group of friends. Fortunately, there is one other resident American among that group of friends, so we'll be sharing in the cooking fun.

More than the food and the one day of celebration, I like that Thanksgiving reminds us to be thankful. Via Facebook, a few friends have issued challenges to post something each day about what we are thankful for. I love this idea! To be honest, though, I likely won't change my status every day. But I will be writing down at least one new thing each day I am thankful for. Its only one thing - it isn't difficult!

American or not, I invite you to step up to this challenge as well. Feel free to share them publicly such as on Facebook, or to write them down in a journal. But record them, don't just think of them. What are you thankful for. Really? Then at the end of the month, we'll all have lists of things we will remember we are thankful for. As for me, I hope that list will be reflected as I then transition into the New Year - how can what I am thankful for today be celebrated and lived into in the new year? 2011 is just around the corner...

Today, I did post what I am thankful for, with a bit of a precursor, even. After a sleepless night of tossing and turning and eventually an early rise, I realized that I am thankful for shelter and a place to lie my head at night.

What are you thankful for?

Music

“Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard.” -Coldplay, "The Scientist"

That’s what I love about music. Its poetry with a beat that triggers something, that moves so deep inside you don’t know its hit you until you can hear the words echoing deep inside.

I love that lines which seem so simple on some days, are complex and life-changing on others.

I love the challenge that comes with words that speak truth into my life. Truth that was there all along, but that I needed help seeing and understanding.

I suppose that’s why music is so important. Why it serves as a lifeline. Why most significant journeys or moments in my life are memories triggered by the music that spoke to me during that time. For music has spoken to me in moments of great sorrow and pain, as well as great joy and celebration. It tells of heartache and it tells of struggle. It tells the story of overcoming and stories of new life.

Music tells stories. Stories of your life. Stories of my life. Stories of those we will never meet. Stories.

Who would we be without stories? Our stories make us whole. Make us human. Bring us together. Connect us.

In the end, its the stories that are said so well in lines like this one that draw us back to earth from wherever we are, be it drowning in muck and despair or high on a joyous cloud or joy. And when we are drawn “back to earth” - its there that we meet and encounter and share our stories with “others” - stories without which we would cease to exist. Cease to be human.

We were created for each other. We were created to share stories. Historically, music was used for this. Today, nothing much has changed. Music helps us live, understand and share our stories.

Today, I’m grateful for the music in and of my life.

Friends.

Here it is nearly midnight and I’m exhausted and somehow WIDE awake. Not that its a surprise, given the excitement of the past week.

This past week I was blessed to have two visitors come and spend a few days with me. My friends Amanda and Hannah, both fellow young adult missionaries with The United Methodist Church, took their leave to come and spend time with me here in the beautiful city of Cape Town. Hannah, my former roommate and co-worker while I was in Joburg/at SHADE, flew down from Joburg to spend 5 days here, while Amanda deserves a medal for flying all the way from New Orleans, Louisiana, USA for only one week’s stay.

The week was filled with tours, site-seeing, wine tasting, coffee drinking, beach-sitting and mountain climbing (well, only a little because my knees are still not well). The weather was very cooperative, as it was clear and beautiful all but one day. Pretty good for this time of year!

We did have a hiccup in our journey, as a puncture on the side of the highway left us with one handbag and very expensive camera being stolen. Certainly one of the most difficult and helpless feelings I’ve experienced in a while as we watched a man run away with all of  Hannah’s belongings. While it is always sad to lose things, the great sentimental value of her belongings that ran away before our eyes were definitely the greatest loss, putting into perspective the things we take advantage of. We could be heard wishing he had taken all of our money and valuables but left behind things like her little red notebook filled with thoughts, memories and priceless writings, while at the same time we were grateful to be safe and were “just glad no one got hurt.”

Despite the struggle and heartache that came with this isolated event, we found ourselves making the very best of the time we had together. We even made light of the unexpected couple of hours spent in the Khayelitsha Police Department, as it provided an opportunity for Amanda to have a small tour of a township and a look into the RSA police. By the way, I must say: I have never, EVER had a better experience with police than we had that day at the Khayelitsha Police Department. To the officers and staff we encountered: well done, and Thank You for your incredible service and dedication. Hats off to you. Really.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances requiring our presence there, the couple of hours spent being well cared for at the PD were more representative of this week spent with good friends than of the 2 minutes that caused much distress. (And for any worried about safety, I remind you of the first words out of Amanda’s mouth upon a discussion about safety: “Wait, you’ve never had anything like this happen? I’ve even been mugged in New Orleans - it happens everywhere!”)

So that’s our check back into reality, and looking back over the rollercoaster of the past week, I am left with few words other than “Thank you.” Thank you, Amanda and Hannah, for your visit. It is SO GOOD for me to have the reality check of friends. Friends who serve as a mirror, really, as through time with them I am able to see reflections back of myself. Reflections of ways I have grown, adapted or changed over the past 12 months. Next week will mark one year since I first arrived in South Africa, and this visit was 2 things for me: a timely reflection back on who I am and how I’ve grown, and time to be refreshed and renewed through opportunities to be surrounded by familiar, welcoming, gentle friendships that offer perspective, reassurance, love and support that can only be given by an “old” friend who knew me prior to this experience.

Blessed to be a Blessing

My friend Veronica runs a school for 3-5 year olds in a run-down, difficult community. Appropriately named "iThemba," which means "Hope," this school in Capricorn (part of the Vryground community) is across the street from a drug house and few houses down from a shabeen. There is no sense in trying to protect the children that attend her school from what comes alongside such settings: they already know. By the time the children (ages 4-5) reach her classroom, they’ve seen it all. They know more about life and its hard lessons than most pre-teens. Or at least more than I did when I was that age.

For example: one morning this week, they had a discussion about how things were going for them at home. As they sat innocently in a circle on the carpet, two of her pupils (again, 4-5 years old) told a story of how they’d accidentally lit a bush on fire: while smoking cigarettes. Last week, she reports, they had a conversation about condoms and what they’re used for, because one of her students brought one and asked, and other students snickered in disbelief that they didn’t know. If she doesn’t talk to them, Veronica says to me, someone else will. It may as well be a conversation in a safe, controlled environment.

I will never be one to tell you that I had an easy childhood. I didn’t. From a young age, I too saw and experienced things no young child should ever have to. And yet, I cannot even begin to imagine what life is like for these children.

So today, I asked if I could just come and spend the day with them. I had no agenda except to support my friend who has a very, very difficult job. After being shown around the school, I made my way the the playground where the children were carrying on doing what these children should do often but seldom get the chance to: play. I ran races, spun in circles, pushed swings, climbed on a jungle gym cheered as they took turns on a slide.

I saw and experienced what I was told to expect, but how it felt cannot be so easily described. The pain, the distress, and the need to be loved was more evident in this group of 50 children than in any other group I have ever encountered. It was heartbreaking.

and yet… while it may be selfish, it also absolutely made my day. Not to see the hurt and the pain and the need, but to be able to see them be loved and cared for. Not by me! Good heavens, I hope I was able to love them a bit, but they need more than an afternoon. They need consistency and discipline and structure: these too are forms of great love. At this school, I know they have that.

They have that because my friend Veronica and her colleagues are the most committed, hard working, loving people I have ever seen at work.

Others told me what a strong, wonderful woman Veronica was and that maybe a visit would be an opportunity to encourage her. No doubt this was true, but it also served as something more: an opportunity for me to see the hands and feet of Jesus hard at work in the form of a beautiful woman who knows nothing less than how to love people well.

I pray that my own ministry can one day be even a remote reflection of what hers looks like. and I pray for Veronica’s continued courage and passion as she works to share the love of Christ with the children of her school in Capricorn.

Moving Uncomfortably Slow

Its been a while since I updated, and things have been slow to get moving here. It is taking time to get to know people, to network, to become acquainted with the community I will be working with over the next few months.

It has been a slow journey to get moving, and, honestly, I have resented that at some times. I am used to being busy, all the time. When at SHADE, it felt like there was always something to do, always a deadline to meet. While it was (mostly) fulfilling work, we worked hard, long hours, and it was exhausting. Now that I’m on the other side of the spectrum, I don’t really know what to do with myself!

I am grateful for the support I have received and the encouragement to “take advantage” of this time. I know those words are right, but it is a difficult shift of mind and body (and spirit). I am working on not feeling guilty about not working when there is not work to do. Or not feeling guilty for having time off during “business hours” even when I know I have to go back to “work” for evening meetings or Bible Studies… or on Sunday mornings, for that matter.

Truly, I know better than to complain about there not being work to do in a church. There is ALWAYS work to be done in a church and I am well aware of that! But I am looking forward to investing more in the work I have come here to do, and until that ball is rolling a bit faster, I imagine I will continue to struggle with the “in between.” I just pray that until then, I will find a way to appreciate the gift of time that has been granted to me.

After all, after everything I have been through in the past few months, this “time” is likely just what I need. Now I must just make a way to live into that more fully…

It Is Well...

This week I had one of “those moments” when all felt like it was right and good in the world again.

It had been a while since such a moment passed for me, and it was quite a relief.

I am always marveled at the passion, hard work and dedication of people who have served through important ministries for long periods of time. Once a week, Plumstead Methodist Church hosts a soup kitchen-type ministry known as “Hands and Feet.” It is a ministry to “street people” in the area, takes place each Tuesday morning, and has been led by one such dedicated individual for the past seven years. I appreciated the time, thought and effort he offered as he introduced me to a few people and offered some thoughts on the community, the program, and why its important. I am looking forward to returning and hearing more.

Following my visit, I entered into another conversation about the history of the ongoing mission related ministries at the church. I discovered a space to learn, a space to ask questions, and a space to reflect on my “outsiders” perspective of what mission in a church  - in this church - does/can/should look like. Though a brief conversation, I discovered it to be a life-giving one. and in the midst of that discovery, I discovered something else: that perhaps this is the conversation I was called here to have. It certainly fits into my “job description,” but more than that, I am realizing that these are the questions I feel called to ask alongside the support, leadership and hope I feel called to give.

It has been a while since such a short, simple conversation was so rejuvenating - and I am grateful to be called awake for such a case as this.