I don't remember my exact first impression of Dr. Reist, but I don't think I was overly impressed. I mean, let's be honest, how much can you expect from a professor who quacks all the time and tells jokes pretty much nonstop?
Boy, was I wrong.
I learned more from Dr. Reist than I ever expected; things that I'm still realizing he had been trying to tell me all along.
He taught me to love literature. "We read because there are so many lives out there that we just won't have time to live." And books allow you to experience them.
He introduced me to my favorite author, Graham Greene. In one of his survey classes we read Greene's The Power and the Glory, and I loved it so much that I asked Reist if he'd supervise a semester of independent study on Graham Greene. Those discussions quickly became a highlight of my week. Reist's enthusiasm for the Catholic "atheist" who tried so hard to deny the existence of God but failed at every turn was catching. My favorite book to this day is Greene's The End of the Affair.
He taught me to be opposed to religion. Because, as he loved to remind
us, "Religion too easily turns into religiosity." So instead of
religion, he urged us, pursue faith. I think he made fun of religion more than any other person I've met; yet his faith defined and directed everything he did.
I kept in touch with Dr. Reist long after I graduated. He wrote several recommendation letters for me as I started down various paths trying to figure out what was next. And every time I talked to him and told him what I was thinking of doing, he'd tell me I could do it-- and that I should run for president. And then he'd add his signature, "Hey whoa, man!" and laugh/quack heartily as only Reist could.
I stopped at Hillsdale this summer when I was in the area, hoping to see two professors-- the two men most influential in my faith journey. I got to visit with one of them, my college adviser; but when I asked him about Dr. Reist, he told me that Reist had retired. I didn't have time to look Reist up. I wish I had. I wish I had gotten to thank him for teaching me to love literature, for introducing me to Graham Greene, and above all for encouraging me to pursue faith instead of religion.
Dr. Reist died this morning. How much did I learn from this man who quacked all the time and told jokes pretty much nonstop? More than I ever thought possible, and more than I ever realized he was teaching me.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Thank You for Breaking My Heart
I am Ben Folds. I've said it before, but he and his band just confirmed it for me all over again. This week Ben Folds Five released yet another winning album. And this album, like the ones that have come before it, includes several songs which resonate with me. But one song in particular seems to echo what I've been learning at this time of my life.
Thank you for breaking my heart.
No, I wouldn't actually say my heart is broken. If you're looking for true confessions of a lovesick girl, you're going to be disappointed (sorry). But this heart has been wrung and tested several times and in several ways in the past three months. And, though I love to imagine what a pain-free life would be like, I find myself thankful, like Ben, for the pain. Maybe this will make more sense when you read some of the lyrics....
Yeah I want a different answer
So I ask you once again
But the truth in the silence this time I got it
It's over.
Thank you for breaking my heart
Now I know that it's in there
I left it wide open
And asked you to stay
But you know better.
. . . .
And thank you for breaking my heart
Now I know that it's in there
And it hurts so badly
Tell me this will pass . . .
It's kind of like hope, isn't it? How does one keep hoping when hoping hurts? Do you keep loving people when you know it just increases the risk of getting hurt? Or do you continue to "love hard" when you know that it has the potential to hurt that much worse in the end?
C.S. Lewis actually said something similar in his book The Four Loves:
There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable." (Can I get an Amen?!) When you love other people you take the risk of letting them hurt you. Yes, your heart will be wrung, often tested to its max. You might end up with a broken heart, or even worse, you might hurt someone else in the process-- but ultimately, isn't that better than the alternative? Really, it's the best things that are worth the most risk. And love, I believe with everything in me, is one of those best things.
So with Ben Folds, I say: Thank you for breaking my heart. For wringing it, for testing it, for stretching it, and even cracking it in a few places. I'm not saying it felt good, but now I know that it's in there, and I know that it hasn't become unbreakable, impenetrable, and irredeemable.
Thank you for breaking my heart.
No, I wouldn't actually say my heart is broken. If you're looking for true confessions of a lovesick girl, you're going to be disappointed (sorry). But this heart has been wrung and tested several times and in several ways in the past three months. And, though I love to imagine what a pain-free life would be like, I find myself thankful, like Ben, for the pain. Maybe this will make more sense when you read some of the lyrics....
Yeah I want a different answer
So I ask you once again
But the truth in the silence this time I got it
It's over.
Thank you for breaking my heart
Now I know that it's in there
I left it wide open
And asked you to stay
But you know better.
. . . .
And thank you for breaking my heart
Now I know that it's in there
And it hurts so badly
Tell me this will pass . . .
It's kind of like hope, isn't it? How does one keep hoping when hoping hurts? Do you keep loving people when you know it just increases the risk of getting hurt? Or do you continue to "love hard" when you know that it has the potential to hurt that much worse in the end?
C.S. Lewis actually said something similar in his book The Four Loves:
There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable." (Can I get an Amen?!) When you love other people you take the risk of letting them hurt you. Yes, your heart will be wrung, often tested to its max. You might end up with a broken heart, or even worse, you might hurt someone else in the process-- but ultimately, isn't that better than the alternative? Really, it's the best things that are worth the most risk. And love, I believe with everything in me, is one of those best things.
So with Ben Folds, I say: Thank you for breaking my heart. For wringing it, for testing it, for stretching it, and even cracking it in a few places. I'm not saying it felt good, but now I know that it's in there, and I know that it hasn't become unbreakable, impenetrable, and irredeemable.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Reflections on Haiti: No More the Sound of Weeping
Our theme for VBS was "Creation." We talked about the creation story, how sin ruined perfection, how Jesus came to redeem, and how God will one day create a new heavens and a new earth. The morning of the last lesson on the new heavens and the new earth, I asked Jim (one of the leaders) how he was planning to approach it with the kids in his group to make it understandable to them. His face lit up.
"Can you imagine what Haiti will be like when God makes it new? I'm going to tell them how these old things will pass away, and there won't be pain and poverty and sadness anymore! Isaiah 65!"
His enthusiasm was contagious. When I had a minute, I looked up Isaiah 65 to get familiar with it for myself. I want to be that excited about what I'm telling the kids. My eyes filled with tears when I read it.... they filled with tears when I read it just now to get ready to write this blog post--
I was only there for ten days, and I didn't understand the majority of the names that were told to me in answer to my pathetic "Ki jan ou rele?" ("What is your name?"). But Jesus knows each person's name. From the kids at the orphanage to the patients in the village medical clinics to each one that watched us or waved to us as we drove past in Ric's large truck. I think how much my heart overflows with love for the children that I met; I'm overwhelmed when I try to fathom how much God loves each of them.
Haiti will be utterly transformed someday. There won't be children crying because they're hungry. Or pushing each other to get to the front of the line in the hopes that they don't get left out. Or grieving because a parent or sibling has just died from a disease that could have been treated-- if they'd only had the money for it.
I think of the day when "no more shall be heard the sound of weeping and the cry of distress" in Haiti, and again I am overwhelmed. All of creation suffers as a result of the fall, but in Haiti it is so much more obvious. It just makes me think that the new creation will be that much more obvious in Haiti, too.
And that makes me really excited.
"Can you imagine what Haiti will be like when God makes it new? I'm going to tell them how these old things will pass away, and there won't be pain and poverty and sadness anymore! Isaiah 65!"
His enthusiasm was contagious. When I had a minute, I looked up Isaiah 65 to get familiar with it for myself. I want to be that excited about what I'm telling the kids. My eyes filled with tears when I read it.... they filled with tears when I read it just now to get ready to write this blog post--
Haiti is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. You probably won't hear a lot of people say that, but it's true. But it is covered with layers of dirt and grime and... well, poverty really. But some day it will be completely and utterly transformed.For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth,and the former things shall not be remembered or come into mind.But be glad and rejoice forever in that which I create;for behold, I create [Haiti] to be a joy, and her people to be a gladness.I will rejoice in [Haiti] and be glad in my people;no more shall be heard in it the sound of weeping and the cry of distress.No more shall there be in it an infant who lives but a few days,or an old man who does not fill out his days. . . .They shall build houses and inhabit them,they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.They shall not build and another inhabit;they shall not plant and another eat;for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be,and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands.They shall not labor in vain or bear children for calamity,for they shall be the offspring of the blessed of the Lord,and their descendants with them.Before they call I will answer;while they are yet speaking I will hear....
I was only there for ten days, and I didn't understand the majority of the names that were told to me in answer to my pathetic "Ki jan ou rele?" ("What is your name?"). But Jesus knows each person's name. From the kids at the orphanage to the patients in the village medical clinics to each one that watched us or waved to us as we drove past in Ric's large truck. I think how much my heart overflows with love for the children that I met; I'm overwhelmed when I try to fathom how much God loves each of them.
Haiti will be utterly transformed someday. There won't be children crying because they're hungry. Or pushing each other to get to the front of the line in the hopes that they don't get left out. Or grieving because a parent or sibling has just died from a disease that could have been treated-- if they'd only had the money for it.
I think of the day when "no more shall be heard the sound of weeping and the cry of distress" in Haiti, and again I am overwhelmed. All of creation suffers as a result of the fall, but in Haiti it is so much more obvious. It just makes me think that the new creation will be that much more obvious in Haiti, too.
And that makes me really excited.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Reflections on Haiti: Dirty, Beautiful Feet
[From Tuesday, July 3]
This girl today kept holding my hand and wanted to be by my side non-stop before we went inside to start the program. JB, one of the translators, tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to her feet. "It's hot on the pavement," he said. "The other kids have sandals. She's going to burn her feet."
So I lifted her and let her stand on my feet, her feet on top of mine.
Another man tapped me. "Your feet are getting dirty."
It's okay-- I told him-- it's just dirt; it'll wash off.
He was right. My feet were dirty. My feet are dirty. They have been all week. I thought they were tan-- until I got in the shower and realized it was just several layers of dirt. But tonight one of the women reminded us that our feet are beautiful because we are spreading the gospel.
He was right. They sure were dirty. But he forgot to tell me what God reminded me of later-- my feet were dirty, but they were also beautiful.
"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation...." Isaiah 52:7.
This girl today kept holding my hand and wanted to be by my side non-stop before we went inside to start the program. JB, one of the translators, tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to her feet. "It's hot on the pavement," he said. "The other kids have sandals. She's going to burn her feet."
So I lifted her and let her stand on my feet, her feet on top of mine.
Another man tapped me. "Your feet are getting dirty."
It's okay-- I told him-- it's just dirt; it'll wash off.
He was right. My feet were dirty. My feet are dirty. They have been all week. I thought they were tan-- until I got in the shower and realized it was just several layers of dirt. But tonight one of the women reminded us that our feet are beautiful because we are spreading the gospel.
He was right. They sure were dirty. But he forgot to tell me what God reminded me of later-- my feet were dirty, but they were also beautiful.
"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation...." Isaiah 52:7.
Reflections on Haiti: Bondye Gen Yon Plan Pou Ou
[from Sunday, July 1]
Last night Ric taught us some Creole. I'd been supposed to go back with the other girls to join up with the rest of the team, but I got to stay with the medical team to finish out the last clinic on Monday. So last night we sat around the table and Ric taught us Creole sentence structures and some Creole vocab words.
Today when we got to church there was a Creole phrase painted on the wall: Bondye Gen Yon Plan Pou Ou. And I actually knew what it meant! God Has A Plan For You. Always a good reminder, and really fun to be able to recognize it even in Creole!
When Bruce started talking at church he said, "The Bible tells us that one day every tongue will worship in heaven together. We pray that God's kingdom would be on earth as it is in heaven. So today, we are practicing for heaven!"
It sure felt like it!
God has a plan for me. I just wonder what part Haiti is going to play in it....
Last night Ric taught us some Creole. I'd been supposed to go back with the other girls to join up with the rest of the team, but I got to stay with the medical team to finish out the last clinic on Monday. So last night we sat around the table and Ric taught us Creole sentence structures and some Creole vocab words.
Today when we got to church there was a Creole phrase painted on the wall: Bondye Gen Yon Plan Pou Ou. And I actually knew what it meant! God Has A Plan For You. Always a good reminder, and really fun to be able to recognize it even in Creole!
When Bruce started talking at church he said, "The Bible tells us that one day every tongue will worship in heaven together. We pray that God's kingdom would be on earth as it is in heaven. So today, we are practicing for heaven!"
It sure felt like it!
God has a plan for me. I just wonder what part Haiti is going to play in it....
Reflections on Haiti: I Wait for My God
[from Friday, June 29]
First day in Haiti! I'm with the medical team for now, and this morning we started our day by going to an orphanage. The medical team did a clinic for them; I took the names and ages of the kids. (It's one thing to learn the phrases for how to ask their names and ages; it's a whole other thing to learn what their answers mean!!) Oh my gosh, though; it was so fun!
After I finished the forms, I taught some of the kids how to play Ninja. Entertaining with the language barrier! There was one boy named Steve (when I heard it, I said "I have a brother named Steve!!" and Ric had to translate for me to explain to the poor confused kid why I'd gotten so excited. But when Ric explained, Steve's face lit up); he was awesome at Ninja-- we started calling him Ninja Steve.
There was another girl named Emmanuela-- she wore a red, tattered dress, but she had one of the most beautiful smiles. I took pictures of the kids and showed them on my camera; they loved it so much. I think I could have kept them entertained doing that for hours! They got really into making funny faces for the camera. I was so sad when we had to leave. Who wouldn't be, right? They all lined up at the gate and sang a thank you song.
One of the men from the staff was holding a baby. He motioned to her and then asked me "Do you have one?" I said no.
"Are you married?" Again, I said no.
"When will you get married?" I shrugged my shoulders and smiled.
No idea-- I told him.
I motioned to the baby he was holding.
Is she yours?-- I asked him. "No," he replied.
Are you married? "No," he replied again.
I smiled. So when will you get married?-- I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders like I had done. But he didn't leave it there like I had done. He was smiling, but now he got serious. "I wait for my God," he said, "I wait for my God."
Lord, why can't I have that same simple and strong faith??
First day in Haiti! I'm with the medical team for now, and this morning we started our day by going to an orphanage. The medical team did a clinic for them; I took the names and ages of the kids. (It's one thing to learn the phrases for how to ask their names and ages; it's a whole other thing to learn what their answers mean!!) Oh my gosh, though; it was so fun!
After I finished the forms, I taught some of the kids how to play Ninja. Entertaining with the language barrier! There was one boy named Steve (when I heard it, I said "I have a brother named Steve!!" and Ric had to translate for me to explain to the poor confused kid why I'd gotten so excited. But when Ric explained, Steve's face lit up); he was awesome at Ninja-- we started calling him Ninja Steve.
There was another girl named Emmanuela-- she wore a red, tattered dress, but she had one of the most beautiful smiles. I took pictures of the kids and showed them on my camera; they loved it so much. I think I could have kept them entertained doing that for hours! They got really into making funny faces for the camera. I was so sad when we had to leave. Who wouldn't be, right? They all lined up at the gate and sang a thank you song.
One of the men from the staff was holding a baby. He motioned to her and then asked me "Do you have one?" I said no.
"Are you married?" Again, I said no.
"When will you get married?" I shrugged my shoulders and smiled.
No idea-- I told him.
I motioned to the baby he was holding.
Is she yours?-- I asked him. "No," he replied.
Are you married? "No," he replied again.
I smiled. So when will you get married?-- I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders like I had done. But he didn't leave it there like I had done. He was smiling, but now he got serious. "I wait for my God," he said, "I wait for my God."
Lord, why can't I have that same simple and strong faith??
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Reflections on Haiti: Haitian Hugs
I guess I'm not sure I can articulate what makes a Haitian hug so special, but maybe a picture is worth a thousand words. There's something amazing about kids being so excited to see you, being so eager to have you love them even when they've known you for less than two days. When we'd drive up to the school, the kids would start singing the song that Pastor Bruce had sung to them-- "We Love You"-- at the top of their lungs. And then they'd sing it again-- every time they saw us.
I feel special here when people smile at me and say "hello." But that kind of pales in comparison to those Haitian hugs.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Back from Haiti
I'm back in NYC.
I'd say I'm "home"; but the definition of "home" is increasingly confusing if home is really "where the heart is." Because my heart is spread all over the world. A little piece in New Jersey, another in England, another in Michigan, another in Philly, another in Cape Cod, another in England, another in Maryland.... and now I've just left yet another piece in Haiti.
We lived to the fullest every moment of those ten days in Haiti. It was one of the most incredible ten-day spans of my life!
Stay tuned, though. I'm hoping to post a mini blog series of Reflections on Haiti from my time there. You know, once I catch up on some sleep and get back in the groove of American life once again...
But for now, just wanted you to know I'm back safely on American soil. Thanks to all of you who have been praying for and thinking of me over the past ten days!
I'd say I'm "home"; but the definition of "home" is increasingly confusing if home is really "where the heart is." Because my heart is spread all over the world. A little piece in New Jersey, another in England, another in Michigan, another in Philly, another in Cape Cod, another in England, another in Maryland.... and now I've just left yet another piece in Haiti.
We lived to the fullest every moment of those ten days in Haiti. It was one of the most incredible ten-day spans of my life!
Stay tuned, though. I'm hoping to post a mini blog series of Reflections on Haiti from my time there. You know, once I catch up on some sleep and get back in the groove of American life once again...
But for now, just wanted you to know I'm back safely on American soil. Thanks to all of you who have been praying for and thinking of me over the past ten days!
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Ayiti nan maten an!
It means "Haiti in the morning!" in Haitian Creole. (Yes, I looked it up on Google-translate.)
But seriously, I'm leaving for Haiti in the morning!!! Someone suggested we start journaling even before we go. I haven't had time, but it has made me think a bit more consciously about my expectations, fears, etc.
I asked my dad (who's been there before) what he thinks will be hardest for me. He said, "The need. You'll be overwhelmed by how much need there is everywhere."
Oh man, I thought he was going to say something like "being brave when you see huge spiders in your room" or something like that. Something I could just brush off and brace myself for and prove that I really am brave.
But being overwhelmed by need? I wasn't quite ready for that. I take things personally. Sometimes for good, sometimes for bad; but I deeply feel other people's problems. I hadn't thought about it being overwhelming.
Mostly I'm excited. Excited to teach English in a village. Excited to play with kids at VBS. Excited to meet children and love them. Excited to have my perspective changed. Scared to have my perspective changed.
So I leave in seven hours. I should probably get to bed....
{I probably won't have internet access while I'm there, so I'm planning to journal while I'm gone and then update the blog when I get back so you can share a bit of the experience.}
Pray for us!!
But seriously, I'm leaving for Haiti in the morning!!! Someone suggested we start journaling even before we go. I haven't had time, but it has made me think a bit more consciously about my expectations, fears, etc.
I asked my dad (who's been there before) what he thinks will be hardest for me. He said, "The need. You'll be overwhelmed by how much need there is everywhere."
Oh man, I thought he was going to say something like "being brave when you see huge spiders in your room" or something like that. Something I could just brush off and brace myself for and prove that I really am brave.
But being overwhelmed by need? I wasn't quite ready for that. I take things personally. Sometimes for good, sometimes for bad; but I deeply feel other people's problems. I hadn't thought about it being overwhelming.
Mostly I'm excited. Excited to teach English in a village. Excited to play with kids at VBS. Excited to meet children and love them. Excited to have my perspective changed. Scared to have my perspective changed.
So I leave in seven hours. I should probably get to bed....
{I probably won't have internet access while I'm there, so I'm planning to journal while I'm gone and then update the blog when I get back so you can share a bit of the experience.}
Pray for us!!
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Revisting Padre Plaza
If you've spoken with me in the past three or four months, you know that my job working with inner city kids has been up in the air for a
while now. Not that I'm worried about losing my job... I'm just at a
loss to know what it will look like six months from now. Will I move to the South Bronx? Will I keep working two part-time jobs like I am now? I have no idea!!!!
If you know me you also know that I don't do well being in limbo. Read: I might be the most impatient person in the world. So not knowing what next year looks like is "challenging" for me in my best moments; terrifying and maddening in my worse moments. I've wondered if it's worth all the uncertainty and the fight to make things happen. I've toyed with walking away altogether. I've started looking for other jobs. I've had conversations about moving to other cities.
Today I went back to the South Bronx, back to the park where we did our week-long outreach back in March. Only this time, Josh and I took my boss and his boss with me so they could see what we've been seeing. As soon as I stepped into Padre Plaza, it was like I was breathing different air. Mike welcomed me back with a huge hug and jokingly reprimanded me for being too much of a stranger. Within minutes a young boy arrived at the park. Jorel spent the next 45 minutes entertaining us with stories, asking us questions, and hearing all about camp. After talking to Mike and walking the neighborhood for a bit, our little group went to the Dominican restaurant next to Padre Plaza where we'd eaten several meals during our week-long camp. Fior, the woman behind the counter, was helping customers when I walked in.
She didn't notice me right away, but all the sudden she exclaimed "You're back!! Are you here? Are you all here again?!"
No-- I explained-- we're just visiting. I came to show these guys the neighborhood.
"Oh," she said, clearly disappointed, "but when are you coming back?"
I don't know; we're trying to figure it out... Maybe in the fall?
"What about this summer? Can't you come back now?"
I know, I'm sorry. We're trying to figure it out...
On our way back to the subway, Josh and I spotted Justin and Jaylene walking with their mom down the street and we waved. Justin recognized us almost instantly, and his face lit up. "Are you back?! Is there camp??" he said with a big grin on his face.
No, we just came back to say hi-- Josh and I tried to explain.
"But when is camp gonna be?"
I don't know-- I said-- maybe in the fall? We're trying to figure it out....
"In the fall?? But that's so far away!!"
He's right. It is so far away. I want to go back now. No, it's more than that; I wish we'd never left after that week. But I'm really glad we got to see Mike and Fior and Justin; I'm really thankful for the reminder of what happened when Mont Lawn Camp came to the city this March. I thought I was going back to try to show other people the great things God wants to do in the South Bronx; but I think really God used our little fieldtrip to remind me of the great things he has been doing all along.
It's kids like Jorel and Justin and Jaylene that make me want to go back there-- that make it worth it to fight to go back there. There are so many kids there waiting to love and be loved, to hear about God's love for them and to learn to love them.
So what's the problem, right? Why aren't we just going back up there? Money. Timing. Staffing. Details, details, details. Please pray for us. Pray that God provides the money we need, makes our way clear, and helps me to be patient as we figure it all out. Pray that he'll continue to grow a burden in me for those kids. Pray that he provides for our team-- the resources, the right people, the housing, the programming space. So many details. But there are so, so many kids that make all those details worth it-- today was just a reminder of that.
If you know me you also know that I don't do well being in limbo. Read: I might be the most impatient person in the world. So not knowing what next year looks like is "challenging" for me in my best moments; terrifying and maddening in my worse moments. I've wondered if it's worth all the uncertainty and the fight to make things happen. I've toyed with walking away altogether. I've started looking for other jobs. I've had conversations about moving to other cities.
Today I went back to the South Bronx, back to the park where we did our week-long outreach back in March. Only this time, Josh and I took my boss and his boss with me so they could see what we've been seeing. As soon as I stepped into Padre Plaza, it was like I was breathing different air. Mike welcomed me back with a huge hug and jokingly reprimanded me for being too much of a stranger. Within minutes a young boy arrived at the park. Jorel spent the next 45 minutes entertaining us with stories, asking us questions, and hearing all about camp. After talking to Mike and walking the neighborhood for a bit, our little group went to the Dominican restaurant next to Padre Plaza where we'd eaten several meals during our week-long camp. Fior, the woman behind the counter, was helping customers when I walked in.
She didn't notice me right away, but all the sudden she exclaimed "You're back!! Are you here? Are you all here again?!"
No-- I explained-- we're just visiting. I came to show these guys the neighborhood.
"Oh," she said, clearly disappointed, "but when are you coming back?"
I don't know; we're trying to figure it out... Maybe in the fall?
"What about this summer? Can't you come back now?"
I know, I'm sorry. We're trying to figure it out...
On our way back to the subway, Josh and I spotted Justin and Jaylene walking with their mom down the street and we waved. Justin recognized us almost instantly, and his face lit up. "Are you back?! Is there camp??" he said with a big grin on his face.
No, we just came back to say hi-- Josh and I tried to explain.
"But when is camp gonna be?"
I don't know-- I said-- maybe in the fall? We're trying to figure it out....
"In the fall?? But that's so far away!!"
He's right. It is so far away. I want to go back now. No, it's more than that; I wish we'd never left after that week. But I'm really glad we got to see Mike and Fior and Justin; I'm really thankful for the reminder of what happened when Mont Lawn Camp came to the city this March. I thought I was going back to try to show other people the great things God wants to do in the South Bronx; but I think really God used our little fieldtrip to remind me of the great things he has been doing all along.
It's kids like Jorel and Justin and Jaylene that make me want to go back there-- that make it worth it to fight to go back there. There are so many kids there waiting to love and be loved, to hear about God's love for them and to learn to love them.
So what's the problem, right? Why aren't we just going back up there? Money. Timing. Staffing. Details, details, details. Please pray for us. Pray that God provides the money we need, makes our way clear, and helps me to be patient as we figure it all out. Pray that he'll continue to grow a burden in me for those kids. Pray that he provides for our team-- the resources, the right people, the housing, the programming space. So many details. But there are so, so many kids that make all those details worth it-- today was just a reminder of that.
Monday, June 18, 2012
If You Could Be Anybody....
I went for my first official run with my Back on My Feet running team this morning. I got to run with Dennis, the one who shares my love for all things New Jersey.
Part of the routine each morning is that one team member asks a question meant to spark conversation during the run. The team leader forgot to have us do it before we went out, but when we came back for our cool-down stretches and closing circle, she let Luis pose his question to the group.
"If you could be anyone you wanted for one whole week, who would you be?" And then before anyone else could say anything, he added, "Jack Sparrow. That's who I'd be."
We didn't go around in order so that people who needed it had more time to think; so several of the non-residential members (volunteers) offered their answers of various athletes, actors, and celebrities. A couple of the residential members (the guys from The Bowery Mission) agreed and named various famous people that they really admire.
And then one of the guys spoke up: "Why would I want to be anyone else? God has blessed me so richly!"
There was no condemnation in his voice; just sincere gratitude for all that God has done for him. It's humbling because if you were to compare my life and his life on paper, you'd say right away that I was the one God has blessed so richly. Yet my first instinct when I heard the question was to begin comparing myself to everyone I could think of-- not to think about what God has already done for me.
You know, when I signed up for BoMF I thought This'll be fun-- it'll keep me running consistently and I'll be able to encourage these res members as I do it. Well, joke's on me. Already they're encouraging me and teaching me all sorts of lessons about what it means to acknowledge and be thankful for God's work in my life. Even when my life isn't picture-perfect or smooth. They aren't griping about their situations or how they got there or how others have wronged them. They're thankful that God brought them to The Bowery and that he has blessed them with a team of people who wants to run with them.
Lord, give me this same heart of gratitude that doesn't complain about my circumstances but that is overflowing with thankfulness for the abundant blessings in my life. Open my eyes to see the blessings that aren't readily apparent, and give me this same kind of confidence in your deep love and care for me in any and every situation.
Part of the routine each morning is that one team member asks a question meant to spark conversation during the run. The team leader forgot to have us do it before we went out, but when we came back for our cool-down stretches and closing circle, she let Luis pose his question to the group.
"If you could be anyone you wanted for one whole week, who would you be?" And then before anyone else could say anything, he added, "Jack Sparrow. That's who I'd be."
We didn't go around in order so that people who needed it had more time to think; so several of the non-residential members (volunteers) offered their answers of various athletes, actors, and celebrities. A couple of the residential members (the guys from The Bowery Mission) agreed and named various famous people that they really admire.
And then one of the guys spoke up: "Why would I want to be anyone else? God has blessed me so richly!"
There was no condemnation in his voice; just sincere gratitude for all that God has done for him. It's humbling because if you were to compare my life and his life on paper, you'd say right away that I was the one God has blessed so richly. Yet my first instinct when I heard the question was to begin comparing myself to everyone I could think of-- not to think about what God has already done for me.
You know, when I signed up for BoMF I thought This'll be fun-- it'll keep me running consistently and I'll be able to encourage these res members as I do it. Well, joke's on me. Already they're encouraging me and teaching me all sorts of lessons about what it means to acknowledge and be thankful for God's work in my life. Even when my life isn't picture-perfect or smooth. They aren't griping about their situations or how they got there or how others have wronged them. They're thankful that God brought them to The Bowery and that he has blessed them with a team of people who wants to run with them.
Lord, give me this same heart of gratitude that doesn't complain about my circumstances but that is overflowing with thankfulness for the abundant blessings in my life. Open my eyes to see the blessings that aren't readily apparent, and give me this same kind of confidence in your deep love and care for me in any and every situation.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Haiti!!!!
"Do you have a valid passport?" my dad asked me at my brother's birthday dinner last week.
Yes.... Why? Are you going to Uganda?-- I joked. I've been itching to go on one of my dad's trips with him to Haiti or Uganda to work with the orphans I've heard so much about. And seriously, if you ask an avid traveler if they have a valid passport, you've gotta know you're going to get their hopes up.
"Do you want to go to Haiti with Mr. Worthing?"
But I wasn't really expecting you to say that!!
Uh, YES!!!?!?!?!? Are you serious?? Is this a joke???
It wasn't a joke. I'm really going to Haiti! For a while now, I've been hoping to go; but it just hasn't worked out.
Until now!
So it's really happening-- I'll leave with the team June 28 and come back July 7. We'll be doing a Vacation Bible School and meeting and serving others in the churches that Mr. Worthing knows there. I can't wait! So far I know how to say three things in Creole (thanks, Mike!)--
Sak pase (What's up?)
Bonjou (Good morning)
Bonswa (Good afternoon/evening)
I know, I know.... I'm practically fluent. ;)
Yes.... Why? Are you going to Uganda?-- I joked. I've been itching to go on one of my dad's trips with him to Haiti or Uganda to work with the orphans I've heard so much about. And seriously, if you ask an avid traveler if they have a valid passport, you've gotta know you're going to get their hopes up.
"Do you want to go to Haiti with Mr. Worthing?"
But I wasn't really expecting you to say that!!
Uh, YES!!!?!?!?!? Are you serious?? Is this a joke???
It wasn't a joke. I'm really going to Haiti! For a while now, I've been hoping to go; but it just hasn't worked out.
Until now!
So it's really happening-- I'll leave with the team June 28 and come back July 7. We'll be doing a Vacation Bible School and meeting and serving others in the churches that Mr. Worthing knows there. I can't wait! So far I know how to say three things in Creole (thanks, Mike!)--
Sak pase (What's up?)
Bonjou (Good morning)
Bonswa (Good afternoon/evening)
I know, I know.... I'm practically fluent. ;)
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Back on My Feet
I joined a running club. It's not your average running club. I'll run with them next week for the first time, but I attended my team's monthly meeting yesterday morning. I had to get up at 4am to get there on time-- after having gone to bed at midnight the night before-- but after the meeting, I decided it was worth cutting my night's sleep short by three hours.
You see, most of the people on my running team have seen and experienced things you and I don't even dream about. Or if we do, we encounter them only in our nightmares. About half of my teammates are recovering alcoholics or drug addicts and men who have experienced homelessness. They live at a Mission now; they are fighting to get their lives back on track. And my running club exists to run alongside them during that fight.
My friend Melissa first introduced me to Back on My Feet when I ran the Broad Street Run with her last month. BoMF had just come to New York City, she told me, so I looked them up when I got back home. I felt some apprehension-- I mean, what am I supposed to say to a man who has lived on the streets and tried things I haven't even heard of? What if I don't know what to talk to them about? What if I say something that makes one of them mad or hurts their feelings?
So I went to the monthly meeting with pretty low expectations. And then I walked into the room and Kevin came up to me and greeted me with a warm "Are you going to be running with us?? You're going to love it!" and Lafayette tried to give me a t-shirt because he was excited I was going to be part of his team. When Dennis started finding ways to work his love of New Jersey into every conversation, I knew I was going to be okay.
Towards the end of the meeting, Kevin asked to speak. He said, "I've spent so many years mad at myself for my mistakes and I've felt so hopeless. And now I have you guys running alongside me and telling me I can do it. I've never had people telling me I could do anything. I don't think you guys understand how much you encourage me or how much you help me."
I don't think I understand either. But I'm excited to find out and to be a part of it!
You see, most of the people on my running team have seen and experienced things you and I don't even dream about. Or if we do, we encounter them only in our nightmares. About half of my teammates are recovering alcoholics or drug addicts and men who have experienced homelessness. They live at a Mission now; they are fighting to get their lives back on track. And my running club exists to run alongside them during that fight.
My friend Melissa first introduced me to Back on My Feet when I ran the Broad Street Run with her last month. BoMF had just come to New York City, she told me, so I looked them up when I got back home. I felt some apprehension-- I mean, what am I supposed to say to a man who has lived on the streets and tried things I haven't even heard of? What if I don't know what to talk to them about? What if I say something that makes one of them mad or hurts their feelings?
So I went to the monthly meeting with pretty low expectations. And then I walked into the room and Kevin came up to me and greeted me with a warm "Are you going to be running with us?? You're going to love it!" and Lafayette tried to give me a t-shirt because he was excited I was going to be part of his team. When Dennis started finding ways to work his love of New Jersey into every conversation, I knew I was going to be okay.
Towards the end of the meeting, Kevin asked to speak. He said, "I've spent so many years mad at myself for my mistakes and I've felt so hopeless. And now I have you guys running alongside me and telling me I can do it. I've never had people telling me I could do anything. I don't think you guys understand how much you encourage me or how much you help me."
I don't think I understand either. But I'm excited to find out and to be a part of it!
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Confessions of a Wannabe Runner
On Sunday I will run my first real race. I use the term "race" loosely. Others will be racing to win; I will be fighting to finish. I ran eight miles the other day; it was the farthest distance I've ever run in my life. And it felt kinda good. In that "I think I'm going to die, but I can't believe I'm accomplishing this" sort of way.
Ten miles. With 30,000 runners. Yes, I am scared spitless. I'm mostly nervous about having to use the bathroom part-way through the race and not being able to find a place to go. I've run 5Ks before, but that's child's play compared to this. I don't know what to expect, so I've made up this whole scary "running world" in my head.
I'm not looking to set any records. This time, I'm aiming for finishing. If I survive this, I'll work on getting faster for the next one.
And maybe-- hopefully-- one of these days I won't feel the need to classify myself as a Wannabe Runner.
Ten miles. With 30,000 runners. Yes, I am scared spitless. I'm mostly nervous about having to use the bathroom part-way through the race and not being able to find a place to go. I've run 5Ks before, but that's child's play compared to this. I don't know what to expect, so I've made up this whole scary "running world" in my head.
I'm not looking to set any records. This time, I'm aiming for finishing. If I survive this, I'll work on getting faster for the next one.
And maybe-- hopefully-- one of these days I won't feel the need to classify myself as a Wannabe Runner.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
How the Cross Came Home
[Our church has been studying the "Seven Sayings on the Cross" during the seven Sundays of Lent. To help the cross become more personal, our pastor asked seven different people to share their stories, one each Sunday of Lent. Here is mine...]
I don’t remember a time when church wasn’t part of my life. Don’t get me wrong though—that didn’t mean I enjoyed it. To me, church was an inconvenience; God was a cosmic kill-joy who was watching to make sure I wasn’t enjoying myself too much and who would step in and punish me if he thought that I was. It wasn’t that I didn’t want God to be a part of my life; it was more that I didn’t want my life to have to change because he was a part of it. And so I spent my childhood stuck in this awkward place of wanting to know Jesus on one hand, and yet being afraid of what that would mean on the other.
I read the Bible with my family every day, went to Sunday school each week, and attended a Christian school for all but two years of my schooling. By the time I got to college, I was really good at giving the right answers when anyone would ask me anything remotely spiritual. I knew how to deflect questions, and I knew how to debate anyone who believed differently than I did. My junior year of college, I studied abroad in England and the girls in my house there were from all parts of the religious spectrum. We had a couple Charismatics, a devout Roman Catholic, a girl who was “figuring things out” and has since become an Orthodox Jew, a Mormon, an atheist, and me—who got more and more confused as I listened to everyone talk about what they believed and as I realized that I, actually, didn’t have a clue.
When I got back to my college after that semester, I went through pretty severe reverse culture shock. Most of my closest friends couldn’t relate to my struggle, which made it an intensely lonely time for me. And I just couldn’t stop wrestling with the confusion that had begun during my time in Oxford—what did I personally believe? I knew what I believed because my parents had told me. But what did I actually believe for myself? And so, for the first time, I started reading the Bible in earnest as I tried to escape the loneliness and make some sense of the confusing thoughts swirling around in my brain.
That summer I hit rock-bottom, and I finally admitted to Jesus that I didn’t actually have any of the answers—even though I’d always known the right words to say. I realized that I was tired of fighting because I’d been fighting to earn my salvation, and that the truth of the matter was that I was never going to be able to do it on my own. I asked him to forgive me for all the ways I’d disobeyed him, and I asked God to accept Jesus’ sacrifice on my behalf.
God’s been teaching me a lot since then. I still struggle with those childhood impressions of God as a cosmic kill-joy. I struggle to believe that he loves me more than anyone else has ever loved me, that his love doesn’t give up and that it doesn’t depend on anything I do. And as I fight to believe the depths of God’s love for me, I’m learning that he isn’t just a supreme being, but he is a personal Father. A father who cares about each detail of my life and that he has plans for me—plans for good and not for evil.
The more I experience God as my father, the more I understand how his heart breaks for the fatherless in the world around me and how he wants them, too, to know God as their father. I’m learning that he is giving me a gift by allowing me to share his love with some of those children and to tell them about how intensely he loves them. This past week I led an outreach for children in the South Bronx, and one of the themes that came up again and again was how God knows each of us by name. The kids loved listening to us try to get their names right, loved it when I guessed how to spell the name to write it on their nametags. On the rare occasion that I guessed correctly, their eyes would get big, and they’d whisper “How did you know that?” But as the week went on and we remembered their names from day to day, they were surprised and thrilled. And we were able to tell them how God had known their names all along and how he is calling each one of them personally—by name!—to himself.
Working with those kids in the Bronx was a fresh reminder that, so far from being an impersonal, harsh, cosmic kill-joy, our God cares about the details of our lives. He calls us by name to believe in him. And sometimes he lets us be the ones who say others’ names out loud—lets us participate in calling others to believe in Jesus too.
I don’t remember a time when church wasn’t part of my life. Don’t get me wrong though—that didn’t mean I enjoyed it. To me, church was an inconvenience; God was a cosmic kill-joy who was watching to make sure I wasn’t enjoying myself too much and who would step in and punish me if he thought that I was. It wasn’t that I didn’t want God to be a part of my life; it was more that I didn’t want my life to have to change because he was a part of it. And so I spent my childhood stuck in this awkward place of wanting to know Jesus on one hand, and yet being afraid of what that would mean on the other.
I read the Bible with my family every day, went to Sunday school each week, and attended a Christian school for all but two years of my schooling. By the time I got to college, I was really good at giving the right answers when anyone would ask me anything remotely spiritual. I knew how to deflect questions, and I knew how to debate anyone who believed differently than I did. My junior year of college, I studied abroad in England and the girls in my house there were from all parts of the religious spectrum. We had a couple Charismatics, a devout Roman Catholic, a girl who was “figuring things out” and has since become an Orthodox Jew, a Mormon, an atheist, and me—who got more and more confused as I listened to everyone talk about what they believed and as I realized that I, actually, didn’t have a clue.
When I got back to my college after that semester, I went through pretty severe reverse culture shock. Most of my closest friends couldn’t relate to my struggle, which made it an intensely lonely time for me. And I just couldn’t stop wrestling with the confusion that had begun during my time in Oxford—what did I personally believe? I knew what I believed because my parents had told me. But what did I actually believe for myself? And so, for the first time, I started reading the Bible in earnest as I tried to escape the loneliness and make some sense of the confusing thoughts swirling around in my brain.
That summer I hit rock-bottom, and I finally admitted to Jesus that I didn’t actually have any of the answers—even though I’d always known the right words to say. I realized that I was tired of fighting because I’d been fighting to earn my salvation, and that the truth of the matter was that I was never going to be able to do it on my own. I asked him to forgive me for all the ways I’d disobeyed him, and I asked God to accept Jesus’ sacrifice on my behalf.
God’s been teaching me a lot since then. I still struggle with those childhood impressions of God as a cosmic kill-joy. I struggle to believe that he loves me more than anyone else has ever loved me, that his love doesn’t give up and that it doesn’t depend on anything I do. And as I fight to believe the depths of God’s love for me, I’m learning that he isn’t just a supreme being, but he is a personal Father. A father who cares about each detail of my life and that he has plans for me—plans for good and not for evil.
The more I experience God as my father, the more I understand how his heart breaks for the fatherless in the world around me and how he wants them, too, to know God as their father. I’m learning that he is giving me a gift by allowing me to share his love with some of those children and to tell them about how intensely he loves them. This past week I led an outreach for children in the South Bronx, and one of the themes that came up again and again was how God knows each of us by name. The kids loved listening to us try to get their names right, loved it when I guessed how to spell the name to write it on their nametags. On the rare occasion that I guessed correctly, their eyes would get big, and they’d whisper “How did you know that?” But as the week went on and we remembered their names from day to day, they were surprised and thrilled. And we were able to tell them how God had known their names all along and how he is calling each one of them personally—by name!—to himself.
Working with those kids in the Bronx was a fresh reminder that, so far from being an impersonal, harsh, cosmic kill-joy, our God cares about the details of our lives. He calls us by name to believe in him. And sometimes he lets us be the ones who say others’ names out loud—lets us participate in calling others to believe in Jesus too.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
When the Light Turns Yellow
A few months ago I was just brainstorming as I was running through the projects. Tomorrow morning I'll meet Josh at Costco to get supplies, and tomorrow night my volunteer crew will start arriving in town.
It hasn't been completely smooth sailing, but God's hand has been pretty clearly on the plans from the beginning. When I proposed the idea of doing a Christian-Street-Outreach-style event up in the Bronx to Josh and Rich, they embraced the idea right away. "We can use it as a recruiting event for camp!" they said, and the brainstorming began. I know of a guy who coordinates spring break missions trips for college students, so I contacted him immediately to see if they could be our manpower. As I waited for his reply, I got more and more excited about the prospect.
And then I got his response. Though he thought it was a great idea and would love to help us out in the future, we were just too late in the game to pull it together for this year. Josh and I knew we couldn't pull it off with just the two of us, but I somehow couldn't let the idea go.
Two days later, I got an email from a girl named Rebekah from Tennessee. She'd seen my name on the Kids With A Promise website, and she emailed to ask if I might possibly know of any service projects she and a group of her college friends could do on their spring break. They were willing to do anything, she explained, but they were especially interested in doing something with urban youth-- if at all possible.
Oh, that's possible-- I thought, and I responded immediately.
Josh had the idea of holding it at a garden where he helps out periodically. But when he spoke to Mike, the man from his old church who runs the place, Mike pointed out that it might be chilly outside mid-March. So we got permission to hold our event in a school in the Bronx. But when we went up for one last meeting to finalize all the details, the first thing the woman said to us was, "Just so we're clear, you know you are not allowed to speak about 'Jesus' or 'God,' right? You can talk about peace, love, and hope-- everyone needs spirituality-- but nothing about Jesus." My heart sank. I told the woman we'd need to get back to her.
How do we tell these kids about peace and love and hope if we don't tell them about Jesus?-- I asked Josh-- We'd only be telling them part of the story, and that's not doing them any favors.
"Want to go see the garden I help with?" asked Josh, and we headed to the South Bronx to see a community garden there. Padre Plaza is awesome-- Josh's friend Mike has been working to renovate it and make it beautiful for a neighborhood that is not exactly known for its beauty or tranquility (to say the least). There is a stage on one end, and there is just enough open space for a group of kids to gather and play some games, sing some songs, and learn about Jesus. We called Mike to see if he had time to meet with us. He did, and within minutes, we were sitting in his living room explaining what had happened and why we were scrambling to find a new venue.
"Why did you tell me you didn't want to meet here in the first place?" he asked Josh.
"You told me it would be too cold."
Mike just shook his head.
"You gave up too easy, man. You gave up too easy. You see, the devil wants you to give up. He tells you that you can't do it, and that you may as well not even try. You may as well not even get out of bed. And when the devil tells you it's not worth getting out of bed, you have two choices-- you can pull the covers up over your head, or you can throw them off and jump out of bed with even more determination."
He looked at me quizzically. "So? Are you gonna talk about Jesus at this event?"
You betcha.
"Good. Then you can use it. Don't give up, you two. Don't let the devil tell you that you can't do this. It's like when the light turns yellow-- you can either slam on the brakes or step on the gas. So when the devil tells you it's not gonna work out, you can slam on the brakes or you can step on the gas. He'll be really unhappy if you step on the gas; but don't let him stop you."
I'm glad Mike reminded us of that, because I've been hearing those whispers of doubt and discouragement all week, but God keeps affirming our plans as we step on the gas.
And the weather? Well, the forecast says it'll be in the 60's all week, and even getting up to 70 on one of the days!
"That's not normal for March," people keep saying. And I just smile, because they're right. And it's just another reminder to me that Jesus is excited, too, that we're going to be telling children in the South Bronx about him next week.
It hasn't been completely smooth sailing, but God's hand has been pretty clearly on the plans from the beginning. When I proposed the idea of doing a Christian-Street-Outreach-style event up in the Bronx to Josh and Rich, they embraced the idea right away. "We can use it as a recruiting event for camp!" they said, and the brainstorming began. I know of a guy who coordinates spring break missions trips for college students, so I contacted him immediately to see if they could be our manpower. As I waited for his reply, I got more and more excited about the prospect.
And then I got his response. Though he thought it was a great idea and would love to help us out in the future, we were just too late in the game to pull it together for this year. Josh and I knew we couldn't pull it off with just the two of us, but I somehow couldn't let the idea go.
Two days later, I got an email from a girl named Rebekah from Tennessee. She'd seen my name on the Kids With A Promise website, and she emailed to ask if I might possibly know of any service projects she and a group of her college friends could do on their spring break. They were willing to do anything, she explained, but they were especially interested in doing something with urban youth-- if at all possible.
Oh, that's possible-- I thought, and I responded immediately.
Josh had the idea of holding it at a garden where he helps out periodically. But when he spoke to Mike, the man from his old church who runs the place, Mike pointed out that it might be chilly outside mid-March. So we got permission to hold our event in a school in the Bronx. But when we went up for one last meeting to finalize all the details, the first thing the woman said to us was, "Just so we're clear, you know you are not allowed to speak about 'Jesus' or 'God,' right? You can talk about peace, love, and hope-- everyone needs spirituality-- but nothing about Jesus." My heart sank. I told the woman we'd need to get back to her.
How do we tell these kids about peace and love and hope if we don't tell them about Jesus?-- I asked Josh-- We'd only be telling them part of the story, and that's not doing them any favors.
"Want to go see the garden I help with?" asked Josh, and we headed to the South Bronx to see a community garden there. Padre Plaza is awesome-- Josh's friend Mike has been working to renovate it and make it beautiful for a neighborhood that is not exactly known for its beauty or tranquility (to say the least). There is a stage on one end, and there is just enough open space for a group of kids to gather and play some games, sing some songs, and learn about Jesus. We called Mike to see if he had time to meet with us. He did, and within minutes, we were sitting in his living room explaining what had happened and why we were scrambling to find a new venue.
"Why did you tell me you didn't want to meet here in the first place?" he asked Josh.
"You told me it would be too cold."
Mike just shook his head.
"You gave up too easy, man. You gave up too easy. You see, the devil wants you to give up. He tells you that you can't do it, and that you may as well not even try. You may as well not even get out of bed. And when the devil tells you it's not worth getting out of bed, you have two choices-- you can pull the covers up over your head, or you can throw them off and jump out of bed with even more determination."
He looked at me quizzically. "So? Are you gonna talk about Jesus at this event?"
You betcha.
"Good. Then you can use it. Don't give up, you two. Don't let the devil tell you that you can't do this. It's like when the light turns yellow-- you can either slam on the brakes or step on the gas. So when the devil tells you it's not gonna work out, you can slam on the brakes or you can step on the gas. He'll be really unhappy if you step on the gas; but don't let him stop you."
I'm glad Mike reminded us of that, because I've been hearing those whispers of doubt and discouragement all week, but God keeps affirming our plans as we step on the gas.
And the weather? Well, the forecast says it'll be in the 60's all week, and even getting up to 70 on one of the days!
"That's not normal for March," people keep saying. And I just smile, because they're right. And it's just another reminder to me that Jesus is excited, too, that we're going to be telling children in the South Bronx about him next week.
Monday, February 27, 2012
The Best Souvenir Money Can't Buy
I went to Florida a couple weeks ago to visit my friend Leah and to help at the children's home and school where she works. I got to do a lot of things while I was there-- from a boat ride to see manatees, to making Valentines with the boys at the home, to helping in the classroom, to holding and singing to the sick 3-year-old in the middle of the night while trying to get his fever to go down. My last morning there I taught a writing workshop, focusing in part on narrative vs. expository essays. We wrote, we edited, we read our essays to each other. We edited some more (anyone who's had me as a teacher knows how much I love the revision process...).
Andrew, the 11-year-old won my heart from the beginning of my visit. But still, I wasn't expecting to get as attached to them as I did.
"Are you really surprised?" my dad asked me when I told him this.
But I really was surprised. I knew I'd enjoy my time there, but somehow I didn't expect to have such a hard time leaving. I took a lot of pictures; my thought was to print one as a souvenir of my time there and to put it next to my mirror as a reminder to pray for the home and the boys I'd grown to love even during such a short visit.
And then today I got another souvenir-- unexpected, unrequested, and yet one I'll treasure for a very long time.
Dear Miss Anne,
Here is my essay about my favorite times with you. Do you think it is a narrative or an expository essay?
Thank you for coming over and I hope you had a nice flight back.
Have a nice week.
Andrew
How was my time with Miss Anne? Well, I will tell you. It was the best time yet, and here are some reasons. They are that she played with me and took pictures of me.
My reason why we had a good time is that we played together. First, we played with my transformers and that was when I was sick. Then, we made some Valentines together. To sum up this paragraph, Miss Anne is a fun person to have around all the time, especially to play with.
Next, she took pictures of me, and that is another reason why we had a good time. She took pictures of me when I was climbing a tree at General Ken’s house. She took pictures of me at the Rainbow River Club. Then, she took pictures of me in my New York shirt. Pictures help me to remember the events that happened.
Last of all, as already mentioned before, the reasons why I had a good time with Miss Anne are that she played with me and took pictures of me. From that week forth I will never forget how nice she was to me and Miss Leah.
Andrew, the 11-year-old won my heart from the beginning of my visit. But still, I wasn't expecting to get as attached to them as I did.
"Are you really surprised?" my dad asked me when I told him this.
But I really was surprised. I knew I'd enjoy my time there, but somehow I didn't expect to have such a hard time leaving. I took a lot of pictures; my thought was to print one as a souvenir of my time there and to put it next to my mirror as a reminder to pray for the home and the boys I'd grown to love even during such a short visit.
And then today I got another souvenir-- unexpected, unrequested, and yet one I'll treasure for a very long time.
Dear Miss Anne,
Here is my essay about my favorite times with you. Do you think it is a narrative or an expository essay?
Thank you for coming over and I hope you had a nice flight back.
Have a nice week.
Andrew
How was my time with Miss Anne? Well, I will tell you. It was the best time yet, and here are some reasons. They are that she played with me and took pictures of me.
My reason why we had a good time is that we played together. First, we played with my transformers and that was when I was sick. Then, we made some Valentines together. To sum up this paragraph, Miss Anne is a fun person to have around all the time, especially to play with.
Next, she took pictures of me, and that is another reason why we had a good time. She took pictures of me when I was climbing a tree at General Ken’s house. She took pictures of me at the Rainbow River Club. Then, she took pictures of me in my New York shirt. Pictures help me to remember the events that happened.
Last of all, as already mentioned before, the reasons why I had a good time with Miss Anne are that she played with me and took pictures of me. From that week forth I will never forget how nice she was to me and Miss Leah.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Dakota Dog Davies
105 years in dog-time. That's pretty old. Even when you've had a pleasant, easy life.For those of you who don't think in dog-time, that's 15 years in human-time. 15 years is a pretty long time too, especially when you think about how many memories you make in any given year. Or week. Or day, for that matter.
Dakota Dog Davies. Also known affectionately as "Puppyhead." A member of our family for 15 years. We knew he wouldn't be around forever, but we're only now realizing what it means to say goodbye.
Dakota may not have been the brightest member of our family. I still remember the day we were preparing for some large party. Everything was perfect and ready to go, and we kids had been given the task of wearing Dakota out so he wouldn't be too hyper around the guests. I don't remember who, but one of us ran out onto the deck and, in an attempt to stop Dakota from following us outside, slid the screen door shut. And wouldn't you know it, Dakota Dog Davies kept running-- right through the screen door, ripping it irreparably just minutes before all the guests arrived.
There was also the Pastors' Conference when we were getting ready to have some of the men over for dinner. Mom was going to defrost the hamburger meat to make her meal, but the men arrived earlier than expected. She went out to meet them. When she got back to the kitchen, she couldn't find the hamburger anywhere. "Maybe I did start defrosting it after all?" she thought, and looked in the microwave. Nope. "Maybe I never took it out?" she thought, and looked in the freezer. Nope. And then she saw Dakota Dog Davies, just lying on the floor. Looking rather guilty and rather ill, I might add. That poor, greedy dog had eaten five pounds of raw hamburger meat. I'm happy to say he lived many happy years after that. But he learned his lesson, too; I don't think he ever went after raw hamburger meat again.
When Dad broke the news to us this week that Dakota was in his last days, we started compiling a list of our favorite memories. My brothers did better at remembering the funny ones. I remembered the things like curling up with him and whispering all my secrets to this newest addition of our family who I was sure understood me better than anyone else possibly could. And I was right, obviously, because he'd sigh knowingly and lick my face as I whispered in his ear. I knew that was his way of telling me he was on my side and everything was going to be okay. He was always supportive that way.
"Dakota" means "the people" in Sioux Indian. Or so said one of Tim's friends, and we pretended like we'd known that when we named him. We didn't pick him; he picked us. See, we weren't even supposed to get a dog. But our friends' dog had a litter of puppies; and we begged and pleaded to be allowed to see them. Mom didn't want a dog. But Dakota knew she was the one he had to win over, and that 8-week old puppy waddled over to her and sat down on her feet. And he had her heart from that point on.
We wrapped him in an old purple robe when we brought him home. He slept with that robe almost every night in the Montville house. At some point Mom cut it up into smaller pieces, and we'd give him a new piece when the previous one got too "loved."
We liked to joke that Dakota could get a job as a therapy dog. Gramarie and Pop-pop weren't really dog-lovers, but they quickly became Dakota-lovers when they moved in with Mom and Dad. Gramarie thought he was her dog; she loved him so much--she liked the "other one" too, she would always tell us; but Dakota was her dog. And, knowing he could always convince her to feed him even though it was against the rules, Dakota became her faithful shadow and companion to the end of his days.
By the end, Dakota could barely walk; stairs were especially a challenge. But Dad reports that his last night, he made the trek up the stairs so he could sleep by everyone else. Dakota-- it means "the people," you know-- never liked to be alone.
It amazes me to think how many people knew him. Friends from pretty much every phase of my life have met and loved Dakota like I did. And he loved them right back.
I knew he was old. I knew he couldn't be around forever. But it's never easy to say goodbye, especially to someone who has listened to your dreams, your frustrations, your hurts, your secrets and has loved you through it all, no matter what.
I'm glad that Mom found a piece of the purple robe for him to have at the end. I'm glad he doesn't hurt anymore. I'm glad he got to meet so many of my friends. I'm glad he got to meet Lucy. I'm glad I got to tell him all those things I told him over the years. I'm glad I got to tell him one last time how much I love him and how great a friend he's been to me. And boy, am I gonna miss that dog.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep....
Last night I dreamed that I was murdered. Vividly, really, truly murdered. The corner where I was shot in my dream is a corner a few blocks from my office where I have stood many times. And I woke up scared and upset and haven't been able to shake the feeling all day.
Without even realizing I was doing it, I've been putting off going to bed as long as I could. I was falling asleep on the couch and realized the time had come; I need to go to bed if I have any hope of getting myself out of bed to go running in the morning.
Yet as soon as I started to pull back the covers on my bed, the same feelings of panic and fear washed over me like it was 3am this morning all over again.
Lord, please give me sweet dreams. Guard my mind, guard my heart. Please don't let me feel fear like that again; keep me safe-- in my dreams, on the streets, and wherever you call me to go in life.
Without even realizing I was doing it, I've been putting off going to bed as long as I could. I was falling asleep on the couch and realized the time had come; I need to go to bed if I have any hope of getting myself out of bed to go running in the morning.
Yet as soon as I started to pull back the covers on my bed, the same feelings of panic and fear washed over me like it was 3am this morning all over again.
Lord, please give me sweet dreams. Guard my mind, guard my heart. Please don't let me feel fear like that again; keep me safe-- in my dreams, on the streets, and wherever you call me to go in life.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Slumber Party Love Advice
One of my friends from Alice's did a cabaret show tonight. It was called "PJs and Pixy Stix," and Nick invited us to participate in a musical slumber party of sorts as he alternated singing his heart out with entertaining us with various stories and musings.
At one point he pulled a stool up to the microphone and announced that he was going to give us some love advice-- "Dr. Nick's Love Advice" he called it, and he began....
"Sometimes you meet someone special and you give them your heart. And sometimes that special someone says, 'Thank you' and they take your heart and they keep it safe and guard it carefully.
"But sometimes they take your heart and they say 'Whoops!' as it falls to the ground and shatters in a million pieces. But they don't stop there. They look at the pieces laying there on the ground, find the shiniest one, and take it with them.
"You fight to put those pieces back together. And someday, someone else comes along and helps you. You pull out the Elmer's glue and the tape, and they help you piece your heart back together. And now this time, your heart is that much stronger because it has all that Elmer's glue holding it together. But as you put the fragments back in place, this new someone notices something isn't right. 'You're missing a piece,' they tell you, and then they hand you a piece of themselves to make your heart whole again."
Really, it's a beautiful image of how life-- and love-- goes. And it's a beautiful reminder that beauty can still come out of messes.
So keep pressing on if you're one of the many who's fighting to pick up the pieces. The Elmer's glue is just going to make you (us) stronger in the end. And that new piece-- well, it might just make your heart even more beautiful than it was in the first place.
(Don't worry; I struggle to believe that, too. But I think "Dr. Nick" might be on to something....)
At one point he pulled a stool up to the microphone and announced that he was going to give us some love advice-- "Dr. Nick's Love Advice" he called it, and he began....
"Sometimes you meet someone special and you give them your heart. And sometimes that special someone says, 'Thank you' and they take your heart and they keep it safe and guard it carefully.
"But sometimes they take your heart and they say 'Whoops!' as it falls to the ground and shatters in a million pieces. But they don't stop there. They look at the pieces laying there on the ground, find the shiniest one, and take it with them.
"You fight to put those pieces back together. And someday, someone else comes along and helps you. You pull out the Elmer's glue and the tape, and they help you piece your heart back together. And now this time, your heart is that much stronger because it has all that Elmer's glue holding it together. But as you put the fragments back in place, this new someone notices something isn't right. 'You're missing a piece,' they tell you, and then they hand you a piece of themselves to make your heart whole again."
Really, it's a beautiful image of how life-- and love-- goes. And it's a beautiful reminder that beauty can still come out of messes.
So keep pressing on if you're one of the many who's fighting to pick up the pieces. The Elmer's glue is just going to make you (us) stronger in the end. And that new piece-- well, it might just make your heart even more beautiful than it was in the first place.
(Don't worry; I struggle to believe that, too. But I think "Dr. Nick" might be on to something....)
Friday, January 27, 2012
Baby Aydenn
I know a lot of kids, but this one had me wrapped around his pudgy little fingers even before I met him. Maybe it's because I was excited to meet him the second his dad (who I work with at Alice's) told me that he and his wife were expecting.I had the privilege of doing his baby photos; it was the first time I'd met him, but it was like we knew each other already.
And check it out; he loves Abbey (my faithful teddy bear) as much as I do.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Someone's Nicest Someone
You know when you see someone scowling and you think they're upset? Or better yet, what about those times when you are the one scowling and someone else sees you and thinks you're upset. And you're not actually upset, but you're just not thinking about not scowling. So there those people go, making assumptions about you-- maybe that you had a bad day, maybe that you're a frowning, grumpy person. And really, all that's going on is that you're just not thinking that you should be thinking about not frowning.
That's what we were talking about last week when we went out with some of our (new!) church friends.... Those awkward moments when you're lost in your own world and someone you know walks past you and you don't realize that they said hello until you're a couple blocks away and have a vague recollection that you may have just heard your name said several times. Be honest; you know exactly what I'm talking about. We talked about how we hope that people know to give us the benefit of the doubt that we weren't purposefully blowing them off or being rude... that sometimes you just frown and you don't mean anything by it. I wonder how often we fail to give others that same benefit of the doubt....
"You know what's life-changing?" Eli said. "Try looking around the subway at all the people there. So many of them are frowning or look really unpleasant or miserable. And you might be tempted to think that you would never want to know them or have a conversation with them. But try this: look at those people and imagine each one as Someone's 'Nicest Someone'-- you know, when someone says 'He's the nicest person I know...'-- and imagine that the person sitting across from you on the subway is that Nicest Someone to somebody else. Try it. It's pretty cool."
I tried it last night on the subway. That grumpy old man didn't seem so grumpy anymore; he seemed like maybe he'd just had a rough day. And the sullen teenager seemed a whole lot more misunderstood than rebellious.
Eli was right; it's pretty cool.
You should try it sometime.
That's what we were talking about last week when we went out with some of our (new!) church friends.... Those awkward moments when you're lost in your own world and someone you know walks past you and you don't realize that they said hello until you're a couple blocks away and have a vague recollection that you may have just heard your name said several times. Be honest; you know exactly what I'm talking about. We talked about how we hope that people know to give us the benefit of the doubt that we weren't purposefully blowing them off or being rude... that sometimes you just frown and you don't mean anything by it. I wonder how often we fail to give others that same benefit of the doubt....
"You know what's life-changing?" Eli said. "Try looking around the subway at all the people there. So many of them are frowning or look really unpleasant or miserable. And you might be tempted to think that you would never want to know them or have a conversation with them. But try this: look at those people and imagine each one as Someone's 'Nicest Someone'-- you know, when someone says 'He's the nicest person I know...'-- and imagine that the person sitting across from you on the subway is that Nicest Someone to somebody else. Try it. It's pretty cool."
I tried it last night on the subway. That grumpy old man didn't seem so grumpy anymore; he seemed like maybe he'd just had a rough day. And the sullen teenager seemed a whole lot more misunderstood than rebellious.
Eli was right; it's pretty cool.
You should try it sometime.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Seeing Snow
I was supposed to go to Maryland yesterday to be there when my dad became a pastor at my parents' new church. It was a big deal, and I was supposed to be there for it.
But I missed my bus (and by two minutes, at that).
"Can you do me a favor?" my dad said when I called to break the news to him that I couldn't make it down there in time for the service. "Can you take the hours you would have spent getting here and back and enjoy a Day of Rest instead of a Day of Run?"
So I enjoyed a Day of Rest. I went to my new church and worshiped with the people who are becoming my friends there; later I relaxed at home and enjoyed some quiet time. But between the two, I did what might be the most restful thing I can do in the city-- I grabbed my camera and spent some time wandering through Central Park and capturing scenes of the freshly fallen snow.
I walked past a dad with his young daughter. She was so bundled she could barely move, but she was grinning from ear to ear, clearly having the time of her life. "She's seeing snow for the first time," he told a woman who had commented on the little girl's joy.
Can you imagine seeing snow for the first time? I can't remember what that was like.
I love snow-- don't get me wrong. But the joy of seeing it for the first time? You wouldn't think about the inconvenience. You wouldn't think about what it would look like when it eventually got dirty and started to melt. You would just see this beautiful white blanket over everything and making it look clean and fresh and new.
I looked around me at all the snow, and thought What if this was the first time I was seeing this-- all this white that makes everything look so beautiful?
And I, too, grinned from ear to ear.
But I missed my bus (and by two minutes, at that).
"Can you do me a favor?" my dad said when I called to break the news to him that I couldn't make it down there in time for the service. "Can you take the hours you would have spent getting here and back and enjoy a Day of Rest instead of a Day of Run?"
So I enjoyed a Day of Rest. I went to my new church and worshiped with the people who are becoming my friends there; later I relaxed at home and enjoyed some quiet time. But between the two, I did what might be the most restful thing I can do in the city-- I grabbed my camera and spent some time wandering through Central Park and capturing scenes of the freshly fallen snow.
I walked past a dad with his young daughter. She was so bundled she could barely move, but she was grinning from ear to ear, clearly having the time of her life. "She's seeing snow for the first time," he told a woman who had commented on the little girl's joy.
Can you imagine seeing snow for the first time? I can't remember what that was like.
I love snow-- don't get me wrong. But the joy of seeing it for the first time? You wouldn't think about the inconvenience. You wouldn't think about what it would look like when it eventually got dirty and started to melt. You would just see this beautiful white blanket over everything and making it look clean and fresh and new.
I looked around me at all the snow, and thought What if this was the first time I was seeing this-- all this white that makes everything look so beautiful?
And I, too, grinned from ear to ear.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Cool Runnings
Sometimes you just gotta get out and run.
It was 28 degrees when I woke up this morning. Not in my apartment (thank you, Lord, for heat); but that made it even less tempting to go outside.
But I had promised myself I'd run, even if I was only able to survive the cold for 20 minutes. So I bundled up in my winter-friendly running gear, laced up my sneakers (Vibrams probably aren't the best idea when it's 28 degrees outside...), and chose a running playlist.
Dang, it's cold out here.
But block by block as the blood started flowing and the sun warmed me more and more, I began to forget about the cold. I ran to the East River and along the path there. There is just something about being near water that soothes my soul. But when my lungs started burning from the cold air, I headed home, cutting across a basketball court that led to another basketball court that led to a playground in the middle of some of the housing projects a few blocks from my apartment.
Public basketball courts somehow always make me a little sad, because they make me think back to the days of our South Philly outreach to kids. They remind me of the kids I met and the kids I left behind. And they make me want to organize a basketball camp and meet the kids in my neighborhood.
So why don't you?
And all the sudden I forgot that my lungs were burning from the cold; and all the sudden I was running with a smile on my face.
I don't know if it'd really work. I don't know the details. I don't know what it'd look like or if it would even work the same way in Philly. The whole "South Philly cops have bigger fish to fry" thing always worked to my advantage in Philly... it was always easier to ask forgiveness than permission. But I can't help but think this idea didn't just come from me, and there sure are a lot of basketball courts in East Harlem.
And maybe someone at one of them won't mind if we borrow theirs for an afternoon every once in a while....
It was 28 degrees when I woke up this morning. Not in my apartment (thank you, Lord, for heat); but that made it even less tempting to go outside.
But I had promised myself I'd run, even if I was only able to survive the cold for 20 minutes. So I bundled up in my winter-friendly running gear, laced up my sneakers (Vibrams probably aren't the best idea when it's 28 degrees outside...), and chose a running playlist.
Dang, it's cold out here.
But block by block as the blood started flowing and the sun warmed me more and more, I began to forget about the cold. I ran to the East River and along the path there. There is just something about being near water that soothes my soul. But when my lungs started burning from the cold air, I headed home, cutting across a basketball court that led to another basketball court that led to a playground in the middle of some of the housing projects a few blocks from my apartment.
Public basketball courts somehow always make me a little sad, because they make me think back to the days of our South Philly outreach to kids. They remind me of the kids I met and the kids I left behind. And they make me want to organize a basketball camp and meet the kids in my neighborhood.
So why don't you?
And all the sudden I forgot that my lungs were burning from the cold; and all the sudden I was running with a smile on my face.
I don't know if it'd really work. I don't know the details. I don't know what it'd look like or if it would even work the same way in Philly. The whole "South Philly cops have bigger fish to fry" thing always worked to my advantage in Philly... it was always easier to ask forgiveness than permission. But I can't help but think this idea didn't just come from me, and there sure are a lot of basketball courts in East Harlem.
And maybe someone at one of them won't mind if we borrow theirs for an afternoon every once in a while....
Sunday, January 15, 2012
"Broken for you"
"This is my body, which is broken for you...."
But I'm allergic to wheat.
Yes, life is still worth living.
I've known for seven years now.
No, it's not as bad as you think.
Yes, you get used to it.
I know; I, too, was bummed to find out I couldn't eat pizza anymore.
Yes, life goes on.
Don't worry, if you find out you're allergic to wheat you, too, will survive.
Yes, it's possible to live a normal life. Even if you're allergic to wheat.
Trust me.
But I'm not gonna lie.... There are times when it really, really sucks.
"This is my body, broken for you. This do in remembrance of me, for as often as you eat the bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death til he comes."
It's hard to hear that at church every Sunday and want to participate but not be able to. To want to remember and to proclaim the Lord's death--on your behalf-- but not be able to.
Just because you're allergic to wheat.
"This is my body, broken for you."
Jesus broke his body for me, too-- I would remind myself as I sat in the pew while others partook and proclaimed his death.
And then today there was this little note in my bulletin: "Gluten free bread is available at the table upon request."
"This is my body, broken for you." You. Me.
Even though I'm allergic to wheat.
For the first time in a long time, I took my place in the communion line.
Can I have gluten-free? -- I whispered when I got to the table.
He uncovered a plate of gluten-free crackers, and I started to dip it in the wine.
"Wait!" Jason said and reached for a separate, for-gluten-free-dipping-only wine glass.
"This is my body which is broken for you."
My eyes filled with tears.
Broken for the broken, the broken-hearted, the glutarded, the messy people.
Broken for me.
"This is my body, which is broken for YOU."
Thanks be to God.
But I'm allergic to wheat.
Yes, life is still worth living.
I've known for seven years now.
No, it's not as bad as you think.
Yes, you get used to it.
I know; I, too, was bummed to find out I couldn't eat pizza anymore.
Yes, life goes on.
Don't worry, if you find out you're allergic to wheat you, too, will survive.
Yes, it's possible to live a normal life. Even if you're allergic to wheat.
Trust me.
But I'm not gonna lie.... There are times when it really, really sucks.
"This is my body, broken for you. This do in remembrance of me, for as often as you eat the bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death til he comes."
It's hard to hear that at church every Sunday and want to participate but not be able to. To want to remember and to proclaim the Lord's death--on your behalf-- but not be able to.
Just because you're allergic to wheat.
"This is my body, broken for you."
Jesus broke his body for me, too-- I would remind myself as I sat in the pew while others partook and proclaimed his death.
And then today there was this little note in my bulletin: "Gluten free bread is available at the table upon request."
"This is my body, broken for you." You. Me.
Even though I'm allergic to wheat.
For the first time in a long time, I took my place in the communion line.
Can I have gluten-free? -- I whispered when I got to the table.
He uncovered a plate of gluten-free crackers, and I started to dip it in the wine.
"Wait!" Jason said and reached for a separate, for-gluten-free-dipping-only wine glass.
"This is my body which is broken for you."
My eyes filled with tears.
Broken for the broken, the broken-hearted, the glutarded, the messy people.
Broken for me.
"This is my body, which is broken for YOU."
Thanks be to God.
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