The Least of These

I have off from work this week. For the whole week. As in, I didn't have to go to work yesterday or today, and I don't have to go to work tomorrow or the day after that or the day after that. Life. Is. Good. I love my job, but it's exhausting. And boy, am I ready for some R&R.

And then today as I was moseying around the city on my self-imposed staycation, I texted Gretchen who is now working at the same organization as me. She didn't have off this week, poor girl. And not only that, but her day was going horribly. Her volunteers didn't show up and she was trying to prep dinner for 300 people by herself. So I did exactly what she would have done had our roles been reversed-- I got on the subway and went to help cook!

She thought they hadn't shown up for cooking but that they'd come for serving the meal, but for whatever reason, they didn't. She told me I could leave, but she said it with that "unless you want to stay and help" that always suckers me in. And so I served my first meal at the Bowery's soup kitchen. I've worked in a different part of the organization for over four years now, and it was the first time I've gotten to participate in this side of things.

When you stand behind the foodline to serve the guests, you look out to the dining room. There's a saying painted over that doorway that says, "Serve like you are serving a King." I kept catching a glimpse of it and then looking at the faces across from me holding their plates out for the salad I was in charge of serving. And with each person, I would hear "in as much as you did for the least of these, you did it for me" going through my head.

Some of the people that came through the line looked just like me. You wouldn't think they'd need a free meal. Others obviously hadn't showered for days or were under various influences. I served a few kids, and my heart hurt for them in a whole different way. But it didn't matter if they were smelly or clean or rude or polite or thankful or picky.... Jesus cared about each person I served tonight (and the ones who wouldn't take my salad, too!). After each person went through the line, He said, "thanks for feeding me tonight and for making me feel welcome and safe here."

It wasn't quite the day off I was expecting, but I got to help serve almost 300 kings tonight as we served The King with each meal we gave to "the least of these." And that's kind of hard to beat.

Without You I Wouldn't Have a Voice

I have words for everything. My staff makes fun of me for using big words that no one else knows. (I tell them "I'm expanding your vocabulary-- you're welcome.") I write to make sense of things that don't make sense. Words are my healing balm. And yet, I don't have words for this today and right now. Not because there aren't words, but because I can't find them. Nothing seems adequate. Words don't express the thoughts, the emotions, the fears that are coursing through my mind and heart. It feels like any actual words will trivialize the depth of what I'm feeling, like something will get lost in the translation and will erase the validity of my experience.

I've learned that being speechless is one of the most defeating feelings because it makes you even lonelier. I heard a subway performer recently, after presenting his spoken word piece, who said, "Thank you for listening, because without you I wouldn't have a voice." I thought then how terrible it would be to be mute-- if you couldn't communicate with those around you. But what happens if you're not mute but you still can't be heard... What happens if you take a risk, use your voice, and it falls on ears that didn't really listen? What if you find out that what you're saying can't actually be heard by the people you love the most? What if, when you try to use words, you find out that you don't actually have a voice...

I'm thankful that even as I write this, the Proverb comes to mind that says "Speak up for those who have no voice" (31:8) because it reminds me that God cares about the speechless too. That he hears the cries of my heart when I have no words to articulate the feelings. That Jesus is telling God what I need even right now, when I can't find the words to tell him myself.

Growing Out and Growing In

I've been MIA for a while now. Apologies to all you blog readers who anxiously check every day waiting-- breathlessly, no doubt-- for a new blog post to appear. And for a whole year now, you've been disappointed. And I'm sorry for that.

If it makes you feel any better, I've missed it too. It's not that I haven't had things going on inside my head; it's more that I haven't been able to figure out how to get them out of my head and into any sort of coherent word formation. But I've underestimated how much blogging helps make life feel coherent-- there's something therapeutic about it. I remember when I first moved to New York and nothing made any sense-- I remember when I walked around the city and desperately looked for something (anything!) that would give me a clue to where the pieces of the puzzle were supposed to go. And I found clues and new pieces to the puzzle that I didn't even know existed. This blog helped me make sense of those as I turned them over and over again and tried to figure out what they meant and how they fit and how to cope with the insanity of this puzzle we call life.

I wish I had a neat update to give. How I've finished my puzzle and achieved lasting joy and contentment in the process. I wish I could tell you that I never struggle with doubt or fear or insecurity anymore-- that I never question God or his goodness and care for me anymore, and that since he's been so faithful to me in the past I'm always unfailingly confident in his faithfulness in the future. But alas, the puzzle's still not finished, and I'm still human.

This year has been more of the same. I've had my heart broken-- again. I've questioned God-- again. I've felt abandoned and alone-- again. And maybe that's why I haven't blogged about it. I want to be able to say I've conquered these things or grown out of them. But I'm realizing it's okay that I haven't grown out of them, because I'm growing in them. I've had my heart broken, but I'm still capable of love. I still question God, but now that looks like asking him questions to his face and having real and honest conversations with him about the things I don't understand. I've felt abandoned and alone, but that's one of the things I talk to God about too; because the feeling doesn't have to be the reality.

So I just wanted to let you know, I'm back. Maybe not as frequently as I was before; but I need this blog. I need to process the things God is showing me throughout the days here in NYC. Early on I wrote about the similarities between blogging and photography, because both make you look for beauty in the ordinary. I haven't been good about taking pictures lately, and I haven't been good about blogging. As a result, I've stopped seeing the beauty all around me. And that's just not okay.