Leaving Jesus at the Table

I was fortunate enough to serve communion with my wife Jennifer the morning after she was Ordained. As we gave the elements to mostly complete strangers I began to notice the vast range of emotions present. Some looked to be penitent, others robotic, and some even smiled. One observation that the struck me most was how much bread people took, and what they did when they felt they had taken too much. Many took a tiny bit, and some broke off more than they felt they deserved and looked pleading feeling bad for taking so much.

With these attitudes towards communion, take little, feel bad when you take too much I began to wonder... How much of Jesus do we leave on the table? With many things in life we are taught to share, do not take more than you need, or finish what you have before getting more. I recall my Uncle Bob had a "Clean Plate Club" if you take it, you eat it. I feel these attitudes often mix with how we see communion. I do not want to take too much, would not want to deprive someone else. And yet, I feel the exact opposite attitude is transformative. Moving from a view of scarcity to one of abundance, from fear or depriving another to overflowing sense of gratitude and blessing enough for all, from fear of judgement to the hope of mercy and salvation.

Back to serving, it seems like the kids got it, perhaps because the worship service was long(and they were hungry), or perhaps just because the wisdom children have which we often grow out of, many kids dug right in, tore off a big hunk and seemed to actually enjoy communion. There is so much joy and gratitude waiting for us to grab hold, waiting for us to simple let go, dig in, and be ready to be changed.

There is more than enough. Perhaps someone out there has been to a church where they run out of communion elements, where the attendance is so far above and beyond someone had to do a bread and juice run before the service could continue, and a second blessing of the elements, as for me, there has always been more than enough.

Growing up there was a tradition (in the loosest sense) that after communion and most people had filtered out, the Pastor would offer us kids the bread. I am not sure of the theology, or if we had broken some rule, but it felt right. The sacrifice had/has been made, the bread has been broken, why eat a little and run? I believe we are called to return to the table again and again, to live and act into the abundance, and to share not only what is on the table, the amazing transformative news, but well beyond the walls, way beyond blessed elements, as often as we gather to eat a meal, let Christ be there, let Christ be Shared, there is always enough for seconds, both in terms of food and chances. Don't leave Jesus at the Table.

Falling in love with East Africa

Two spoons of the sugar of Novelty
Poured into a cup of Familiarity tea
The metal spoons stirs and the crystals dissolve
Palm trees are whispering “paradise”
As malaria plasmoids multiply in the blood stream

Babies on a straw mat with no diapers
Are peeing on themselves
Dusty, hardened feet start the 4 km walk to church
Fresh vegetables are piled on boxes to be sold
Attempts to get money in every way possible..
Jumping out of the bus and peeing outside in a group
While a truck passes by, towing a man on a bike
He holds on with his hand-
What if a bump comes? Or he gets tired?
A baboon is hanging out, stares..
Ridiculously large avocadoes sometimes resemble mangoes.
Nzuri, kurungi, mzungu,
Chakula tamu, ebiokurya birungi
Hospitality with the last coins
The roof is leaking.. Oh well, that’s life
Ugali, matooke, millet… Cold showers
No bras sometimes, and no deodorant most of the time
Saturday club swag, Sunday church swag

The origin, the place you can be in your natural state
Mountains, and God’s creativity to be appreciated
Doing math in your head while watching your bag
Ngapi, zingaha, and wapi, and nkaha

Webale, asante,
Mirinda fruity and Fanta,
Sweet taste of Novelty in a cup of Familiarity
If there was a heaven on Earth, I think it’d be in East Africa
At least a taste of it…
I think I was a part of it, right from the start of it,
These blessed lands.
The white men may have political and financial privilege around the world
But these people were blessed with beauty, simple life, real food.

With each new day, God is guiding every step
Maybe this was a taste, a sneak peek
Novelty and familiarity
Eternity in paradise – how could I have doubted?
We were a part of it, right from the start of it…

Don't worry

Do not be afraid. Turn to the side and breathe in His peace. No need to worry. Don’t worry.  Wherever you are, God is with you – He is the one that carried Israel, the one who brought about Jesus and knew exactly how, when, and why everything was going to happen. He knew how to get to me at the right time. Wait on Him. In the meantime, He loves you, he gave up his baby boy for you. Jesus had compassion so great and knew people’s hearts – don’t you think He knows yours? If you’re wrong and need correction, go get it. If you’re right, you will prevail, because justice always prevails. The Father  feeds the birds and clothes the flowers – don’t you think He’ll take care of you? If we give our kids food and not rocks or hazards, don’t you think He’d also give us food and the best kind for us? We know what we want, He knows what we need. Do not be afraid. He is with you. You can receive His peace, pray for it. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry”  – quiet whispers calm me. 

                Be still and know that I am God.  – psalm 46:10

--

ps did i even write this? I found this in the "writing" directory on my computer. supposedly i wrote it on 1/8/2014, not too long ago.. and some of the words seem like stuff i have thought but i dont really remember writing it. so maybe it really was divinely inspired

Never left nor forsaken

God, thank You for holding me

In Your arms, like Amy holds Oliver

Thank You, because You will never leave us

Nor forsake us.

Thank You because walk through us

Literally, by pumping blood to our muscles and giving them strength

And spiritually, by transforming our hearts and minds.

That You walk with us, side by side

Through our fears and aches

Through our joys and excitements

At the end of the day, who can I turn to?

The One that will not leave me nor forsake me.

I thank You that You cry our tears

And You’re in our corner,

and You got our back

I thank You that You comfort us

“Come, be my child,”  You say

And I surrender to Your loving arms

I want to be in Your presense, Your beloved

Always and forever.

“Will you trust me?” You ask

I come running back

Perfect love drives out fear, if we receive it

Let me be Your blessed one, here, and there, and everywhere

One year ago, I asked “what does it mean to love God?”

Now, I write Him praises

I understand, He will never leave me

Neither in life nor in death

“We are the lucky ones,” Lecrae says

“And you give us second chances, when we throw our hands up”.

We are the blessed ones

The ones He wants to hold in His arms, whom He will never forsake.

Thank You, God, that You don’t forget us,

Never reject us,

Never neglect us.

Thank You for giving me Your shoulder to rest my head on

And snuggle up against.

Thank You for the warmth You’ve placed in my heart

And that You never gave up on me.

As I grow older, I realize it more and more

I am Your child. 

Work

Stuffy, buttoned up, bad posture,

New hair styles, rare eye contact

Reclining in modern office chairs, but far from relaxed

We are hungry, we are weak,

We are monotone and bleak

We wear the right shirts,

And we say the right words,

Day after day

But not in the right voice,

And with only half of the right heart.

We dish out advice that someone should give us

I make a living loving people,

Supposedly helping them to repair their lives

The work is God’s, the work is good

But I would be lying if I said there aren’t times

Where my own preoccupations and questions aren’t at the center of my mind

Leaving the clients in second place

Am I really God’s instrument?

We gather round and complain

Roll our eyes and turn to our cellphones, to text or call others as an escape

We sigh and grow older

Billable hour after billable hour,

Weeks and months and quarters of appointments and units of productivity gone by

Is life wasted, or is this the only way to live?

Are we in the same rat race as corporate America, disguised as the fresh and new alternative?

We hold babies, and nag the ones on whom we depend

Make jokes out of our fears,

Send out inspiration and avoid checking our emails

Advocating self-care and neglecting ourselves.

I have been putting off scheduling a physical and seeing a dentist for over a year.

We teach about God’s faithfulness but don’t call back the folks who  test ours.

Have we lost the hope, the spark, the Life in the work?

Where are the fruits of the spirit?

Are we all jaded?

Overbooked with people, yet lonely

Busy, yet bored and useless

Barely grasping the hope

And allowing it to slip out of our hands as we rush off?

 Or is it just me?

We eat big blown up fruit with little nutrients

And give big blown up greetings with little substance

How can we stop being busy and start being?

And start hoping instead of teaching hope?

How can we love with our hearts and every fiber of our being

Instead of just officially?

Nobody knows

    

Nobody knows what you would have said, but held back

Nobody knows what silent struggles their neighbors have overcome

Nobody knows how many accidents have been prevented,

How many deaths you would have experienced but didn’t

How many times our lives could have been overturned

Nobody knows what cancers they didn’t get

Or who didn’t break their hearts because they didn’t meet

Nobody knows how much hatred and insecurity we hide behind our fronts

Nobody knows what would have happened if they took Irving street instead of Harvard to get to Michigan Ave that one night

Nobody knows the worlds we make up in our minds

Nobody knows the tomorrow that may have been

Nobody knows what beauty they would have experienced in life

But didn’t,

So there would be space for the one that was intended to be.

Spring is coming.

It’s me, myself and I ,

And some South African wine,

On the brown leather couch that Megan so graciously donated.

The indoor air is warm enough,

But it is too quiet.

I will accept it;

I can do all things through God who strengthens me.

 

Spring is coming,

And soon enough weeks will have rushed past,

If the globe keeps turning as it has been,

February will soon be gone, like many months before it.

 

Another gray day, but spring is coming

Cutting through between winter and summer

Like a train track  pierces through a landscape

Spring is coming.

Take that as you will.

Remember that time?

While chatting with an old friend the other night, I offhandedly mentioned that I've grown a gray hair or two since we last saw each other. I tried to point out their location to him and, by vain instinct, I started to light-heartedly lament their existence.

Before I could continue on though, my friend had to stop me in my tracks.

The first thing he said was, "Good!"

I gave him a quizzical look back.

Again, he said, "Good!" Then he added, "Wisdom! That means you're gaining wisdom."

* * *

Experience is the best teacher as the saying goes.

When I turned 28 a few weeks ago, I certainly gave thought to how I'm now truly on the back-end of my 20's, but I didn't really pause to reflect on it.

The conversation about my silver streaks got me thinking though.

* * *

I've got this book on my nightstand that has a really cheesy cover graphic. It's a picture of an egg being held in a mechanical C-clamp that's pinching the shell along its long edge. The book's title is "You're Stronger Than You Think," an homage to an egg's surprising strength when stressed from top to bottom. Eggs are much sturdier than they appear!

The theme of the book is discovering your inner-strength that comes from knowing God.

Recently, something clicked in my head and I've suddenly gained a similar swagger to that resilient egg on the book cover. (Sir Sheldon, I’ll call him.)

* * *

Like most almost-30's, I've been through various ordeals that are almost rites of passage for us all. I've had hardship with my family. I've had the experience of getting my heart pulverized by someone special. I've had mental and physical tribulations. I've had trials with school and work. And then there were all the random disappointments too.

Yet in light of how God was with me through all that and how He got me through it, and considering who He is for me , I'm learning to appreciate those hard times more and more.

Lately, life has put me in some tight spots, but I've been able to recall God's faithfulness and I've been saying this one particular phrase to encourage myself: "I've been in this situation before."

I've been using that line like trash talk too, using it to take a snipe at the original hater, Satan, who wants me to believe the lies that I'll crumble under the pressure. When Satan tries to get me to focus on my "daunting" circumstances, I just say, "I've been in this situation before."

I’ve also been using it to reassure myself when an earthly problem starts to look imposing. "I've been in this situation before." It has a calming effect on me and helps me to refocus on what God is doing.

* * *

Five years ago, I didn't have any of these stiff gray strands. But I also hadn't been in a lot of situations before.

So like my friend said about my decaying hair, “Good! Wisdom!”

Thank you notes

Cross-post from my new blog at katiemurchisonross.blogspot.com. I thought this fits in the Hyattsville conversation too. :)

I finally just finished writing all the thank you notes from wedding gifts. Although it gets tedious, and although it probably didn't need to take me two and a half months, I was trying to remember with each sentence, each card, each envelope, that it is truly a blessing to have had so many wonderful people in my life that it takes me ten weeks to thank all of them.

Everyone's gifts, from handmade to generously-given cash and gift cards, were beautiful. Two gifts touched me in particular, both from old friends of my mother who I've not seen in years and who were not invited to the wedding.

One was from a family who took care of me in the 1980s. In the letter, they explained that they took me home on Sunday mornings after the early church service and took care of me while my mother played the organ and my father sang in the choir (and my mother added they never let her pay for their babysitting). Apparently they would often make waffles for Sunday brunch, and were amazed at the amount that I, as a two year old, could eat. When they heard that I was getting married, they all decided I should have my own waffle iron complete with their long-tested waffle recipe. Of course, I have no memory of any of this, and after we moved in 1989, saw them only a handful of times in the 1990s.

The other was a simple gift of an apron and dish cloths from an old French couple who befriended my mother when she was a college student studying in Aix-en-Provence in southern France. We lived in Paris for a year when I was three, and visited them often during that time. Over the years, their grandchildren would come to stay with us for  couple months in the summer to practice English, and my brother stayed with them for a few weeks to practice French. I myself never went, though our family returned to France and visited their home in 1996. I was happy and touched to receive their gift in the mail a few weeks before the wedding. Then the day before the wedding, in the middle of assembling flowers and putting together lunch for the 15 people who were at our house helping/visiting, the phone rang. I answered. It was Charles, the old man. He told me in a mixture of French and English, how happy he was for me and that he wished me the greatest joy and blessings on my wedding day, that he was praying for us, that he knew God's love would sustain us. I bumbled some thank-yous, understanding his French but unable to respond, and returned to the kitchen where my bridesmaids had finished assembling lunch. As I sat down at the kitchen table, I couldn't stop crying. Of course I was very emotional that day for many reasons, but I was completely surprised at my own reaction to a man I hadn't seen in fifteen years and didn't know very well. I didn't know why I reacted so strongly.

Now I know. Not only have I been blessed by the love of many wonderful people throughout my life, but it started even before that. There are many special people who have been in my life since childhood, or high school, or college. Hopefully they'll be in my life a long time. But there are people who've been in my mother's life for decades. And people who have loved her since 1972 love me too. And it is not only throughout my life that I've been shown love. At my birth I was already surrounded by the love that my parents had cultivated and given throughout their lives. It's an ever-expanding, international community of friendship and generosity and love, and I was overcome by it.

Extrovert Blues.

            I zip up my blue jacket and lace up my new shoes, when I realize I’ve spent all weekend caught up in the extrovert blues. It been a long time coming so here's the thing: my friend’s boyfriend liked it so he bought her a ring. Playful and laughing, they show us the healing and provision that comes from God.

  While smiling and giggling with them, on the inside I was scared of losing yet another close friendship.

It has been said that our greatest strengths can also be our greatest weaknesses. Mine, I think, has to do so much with people. They tell me it's a strength - connecting, welcoming, listening, remembering, sharing warmth, spending time. And it is, which I appreciate and use. But it is what I am made for. It’s a longing that I can’t turn on or off. The gift of connecting with people is like a hot potato burning your hand when it is not in use. I long to connect with others, share love, share time; not being able to do so is also uncomfortable.

        Last Friday, we went out on U street to dance. I watched many couples, lost in each other and themselves, clueless to their surroundings. Smiling, they looked at each other and moved to the beat, and seemed unaware of the silly mismatched groups like ours, and of the homeless-looking guy who walked in and stood along the wall by himself. I don’t want to be like those couples. There’s a whole world out there beyond their romance, and it could benefit from their attention and gifts.  I think the reason I want someone extroverted, with good social skills, who can "hold their own" in a variety of settings, is because I want a relationship that's outwardly focused. Making your relationship all about you and the other person is an easy trap to fall into. I think I am made for something more outward.

I have read several articles giving voice to the introverts – explaining that they are not boring or dull, they are actually quite interesting but may not be able to show it at parties, explaining that they are deep thinkers… but what about us extroverts? It can be assumed that extroverts are attention-hungry, but they also do better in the social gathering/ mingling scene. It’s true, we like attention - both receiving and giving it. We’re seen as the fun-loving party animals, and we may come across as lacking depth of thought that is evident in the introverts. Who is going to give voice to our struggles?

             In November, I had a party. The place buzzed with voices and music; wine glistened. Katy repeatedly told me how special i am and how many people love me . It's true, I have poured out a lot of time an effort into these folks, and I was so thankful to have them reciprocate. I loved hosting them and spending time together, especially when I got them to dance in a group. From the outside I am sure I looked like the one who has it all-  friends, fun, attention, affection, health, others to cook for me and help me clean up, companionship, and even a couple of flirty dances. Especially to the introverts, it might have seemed like the dream come true kind of thing.

        But the truth is, I know what it means to be alone. There are few things as depressing as lack of human connection when you long for it.

     To an extrovert, loneliness is a heavier burden, bothersome enough to make you want to crawl out of your skin. To me, the party was not glamour nor the cherry on top. It was one of the rare days when i knew my need for companionship would fulfilled, if only for a little bit. It was one night where i didnt have to wonder whether humanity would seem distant and cold, whether my purpose and gifts would be unused.  It wasn't as much showing off as it was meeting a need, which doesn’t seem met most days.

Just days after the party, the lonely extrovert was overtaken by the blues. I am grasping for consistency and permanence in a temporary and changing world. Take that, introverts. Take that, extroverts. At the end of the day, we all have a need to connect, think, relate, and have community, maybe just in our different ways.

questions of lonely despair

God, please help me make sense of life.

what will i do after grad school? there are US govt jobs that seem interesting in public health, but part of me itches to fulfill the international pull, to be a "citizen of the world" again... where will i work? how will i pay back my debts? who will i be with? will i have community? will i just be a boring us person who settled for the repetitive grind due to debts and not thinking outside of the box? will i go to africa, latin america, russia, etc ? will i have a community? a life companion? will i be satisfied, will i have fun or use my gifts? will all of life be suffering and dissatisfaction? will my friends be geographically close by and create a community or will i be the only one left behind, bitter, disconnected, wishing we were closer so we could help each other? will my brother and i still be close? will we both be bitter? will our parents ever come to know You, God? will hope, faith and love be evident and alive in my life?

disclaimer: i realize that these questions may not be the most encouraging, and there is more to faith than despair and questions. life is full of joys and pain so perhaps someone will rejoice if they relate and know they are not alone.. or we can all reflect and laugh after it's all resolved. but this is where i was today and wanted to share.

everything

He knows everything
Every single little thing
Whether or not you bring
It up to Him in prayer
Whether or not you think it’s fair

 He knows everything, every single little thing
 Every little thing between you and I , between her and I, between him and I
He knows about your evil eye, you being that boastful guy with the lustful eye
When you get drunk and high or when you so tired you wanna die
Every single tear you cry
 And every time you tell a lie
 How many days you before you die
And what you didn’t say cuz you’re shy
 When decisions got you torn
When your computer downloads porn
Knows when to give you a daily portion of bread
The number of your skin cells
 and hairs on your head
And even things you can’t remember
Might as well surrender
 He knows everything
 When you wanna kill your brother or cheat with another
 Every time you give a gift
 Or cut your shift short
Every question of your life
 Let him answer
 He knows everything,
Every single little thing
 When you dance around the tree ,
Or lie saying "it wasn’t me";
The questions you have yet to ask
He will give you strength for the task

He knows everything
Let Him be your every thing
 Let Him come repair the pain
So you don’t gotta live in vain
Pushing needles in your veins
Or drowning sorrows in champagne
When everything else dies,
Only He’ll remain

 He knows everything
Every single little thing
Whether or not you bring
 It up to him in prayer
Whether or not you think it’s fair
 He knows everything,
 Every single little thing
 Every little thing between you and I , between her and I, between him and I..
He knows everything
Let Him be your everything
Let Him be your only thing
Let Him be your lonely thing
Let Him be your everything
Because He is the king
Who made everything.

Exceptions

Against the rules. I like exceptions to the rules. Don’t get me wrong - I’m not against rules, In fact normally I think there’s a reason for them, and I want to understand it. But what I like even more are the exceptions Have you ever had, in your growing up experience, the special days where you would eat ice cream for lunch, or stay up super late? I like exceptions to the rule: A crazy busy day in the middle of a summer vacation, Folks who are fully honest with what they tell you, Finding money in a pocket, Surprises… A warm winter day, Occasionally skipping a class, Throwing in a word of a different language, Flexibility from the usual routine. A sick day from work that makes you slow down- Pillows, pajamas, blankets, and tea contrast nicely with slacks, button-downs, rushing, and to-do lists. Or better yet – give me ridiculous costumes, Spontaneity over tradition. Allowing ourselves to cuss, make a judgmental statement (just one! And perhaps with an apology!), Putting on makeup or heels (I usually don’t) I hate phone calls but an occasional long, meaningful one is amazing.. A wealthy person that’s humble, Going home early or staying out til sunrise, A good cry, An intense thunderstorm, Skipping an essential condiment… Walking around like a child, Big eyed, Mystified By the big city, Or a quiet picnic in God’s presence. Varying schedule, The rare occurrence of sitting next to someone who smells bad.. No day is like any other. A college student hanging out with a homeless person Interracial couples, A white person speaking perfect Spanish.. As much as I love a jogging routine I really love an occasional unexpected hike, or a basketball game, or skipping a workout in favor of something really fun. Variety is the spice of life, they say Give me the moments that are valued When life feels real.

Lent

Lent is the Christian season in which we examine our mortality. I used to think this meant self-abasement, overanalyzing my selfish motives for everything. I got pretty good at that, and then I got pretty tired of it. So I started ignoring Lent’s meaning. This year I am searching for a better working definition. Something that is mortal is temporal. When I realize something is temporal, I appreciate it more.

Let’s take Grandma. I was lucky to become intensely aware of her mortality ten months before her stroke in 2010. In January, the night I was to take her to the symphony, my uncle took her to the hospital with a bad cough. She was in the ICU for a week with pneumonia. When I saw the tracheal tube and the oxygen in her nose, heard the beeping monitor and her loopy comments, and felt how thin she was in the hospital gown, I knew from here on out, I had to appreciate every moment I had with her.

And I did. Nearly every week from February to November, I drove to the hospital or the nursing home or her house to see her. Sometimes all I could do was try to feed her pie to help her gain a pound or two. Other times I got to take her for a walk or play the piano for her. And tucked into those months like treasures were a few long, slow conversations about life and love and music. Even when she was sarcastic and moody, I just knew I was in the right place, to be there with her, to be connected to a woman of such wit, grace, and acceptance. I am thankful her mortality made her more dear to me.

This Lent, there is a different ending I find weighing on my heart—my time left here. I am excited to be married in September, but wish I wouldn’t have to move so far. Recently I found out that to be eligible for competitive status in applying for other government jobs, John has to stay three years in Cherokee, North Carolina—not, as we originally thought, only one year. With every new revelation about this job, I feel my heart sink. I have known since December that I would likely be leaving, but part of me hoped something would change, or that we could come back after a short time. I fear the unknown of my vocation in a tiny tourist town in the mountains. I fear loneliness in a new place. I fear change.

But this impending kind of death reminds me to look around at the goodness of the community where I am now. I moved to the West Hyattsville House on the eve of the new year 2010, pretty broken. All fall I’d been living at home with my parents and commuting three hours per day. John was in Palestine. I’d been trying to connect with childhood friends and finding we’d changed. I had no rhythm in my spiritual life. I’d already been lonely for a year in Tanzania and I ached for my college friends.

That first night at the Hyattsville House, Amy threw a party. People from the New Leaf community came, and we played games, and I remember thinking at the end of the night, I haven’t laughed so genuinely in months. I remember thinking, Wow, it is nice to be around people who get what I’m about. Talking to Amy a few months later, I said something like, “I really value having friends who are different than me, to challenge me in my thinking and widen my views.”

“I do too,” she said, “but I also like having friends who are the same. The same is nice too.”

I too often focus on what can be improved, in myself and in the world around me. People in the workplace have told me it’s a gift, but sometimes it makes me miss out. It’s like I don’t really believe that I am mortal, or that there is more than this life, so I insist on striving to perfect it. There have been many times I’ve complained about New Leaf, to myself, or aloud. I wish it were more age-diverse, I wish everything didn’t have to be so complicated, I wish blah blah blah. We can always find something wrong with where we are, with who we are. But New Leaf community gave me back a piece of myself, and I have always been thankful for that.

A few months after I joined New Leaf, writing group was formed. At the risk of sounding like a bad country/pop song, I thought this was what I had been waiting for my whole life. Here we had my #1 favorite thing in the world—getting to know deep down what people are really about, and sharing what I’m really about. AND here we had that happening, but gently, so that I could take the time to craft and even hide behind my words, so that I could avoid all the usual awkwardness of the beginning of friendships—trying to express myself aloud and tripping on my words, timing my comments right, knowing when to share something vulnerable or when it’s too soon. Writing group has been a place for me to be me.

This small example of abundant life and loss brings me back to the larger sense of my mortality. This Lent, I find a reminder to be thankful for the gifts I have been given. I also begin to think like this—if God has blessed me so richly in this time, and in this life, then even where there is death there must be more. There must be resurrection. I hate to admit it, but I think I’ll probably come to love Cherokee.

I'm Not Going to Fall.

A few weeks ago, I went camping with some friends at the George Washington National Forest in West Virginia. Having started this blog just before the trip, I was hoping that at some point while stargazing, hiking or sitting on top of a mountain that I would think of some fresh ideas to write about. Blogging inspiration can be hard to find, but I was excited because it seems like people are always getting epiphanies on mountains.

The change of scenery and the slower pace of the trip definitely created an incubator for my thoughts, but for whatever reason, no writing idea ever hatched while I was out there in the woods, trying hard -- perhaps too hard -- to be introspective. Upon returning from my weekend getaway and logging into my blog to reflect, I could only recall trivial little things -- like how our crew burned a log that looked just like the legendary SR-71 spy plane or how mummy sleeping bags are amazing inventions. (Actually, the spy plane firelog was pretty sweet and in retrospect I wish I had taken a photo of it to share here). Nonetheless, I felt like the writing retreat component of my camping experience never took place.

However, while mentally revisiting the trip just recently, I thought of something worth writing about.

* * *

Being a city dweller in an extremely litigious society, I'm used to seeing guard rails along any place where there is a steep drop off. I'm thankful for this too since I'm slightly acrophobic. On the mountain trail that I was on a few weeks ago though, by contrast to the heights around my town, the only thing preventing me from plunging off some scary precipice was my own footing.

I didn't take many photos during the trip, but I do have one of myself crouching atop a boulder near the summit of Big Schloss mountain. When I looked at that image again recently, my mind -- which is highly visual -- started to replay my hiking experience.

I started to remember the chalky surface of the rocks and eating craisins at the summit. But most powerfully, I remembered walking towards the edge of a cliff and having all my muscles tense up along with my nerves shooting off. Fear, that intense physiological reaction, was a big part of that memory.

I've been thinking about fear a lot recently too. I wish I could say that I only get that tingling, choking sensation of fear in my body when I'm standing at the tip of a deadly precipice, but the truth is that I'm often just as -- if not more -- fearful while sitting on my couch, where I'll be fretting about work, relationships or something else. Fear has got me pinned down, I realized. But then something awesome happened while I was still reliving that memory. The Lord spoke to me through a visual metaphor.

I saw this: I was back on the Big Schloss mountain, and as I started walking towards the edge of a cliff, I suddenly saw a helicopter hovering in front of me, the chopper blades creating a lot of wind and noise. I could see the pilot through the open cabin too, and I just knew that it was Jesus. Although I couldn't really see his face since he had the big pilot helmet, visor and everything on, I clearly heard him yell, "Relax, I got you, bro!" And I knew in that moment that Jesus wasn't going to let me fall.

If you're laughing right now, don't feel bad because so did I when I first had this "vision". The all-out pilot suit and the language that He used cracked me up. God sometimes appeals to my humor while teaching me a lesson, which in this case echoed Hebrews 2:11-13.

Now, let me emphasize that this didn't actually happen in real life; it was a visual metaphor that I saw while reliving a memory. I can't give a physical description of Jesus now, but that wasn't the point because it was all about the Lord reminding me about this principle, which is: I don't have to be fearful because Jesus is with me! Christ has set me free from living in fear because He is watching over me, and it is His presence that casts out fear, making me confident in His perfect love.

Before God gave me that message, I had actually been trying to acknowledge Jesus' presence in my life more, and I thank Him for blessing me with that image of His love for me.

I don't know when God will encourage me with another visual metaphor again, but until then, I'll be joyfully reminding myself that Jesus has already said, "I am with you always".

One Year

I’m never not going to miss you.

But it’s no longer heavy; I have the lightness

to run, to travel, to meet new neighbors.

It doesn’t feel like nothing else

is important, or joyful. There is making music,

and cooking tasty (meatless) meals,

and loving the people around me

like you did.

I don’t dread Thanksgiving, because

my gratitude is deep. I’m thankful for family,

content to sit with them eating food I don’t love,

telling stories that seem to signify little,

where before I would have been restless, unsatisfied.

I still think about you every time I drive west on the Beltway

towards Bethesda.

And every time we sing of resurrection, I sing

to your rising.

Every piano suite I play is somehow for you,

not to make up for all the songs I couldn’t remember

how to play for you and Mr. Baer at the end,

but because life is rich with the

food of music,

and you are still alive and part

of its music.

untitled

How it started, I cannot remember..
An upcoming meeting at St Elizabeth’s, their impending demands…
Boom! A white scratch by the door handle
A couple odd fellows, odd characters, odd companions.
An older white man with white hair,
A middle aged black woman with black hair.
Slowly trudging by
anger exploded
Alabama Ave parking lot.

Taken aback by the vibration
An old-fashioned way of communication.
Spinning, swirling, simply detached, floating, painfully.
Car: melted into a burgundy puddle
Anger: clear steam, evaporating.
Sitting, sweating, heavy as lead, yet free floating and free falling.
A search for seltzer,
Images racing.
Beautiful baby with a brother, hand-sown dolls, clinging metal spoons in teacups,
Colorful scarves, the war’s soldiers, quiet after the storm,
Rebuilding, brick buildings,
Education, factory work, part of the movement,
Scientists’ playground, overcoming gravity, flowers, patterned wallpaper,
Marriage, smooth skinned photographs,
A quiet and curious little boy chasing chickens,
Military seriousness, relocation,
Sending him off, meeting the grandbabies,
Driving the red car, henna haircolor, relying on eyeglasses,
Fussing around, butter and jam on white bread cut into bite sized pieces
Radio talks, herbal remedies, superstitions, sharing wisdom, generosity:
Stuffing a fifty into our bag thinking we wouldn’t see.
Goodbyes, trains, the cat’s dish, and gauze headdress.
The dotted spotted injury site and the cheerful voice.

A search for seltzer. Beautiful brown skinned people paying no attention to me.
Colorful headlines
Jewelry, latest hairstyles, the gossip and never ending musical chairs of celebrities’ romances.
Is this a fucking joke?!
Slam this empty glitter and scream.
Drive.
Stop sign.
Turn.
Pull over at the side of the road. Many stares.
The river is pretty. Tears. The film plays back.
God is the master of it all. He owns the day that’s falling out from under our feet.
I am powerless.
Somehow it is at peace.

On the cusp of fall

Here is a poem I wrote nearly a year ago, October 2, 2010. I thought about it this weekend with the sudden chill in the air.

Saturday night on the porch

Fall has surprised us.
I like surprises, when
they are made of cinnamon
sticks in hot chocolate, my breath
visible in frosted air, a friend
on the porch shivering in a scarf.
Another sip of hot chocolate
and I remember that even near the city,
sirens and rushing people and trash
on the ground, the garden in front
of our porch is wild with untamed shrubs.
Baby's breath bloomed last week,
another surprise.

As I think back on it, a lot of things surprised me last fall, some good and some hard. Almost a year gone since all that now, and there is a lot of beauty and newness in my life, and a lot on the cusp of change. Who knows what will have to die, and what will grow this fall. I'm glad to know one thing I didn't know for sure last fall, that I have a friend who will sit beside my on the porch for the rest of my life through the trash and tumult and the new blooms.

It's already been done.

CS Lewis brings up an interesting point in the Screwtape letters. He speaks of humans’ preoccupation with the present vs. future vs. past, and reminds us that both God and the devil are outside the frame of time. He mentions that temptation is easy through setting future-related anxieties into the humans’ minds. This is interesting to think about in the mind frame of a movie, where we have not yet seen 5 minutes ahead, but that does not mean that it doesn’t already exist. Furthermore, if you videotape an event (like a kid on the swings, who then falls off and cries), playing the tape back (or videotaping it) does not stop the event from occurring or take away the unpredictability of falling off. The kid whose knee starts bleeding likely does not know that 10 minutes later he will forget about it, stop crying, and smile again. But we as the viewers (also as creatures more complex who know how these things work) can know what happens 10 mins ahead of a given point.


I think it’s like that with God. Somewhere else I heard this concept of “the Battle is already won.” And come to think of it, it really is. All the things we are longing for and praying for have already happened, if you look at it from eternity’s point of view. Our death and salvation, the end of the world, the New Earth, the fulfillment of prophesies.. they have already happened. Everything we are anxious about and fear has already been resolved. God has already taken care of it. All of our battles against our own sin and that of others, against temptation of the devil and weakness of the flesh – they are done. We are just in the early part of the movie, but that doesn’t make the later part of the movie any less true. Another theme in the Screwtape letters: ongoing small battles over the human’s attention that the devil and God both try to capture. Devil aims to tempt, God tempts to free and offer a better way. Lewis describes the devil’s attempts to bring the human farther away from God and we watch the human live, struggle, grow, and then die and enter the warm glow of heaven where everything finally makes sense and is as it was meant to be. The battle had been won. Now, instead of looking at the human’s life on earth as it is in each specific moment in life, let’s look at it as a whole timeline, or a movie. At each moment he was preoccupied with that moment or the time before or after it. But having read the book (or having ‘seen the movie of his life’), we already know the ending. We already know the battle has been won. So when we look at each moment’s struggle or joy that he is focused on, unaware of the bigger picture, we could laugh or cringe because he is preoccupied with the time frame he lives within. However, God, as not only the viewer of the movie but as the master of the world the movie takes place in, already knows the battle and how it is won. It is mind boggling, I know.

So, if you look outside the frame of time, the battle over that human’s heart had already been won even when he was just born. It had been won at the moments of his worst failures and the most uninteresting of days.

Perhaps we will not see how it all plays out, but we can trust and know that the battle has already been won outside the frame of time. The people we have been praying for – God has already heard our prayers. It has already been done. The Battle is already won. His good has already overcome the sin and evil. And while this concept is kind of tough to chew and swallow and comprehend, it can also be calming. We worry what will happen tomorrow and how this and that will turn out. We fear for the future of our parents and our children, and what the earth will look like when it runs out of natural resources. We worry whether God really hears our requests and petitions and we worry that we have not prayed enough for the people and things that truly matter. But that all has to do with the worries of tomorrow, which Jesus himself asks us to not worry about (Matthew 6:34). Outside the frame of time, it has already been taken care of. The Battle has already been won.

I think this idea can be especially comforting in the times of anxiety, because anxiety revolves worry over events on the small scale and within the frame of time. His Victory in the battle is beyond time and beyond our lifetimes. And it has already happened. It’s like if we lived in a snow globe and worried about interactions and events within that snow globe, but all that mattered was whether or not God moves the snow globe over from the bookshelf to the table. And that part has already been done. The battle has already been won.

Another interesting thought: when describing heaven, Lewis states that the human recognizes the angels and God and says something along the lines of “I should have known all along”. In The Great Divorce, Lewis also mentions, though, that life and reality and truth can only be understood through living them forward in time. but the days and years lived forward on earth are not all. there's more. the way eternity works can't be fully explained or understood while we are here on earth.

This brings me to this thought I once had that maybe we already know heaven and God, and just “forgot” it. We run around this maze of life as conspirators, tagging each other, recognizing it through touch, or running into things that make us remember bits and pieces of Heaven. Maybe our whole lifetimes are the journey of recalling our already existing familiarity with Him. And in the frame of eternity, (not necessarily today or tomorrow), we can say we do already know Him, and we do already know Heaven. Because in eternity we have seen it, and are already there since the Battle has already been won.

Only one thing

This weekend I visited the camp where I worked for years as a counselor, and earlier attended as a camper. It is always beautiful to return. After a day full of sailing, volleyball, swimming, catching up with a very dear friend, I lay on a bench and looked up at the (rather cloudy) sky.

There was a time, here, 3 years ago: lying under the stars with my 16-year-old girls, I ask the question "Where have you been in your relationship with God over the past year?" They all share, and one girl is left. "I can't have a relationship with God," she says, and after some prodding..."because I am gay." And after that moment of truth come many difficult and beautiful and important conversations, whispered in a bunk, confessions, assurances that God's love is bigger. We can't resolve things this summer, but we've cracked through and we are dealing with the real stuff, the gospel, our longings and fears, the stuff that counts.

Another time, sitting on one of these very benches, 5 years ago: hurt and confused and doubting and crying to my director Ellen, telling her the gospel feels empty to me, that I don't need to be forgiven of sin, that while I know I still love and need God, the message of the cross is a formula that doesn't ring true. She retells the message of the cross to me in a way that lets me hope it is my very uncertainty and brokenness that Christ bore.

Waking every morning to this lake, to prayer, to knowing that this may be the one or two or seven days that I have left to love these 10 girls that are sleeping in my cabin, these girls who flirt for validation or cut themselves or have too many questions or long to be closer to God. These girls who need the gospel, need to know God's infinite love.

Look at me now, I've forgotten to live this way, this simple way, where there is only one purpose---loving people and helping them encounter God. To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me (col 1:29). Now, rather, it's checklists, and getting things done, and making sure I am seeing the friends I should see, and conserving the resources I should conserve, and teaching the people I should teach, and defending myself against the ever-encroaching conflicts and weariness and demands.

Unfortunately this is all too familiar. Posted above my desk at work is an index card which I don't see anymore because it's been there too long: "Martha Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed."