This is my favorite weekend of the year. The weekend prior to Thanksgiving always carries so much anticipation. In college we anticipated Sabbath from class and the joy of having just a few weeks left until Winter Break. Last year I flew home on this day to a week-long vacation with the family--which provided a much-needed break from DC and perspective and preparation for big life changes.
Since the Parents moved to Cali this summer, I decided to host a dinner for all those unable to go home for break. My little brother is coming too, and I'm superduper excited. This and this will make an appearance on the dessert menu. Want to join?
I also love this season as next week starts ADVENT! YES! I'm so ready to start the rhythm of the Christmas season. Anticipation, expectation, deliverance, redemption. There is such joy during this time of year.
I also see great significance in making the season of Thanksgiving a time of intentional remembrance. For significant blessings and provisions, for dear friends and significant conversations, for the timing of God's grace or unexpected patience from a stranger. What a profound mystery to celebrate and give thanks right before entering the time of celebrating Advent. We remember how God has redeemed, with the hope and understanding that he will do so again.
Today, I am thankful. Today I am thankful for my roommates, for this beautiful home, for our neighbors in city. I am thankful for my faraway friends (Hannah, Roberts, Woods, Wells, High, Megs); you all are so near and dear to me. I am thankful for the way God has orchestrated the move to this great city and amazing organization. I am thankful for his perfect timing--for the seasons of the earth and the seasons of life. I am thankful for my new church community, for the amazing love they continually show, and for the children I'm so privileged to teach. I am thankful for my parents' move, for the new life of Modi, for Jenna and Nathan and Jonathan and how they continue to challenge me. I am thankful for the comfort of my bed and for the heat in this home. I take none of this for granted.
Lord, may we enter this gate to Advent with Thanksgiving in our hearts.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
"You are welcome here."
On a recent roadtrip, a dear friend and I landed on the discussion of what character traits we really value and really despise in friendships. I may attribute the topic to it being 2 am and us being lost in the winding roads of West Virginia, but it was so enlightening.
As my closest friend in DC, she has great ability to speak about the good (and not good, terribly bad) traits I portray. An honest and open conversation it became and we soon discussed how to remedy and not become the people or characteristics we detest.
She echoed back what I said I value most in a friendship: hospitality and trustworthiness. Not hospitality in the "let's have a slumber party at my house" way, but the type of "what's mine is yours" and "please take my jacket". I respect the individuals in my life who have shown me such a great and sacrificial welcome that I strive to be like them, and to create a world where deep hospitality is normal.
I attended a bible study in college at a professor's house. I honestly cannot tell you a lot of what we discussed, but I so vividly remember and treasure their genuine hospitality. Tim would greet us at the door, always saying "You are welcome here." I actually believed him every time. Sarah prepared the tea, and always offered her top-shelf, coveted black licorice tea. They were genuine and honest and truly welcoming.
Fast forward to a month ago when I made an extended visit to the South. Yes, the southern hospitality rumors are true. But again, it did not come in the form of a quick dinner or house party. Instead, I found genuine hospitality in the way an elderly family friend welcomed all the bridesmaids to a southern high tea at her beautiful estate. She wanted to welcome us into her home--not because she knew us or loved us--but, she said "because I know I have the ability to do this." She is gifted at making people feel comfortable and welcomed, and she beamed with love when she did so. The entire bridal family overflowed with hospitality as well--sending me back to DC with lots of food and goodies, and offering a Thanksgiving in the south. These amazing people who I have met twice make me feel ever so loved and cherished just by saying "you are welcome here."
Feeling loved evolves when one feels comfortable and welcomed. I begin to trust when I know you want me in the space you have created. Such profound conversations and friendships have evolved when someone breaks bread at their dinner table, or invites the community to their living room. I believe (and want and desire) the church should function like this; we are a community of many houses, of many spaces created to welcome any and all. What if we all welcomed in such a genuine and selfless way? There would be no person left unloved.
You are welcome here. You belong. You are loved.
As my closest friend in DC, she has great ability to speak about the good (and not good, terribly bad) traits I portray. An honest and open conversation it became and we soon discussed how to remedy and not become the people or characteristics we detest.
She echoed back what I said I value most in a friendship: hospitality and trustworthiness. Not hospitality in the "let's have a slumber party at my house" way, but the type of "what's mine is yours" and "please take my jacket". I respect the individuals in my life who have shown me such a great and sacrificial welcome that I strive to be like them, and to create a world where deep hospitality is normal.
I attended a bible study in college at a professor's house. I honestly cannot tell you a lot of what we discussed, but I so vividly remember and treasure their genuine hospitality. Tim would greet us at the door, always saying "You are welcome here." I actually believed him every time. Sarah prepared the tea, and always offered her top-shelf, coveted black licorice tea. They were genuine and honest and truly welcoming.
Fast forward to a month ago when I made an extended visit to the South. Yes, the southern hospitality rumors are true. But again, it did not come in the form of a quick dinner or house party. Instead, I found genuine hospitality in the way an elderly family friend welcomed all the bridesmaids to a southern high tea at her beautiful estate. She wanted to welcome us into her home--not because she knew us or loved us--but, she said "because I know I have the ability to do this." She is gifted at making people feel comfortable and welcomed, and she beamed with love when she did so. The entire bridal family overflowed with hospitality as well--sending me back to DC with lots of food and goodies, and offering a Thanksgiving in the south. These amazing people who I have met twice make me feel ever so loved and cherished just by saying "you are welcome here."
Feeling loved evolves when one feels comfortable and welcomed. I begin to trust when I know you want me in the space you have created. Such profound conversations and friendships have evolved when someone breaks bread at their dinner table, or invites the community to their living room. I believe (and want and desire) the church should function like this; we are a community of many houses, of many spaces created to welcome any and all. What if we all welcomed in such a genuine and selfless way? There would be no person left unloved.
You are welcome here. You belong. You are loved.
Monday, October 10, 2011
on becoming Anglican.
I claim St. Brendan's of the City as my church and community home. This group of believers gathers each Sunday night in one of the city's homeless shelters, gathers around a single piano, and takes the Eucharist together. These people challenge me each week to see the gospel spilling over in each passage of scripture and in each step of the service. From the communal confession to the passing of the peace, we practice the gospel together in our actions and words; creating and orchestrating a rhythm we're to follow the rest of the week.
Attending church week after week is often hard for me. After a busy work week and a full Saturday, sometimes I receive more rest and restoration from staying home on Sunday nights. The community and gathering of believers, though, cannot function if everyone decides to receive refreshment at home. If I claim to want to practice the sacraments with this community, then I must step outside of myself to seek to share the peace with these people.
Becoming a member of St. Brendan's community is nothing more than a verbal commitment to these people. I decide to say that the Body is greater than my needs, teaching the children is the most important speech I'll give all week, and my body and soul can return to the patterns--and the reflective and restorative Sabbath-- of the service.
I love the pattern of the Anglican service. The Eucharist clearly takes the precedence of the service; the service never relies on the sermon, or if the speaker had a bad day. Instead, taking communion together as a body demonstrates a union between one another, and between the Body and Christ. Every week we come together, to confess our sins, to celebrate each other, and to draw strength from the personhood and sacrifice of Christ.
Often in sermon-heavy churches, we can never remember the point of the message. I remember growing up how my family would often talk about the most awkward thing the pastor said that week, and I humbly admit that I could rarely remember the purpose of the sermon the next time I stepped in the church. I rejoice in the liturgy because the patterns of the service are the things that permeate my mind and actions during the week: confession, worship, prayer, passing the peace, rejoicing in Christ. I remember the words of the benediction and the purpose of why we confess as a body, much more so than I ever remembered the sermons of my church growing up. I love the repetition, the beauty of the liturgical calendar and how it wonderfully represents the seasons and the timeliness of Creation. I love how our patterns mirror the Scriptures, and the deep meaning within each gospel reading.
In two weeks I will join the Anglican Church. I will join the history of believers who proclaim the gospel in liturgy, who confess to knowing nothing beyond the love of Christ. I will join this church and commit to these people. I will say the first “I dos” in this church, representing a communcl promise to staying unified with these people. As we confess and grow and learn and discover God’s grace, we will further the kingdom together and know the beauty of the love of Christ.
Attending church week after week is often hard for me. After a busy work week and a full Saturday, sometimes I receive more rest and restoration from staying home on Sunday nights. The community and gathering of believers, though, cannot function if everyone decides to receive refreshment at home. If I claim to want to practice the sacraments with this community, then I must step outside of myself to seek to share the peace with these people.
Becoming a member of St. Brendan's community is nothing more than a verbal commitment to these people. I decide to say that the Body is greater than my needs, teaching the children is the most important speech I'll give all week, and my body and soul can return to the patterns--and the reflective and restorative Sabbath-- of the service.
I love the pattern of the Anglican service. The Eucharist clearly takes the precedence of the service; the service never relies on the sermon, or if the speaker had a bad day. Instead, taking communion together as a body demonstrates a union between one another, and between the Body and Christ. Every week we come together, to confess our sins, to celebrate each other, and to draw strength from the personhood and sacrifice of Christ.
Often in sermon-heavy churches, we can never remember the point of the message. I remember growing up how my family would often talk about the most awkward thing the pastor said that week, and I humbly admit that I could rarely remember the purpose of the sermon the next time I stepped in the church. I rejoice in the liturgy because the patterns of the service are the things that permeate my mind and actions during the week: confession, worship, prayer, passing the peace, rejoicing in Christ. I remember the words of the benediction and the purpose of why we confess as a body, much more so than I ever remembered the sermons of my church growing up. I love the repetition, the beauty of the liturgical calendar and how it wonderfully represents the seasons and the timeliness of Creation. I love how our patterns mirror the Scriptures, and the deep meaning within each gospel reading.
In two weeks I will join the Anglican Church. I will join the history of believers who proclaim the gospel in liturgy, who confess to knowing nothing beyond the love of Christ. I will join this church and commit to these people. I will say the first “I dos” in this church, representing a communcl promise to staying unified with these people. As we confess and grow and learn and discover God’s grace, we will further the kingdom together and know the beauty of the love of Christ.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
essaysgradschoolfuture.
What do I want to study?
- Why do social, economic, and political structures often hurt individuals the systems were created to help?
- What opportunities and influence do women have to create change in their local economies and political structures? What do women need to help feel (and be) empowered to create economic change?
- Historically, how have women contributed to the economic development of specific societies?
Where do I want to go?
- East Coast.
- West Coast.
- No more Midwest.
How do I do this?
- Essays.
- Passion.
- GRE.
- Motivation/support/encouragement.
- Lots of prayer and luck.
- Money.
- Why do social, economic, and political structures often hurt individuals the systems were created to help?
- What opportunities and influence do women have to create change in their local economies and political structures? What do women need to help feel (and be) empowered to create economic change?
- Historically, how have women contributed to the economic development of specific societies?
Where do I want to go?
- East Coast.
- West Coast.
- No more Midwest.
How do I do this?
- Essays.
- Passion.
- GRE.
- Motivation/support/encouragement.
- Lots of prayer and luck.
- Money.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
resting.
Jesus, I am resting, resting, in the joy of what Thou art;
I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.
Though has bid me gaze upon Thee,
And Thy beauty fills my soul,
For Thy transforming power, Thou hast made me whole.
O, how great Thy loving kindness,
Vaster, broader than the sea!
O, how marvelous Thy goodness, lavished all on me!
Yes, I rest I Thee, Beloved,
Know what wealth of grace is Thine,
Know Thy certainty of promise, and have made it mine.
Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,
I behold Thee as though art,
Ad Thy love so pure, so changeless, satisfies my heart.
Satisfies my deepest longing,
Meets, supplies its every need,
And surrounds me with its blessing: Thine is love indeed!
Ever lift thy face upon me as I work and wait for Thee;
Resting ‘neath thy smile, Lord Jesus,
Earth’s dark shadows fell.
Brightness of my Father’s glory,
Sunshine of my Father’s face,
Keep me ever trusting, resting, fill me with Thy grace.
I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.
Though has bid me gaze upon Thee,
And Thy beauty fills my soul,
For Thy transforming power, Thou hast made me whole.
O, how great Thy loving kindness,
Vaster, broader than the sea!
O, how marvelous Thy goodness, lavished all on me!
Yes, I rest I Thee, Beloved,
Know what wealth of grace is Thine,
Know Thy certainty of promise, and have made it mine.
Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,
I behold Thee as though art,
Ad Thy love so pure, so changeless, satisfies my heart.
Satisfies my deepest longing,
Meets, supplies its every need,
And surrounds me with its blessing: Thine is love indeed!
Ever lift thy face upon me as I work and wait for Thee;
Resting ‘neath thy smile, Lord Jesus,
Earth’s dark shadows fell.
Brightness of my Father’s glory,
Sunshine of my Father’s face,
Keep me ever trusting, resting, fill me with Thy grace.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
the history of love.
"The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people's hands, nothing that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and writs. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.
Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if causal eye contact was made with one's lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for 'Now I realize I was wrong to love you.' These mistakes were heart-breaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn't go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they'd understood correctly.
Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, 'Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I've always been right to love you.' Because of the frequency of these mistakes over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say 'Forgive me'."
The History of Love, Nicole Krauss.
I have asked for forgiveness so many times. And yet, not enough. If forgiveness was only as easy as turning over your empty hand, confessing the emptiness that exists without the pardoning offered from your love. To be kindred spirits, I believe, is to be able to open your hands to one another and know that all is forgiven.
Let us continue to make gestures to one another, continue to attempt to communicate what we think and feel and believe. And then, when we do not understand, let us stop and ask for the missing words. We will stop and seek clarity, because a life without understanding is no life at all.
Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if causal eye contact was made with one's lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for 'Now I realize I was wrong to love you.' These mistakes were heart-breaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn't go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they'd understood correctly.
Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, 'Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I've always been right to love you.' Because of the frequency of these mistakes over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say 'Forgive me'."
The History of Love, Nicole Krauss.
I have asked for forgiveness so many times. And yet, not enough. If forgiveness was only as easy as turning over your empty hand, confessing the emptiness that exists without the pardoning offered from your love. To be kindred spirits, I believe, is to be able to open your hands to one another and know that all is forgiven.
Let us continue to make gestures to one another, continue to attempt to communicate what we think and feel and believe. And then, when we do not understand, let us stop and ask for the missing words. We will stop and seek clarity, because a life without understanding is no life at all.
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