Saturday, November 23, 2013

Thanks For Being Lost

Sorry I haven’t written in a while, I’ve been lost.

When I started delivering mail for the USPS I spent a few weeks in a super hilly, sorta windy road, neighborhood. I was lost a lot. On the first day, in the middle of a neighborhood, around one in the afternoon, I stopped and yelled, “JESUS! I DON’T LIKE THIS!” And then, after a bit, "Help me. Please."

I don’t like not knowing where I am. I don’t like not knowing where I’m going. I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control/charge of my life.

A couple of weeks later it was Sukkot and in this same predominately Jewish neighborhood many of the families built Sukkahs in their driveways. 

I went home and pulled out my copy of Girl Meets God, the reason I know about this at all, and re-read what Lauren Winner, a woman who wrote about her journey from Judaism to Christianity, said about the holiday.
“On Sukkot, Jewish families each build a hut, a sukkah, to remind themselves of the sukkot the Jews inhabited while they camped in the desert for forty years…Today, the sukkah you would build might be an eight-foot cube, made from plywood held together with twine. You cover the roof with greenery (the covering is called schach, and it should be translucent enough to let in starlight) and invite neighborhood children to hang drawings on the walls. You eat all your meals in the sukkah, and drink all your drinks, and sometimes even sleep there. I miss Sukkot because it is while sitting in the sukkah that you learn lessons about dependence on God, that even the walls of your brick house are flimsy. The trick is to grab hold of those sukkah lessons and remember them once you’ve taken apart your shaky hut and resumed eating you meals in the spacious kitchen of your four-walled spilt-level.”
For the next week, I was constantly reminded that while the Jews wandered around mostly aimlessly, behind a CLOUD, with their life paths completely out of their control, for 40 YEARS, God provided food, water and shelter and sandals that didn’t wear out. So, I’m sure God can handle my current wanderings, both literally and metaphorical.

And I find peace in this, that is, when I remember. But that’s why God created Sukkot, so that we would remember. He knows we forget, so, in his infinite wisdom, he instituted an eight day feasting celebration with space and time to remember and then give thanks to the God who provides, both then and now.

Christians don’t typically celebrate Sukkot, most probably have never heard of it.Two of the other Feasts, Passover and Pentecost, seem to get more play, probably because of perceived closer ties to the story of Jesus. However, back in Jesus' day, this Feast was THE BIGGEST deal. And once on the final and climatic day, Jesus made this bold proclamation, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Rivers of living water will brim and spill out of the depths of anyone who believes in me this way, just as the Scripture says.” I think after seven days of living in booths recalling the old stories of desert life, hearing about living water would have been a PRETTY big deal.

Most days I forget that I not only have access to this fount of awesomeness but that it is in fact in me. When I remember, and ask Jesus for help or give thanks, I know I can feel a surge of life.

So, this year, I’m looking forward to Thursday’s celebration of thanks. Thanksgiving, it’s a pretty big deal.

Read more in Leviticus 23, Deuteronomy 16 and John 7.

Monday, September 9, 2013

Just Call Me Ms.McFeely - Speedy Delivery*

October 2011 ~ First US Post Office ~ Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
It’s not in my nature to wake up at 5 AM.

It’s also not in my nature to willingly take on something that I’m not absolutely positive that I’ll be fairly exceptional.

This might sound a tad braggy, but really it’s more about my fear of failure and rejection.  And maybe it is about my pride. I’m sure it is.

It’s all wrapped up together really: fear of failure and pride.

Because what am I afraid of? That people will judge me and not think I’m awesome? Because mostly I’m not talking about life or death stuff, I’m talking about everyday life stuff and more specifically my post -ministry employment choices.

I started work with the United States Postal Service on Saturday.

On the one hand, I really love the Postal Service and many of the reasons I love it were confirmed on my Shadow Day on Saturday when I got to ride in the jump seat of the right-side drive jeep vehicle thingy. In the USPS they call it a LLV BTW. They (and now I guess we) really like abbreviations.

I had a great trainer who is passionate about his work. He talked about how at least one person everyday gets something he or she really cares about in the mail he delivers and that makes his work worthwhile. And let me tell you, it’s hard work. His route has two of the steepest streets in all of Portland.

We walked up them.

For 6 solid hours we walked and drove around the West Hills carrying pounds of paper and packages and it was pretty cool. But there are parts of this gig I’m not sure I’ll get the hang of. There’s the possibility that I may have to drive one of those aluminum boxes on wheels on my own super windy narrow route.

This terrifies me.

Then there’s the idea that my dyslexia may get the better of me and I won’t sort and deliver fast enough. There is also the concern that this full-time position won’t leave me enough time to focus on my writing and the forward motion of my book; an important piece of this next part of my journey.

None of these things are life or death (OK the driving thing could ratchet up there but that would be WAY OUT OF CONTROL. Breathe, breathe.) and, in a few months, I’ll have gained that incredibly pricey thing called perspective and view this time differently. The cost of that perspective is the experience and that’s another area I’m poor in. 

So, here is what I know today:  

Things will always change. What’s important is how I react to that change. For example, I was assigned to a new station today. Today my belief that God is in charge of my journey won out and that together we can do incredible things so I didn’t completely freak out. As opposed to yesterday, that is an entirely different story.

There is a chance I will ultimately fail and that’s OK. Really. Strangely enough, I’ve always wanted to be a letter carrier least once in my life. It’s one of my random life goals, along with learn to play the accordion and speak French and publish a book. I’m taking them two at a time I guess. We’ll see how that works out.

I will amaze myself. I woke up at 5 AM and made it to my in-class training on time and incredibly prepared. 5 AM! I wasn’t aware I could do that.

*Isn't Mister Rogers the BEST!!! Be kind. Be a neighbor.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Living is Hard: Podcast on Traversing Transition, Climbing Mount St. Helens and Loving People.

Mt. Adams as seen from Mt. St. Helens ~ August 2013
Normally, I would have written out a blog post about my climbing Mt. St. Helens and it applications to EVERY ASPECT OF MY LIFE, instead, thanks to technology and friends who wield it, I am sharing this story audibly.


 To listen, click here: The Groves - August 25th, 2013 

This podcast also includes some additional thoughts about God and love and life that I was given the opportunity to share with my friends at The Groves.

Friday, August 2, 2013

Trust in Transition

Two years ago I decided to actually fully trust Jesus with my WHOLE life. Like for real. I mean, I’ve been a follower of Jesus since I was a wee lass. And that choice was real and life altering and such, but as I grew up, so did our relationship. We had some rocky times in college (who doesn’t) and then just about 10 years ago I moved 3,000 miles from everything I had ever known and I thought “Jesus, I totally trust you. You’ve got this.”

But what I realized a little bit over two years ago is that I didn’t really believe that. Or to put it more precisely, the aforementioned “this” was a small portion of my tiny life. Things happened in my formative years that made me believe that no one, not my family and certainly not God, would ever be able to TRULY protect me or take care of me, so young 6ish Alyssa set out in life to take care of herself. And super independent Alyssa did a fairly kick-ass job, if I do say so myself. By most measures, I was indeed successful.

But then, just about the time I turned 30, Jesus and I decided it was time I learned some lessons in dependency. God revealed to me this HUGE section of my life that I hadn’t handed over. Like pretty much my entire lively hood. I didn’t trust him to provide for me, to take care of me, to feed and clothe and shelter me. You know all the things a decent parent does.

I was single and alone in the world. But, God, the persistent deity that he is, stopped letting me wallow it the dark stone fortress of solitude I had carefully crafted for myself and together we busted down some carefully constructed make-believe walls and walked out into the wide-open spaciousness of grace.

And then, Jesus asked if I really loved him and I said yes and he said, feed my sheep. And I said cool and once again began full time campus ministry this time supporting myself solely on the gifts of other people; on the gifts of God.

I REALLY wanted this story to turn out AWESOME and be able to say that every month I made my budget plus because that’s how rad God is…um yeah, but no. Turns out I FAIL at support raising and in spite of me, every month, I paid my rent and didn’t go hungry but I didn’t make my budget and now I have DEBT for the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE!!! Wait, I’m OK, it’s cool, spacious place, spacious place.

And truly it really is cool because I finally began to feel that peace that Jesus always talked about. Back when I had a savings account and an excellent corporate job, (not that there is anything wrong with that) I didn’t feel it. But oddly now, out at the end of all of my ropes, I feel I can let go and KNOW that God will catch me.

Over the last two years, I was given a life full of space and time to share generously. I’ve been honored to be a part of so many people’s stories; to experience the joys of their existences, to sit with them in the depths of their sorrows and to contribute in the healing of their lives.

It has been incredible. The story has turned out fairly awesome.

And now God has asked me to transition on. I’m not sure where to, but I know that come September One I won’t be doing what I have been doing anymore.

I’m not moving out of downtown Portland, or leaving my church community at The Groves. I will, however, no longer be raising my own support or doing full time ministry. I WILL NOT stop loving this neighborhood, nor the people in it. I’ll just be doing it in a different way.

In my good moments, I’m super excited about this; finally feeling that adventurous expectancy I’m constantly going on about. In my less frequent weak moments I FREAK out and wonder what I’ve done with the past 3 years of my life.

Hey, this trusting thing is still relatively new, I’m working on it.

This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike "What's next, Papa?" God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what's coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we're certainly going to go through the good times with him! ~Romans 8:15 The Message

So if you’ve read this and feel inclined to help a sister out, here’s some things you can do:
  • Pray for me. It’s hard out here for a single Jesus lover. At the end of the day it’s just me and God and that’s cool and all but sometimes it’s a struggle.
  • Leave an encouraging comment. I like words, A LOT, especially affirming ones. Or write me an email or send a card.
  • Share some money love. Seriously, this debt thing is no joke. Until September 1 you can support me through my position with PayPal online:
  • Or with check by mail:
The Groves Church
PMB #434
5331 SW Macadam Ave. Ste 258
Portland, OR 97239
Write PSU Position in the memo line.

HUGE THANK YOU to all the friends and family who have supported me in various ways over the last 2 years. I LOVE YOU!

Friday, July 19, 2013

Lessons of Love: Start with a Smile

Downtown Portland is filled with people who want something from you. 

They want your name on a petition, they want you to buy their new product, they want you to sign-up to support an international child or an environmental cause, they want your money for a Tri-Met pass, dog food, beer, weed, human food, a hostel, etc., or they want you to repent and follow their Jesus who hates a long list of people groups they have proudly printed on their sandwich boards and canvas signs. 

Residents of this economically diverse neighborhood will encounter at minimum three requests a day for something from them. Consequently, residents of this neighborhood don’t look up. They don’t make eye contact. They don’t engage with one another.

Sometimes this is because they feel guilty that they can’t solve all of the problems of the people they encounter. Sometimes it’s because they are tired of being bothered and would like to simply go to work and return home without multiple strangers nagging them.

Whatever the reason, the majority of the 20,000 people in the blocks north of Burnside and south of the 405 return home to single occupancy dwellings with feelings of isolation and numbness.
 
Many earn decent livings and unlike their neighbors on the street who hear about the story and experience the love of Jesus at almost every free meal or night-time necessity give-away, these members of the middle-class mass go about their day mostly unnoticed.

This isolation leads to feelings of worthlessness and insecurity. Insecure people don’t smile or greet other people and if you don't greet people, you don't meet people and you feel alone and isolated. It's a vicious cycle. Emotionally, it’s sometimes hard to live here in the tall buildings where no one knows your name. It’s hard even to smile here. Being one of those single occupancy dwellers myself, I really get it.

Yet, every day when I leave my apartment, I try to smile at everyone I meet. About 25% smile back. Most don’t make eye contact and the faces of ones that do show an obvious struggle with comprehending what just happened. It’s as if their brains are processing this human interaction for the first time. The first time a human has given them a kindness with no desire for reciprocity.

I’ve been a part of this neighborhood for almost 10 years and it makes my heart hurt seeing so many people unable to accept this gift of love when it comes to them freely. This gift of love is from my Jesus, the one who doesn’t hate anyone, but instead loves everyone with an everlasting, extravagant, pure love. A love that says you are not forgotten, you are not abandoned, you are not alone.

Over these 10 years I’ve volunteered with various organizations focused on reaching out to the students at Portland State University, a campus centered in this neighborhood. I’ve had students tell me they go entire days and never have a conversation with a single person. They don’t know their classmates; they don’t know the person who sits next to them on the park bench or the bus seat. They don’t say, “Hello” or smile, mostly because when they have in the past, the recipient has seized that openness as an opportunity to ask them for something.

My friends and I have tried to find ways of letting students and other members of this neighborhood know that they are loved freely and without condition. For a couple of years we gave away free hot chocolate one day a week and had a giant picnic with grilled meat and veggie burgers one day a year. This year at the end of each university term we gathered donations and created fun packs filled with snacks and other items for finals. Students take one for themselves and four more for friends in their classes. I take the left over packs and give them away as I walk around campus.

Honestly, the 30 kits we create are a drop in the bucket compared to the 30,000 students that go to this school but to the 30 students who get them they mean a great deal. One extremely grateful student said that this was the first random act of kindness she had ever received.

Walking down SW Broadway I smiled at two students wished them good luck on their finals and handed them fun packs. They grudgingly took the packs and looked inside them as they continued down the sidewalk. From a full block away, these men turned around and enthusiastically yelled, “Thank you so much! This is awesome!”

In a neighborhood where people standing beside you won’t smile, these two, having received a gift with no strings attached, turned and yelled their thanks from a block away.

Living downtown one often hears yelling from blocks away but it’s usually angry and full of profanity. Never is the yelling full of joy and gratitude. As an example, a couple of years ago while walking past the food carts on SW 10th Avenue a woman turned around and began yelling at me, letting me know that she was going to F$%^#  kill me for what I did to her in prison. To be clear, I have NEVER been to prison, nor have I ever met this woman before.

I looked her in the eye, smiled, and said, “OK,” then I walked away in prayer that all her hurts would be healed and that someone more trained than I would come and help her.

This is where I live, among tall buildings filled with other beggars, yellers and avoiders, learning a never ending lesson of love.

And I practice that lesson every day as I walk the city blocks with my head up, looking people in the eye, smiling a smile that tries to say, “I see you. You matter. I don’t want anything from you, but I do want you to be truly happy, I do want you to know pure, good love. Please accept this gift and have a fabulous day.”

I realize that’s a lot to convey in one smile, but I think it’s a good start.

“Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.”
― Mother Teresa

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Following a Big Crazy God

The Bible is full of some straight-up crazy situations. Take Joshua for instance. After he leads all of the Israelites across a miraculously dry river bottom, God tells him to circumcise all of his men.

I wonder if Joshua thought the circumcision would have been a better idea back in the desert when they had nothing better to do and natural boundaries for protection. Or if he thought maybe a better plan would have been slicing in shifts, thus guaranteeing at least a few able bodied fighters in case of attack. But no, after waiting and wandering around the desert for 40 years because of other people’s poor choices, God tells Joshua to cross over into hostile land and then render his army useless for a few days.

That’s big crazy.

And, the crazy didn’t stop with the river crossing and mass circumcision. Oh no, the hits kept on coming. The direction to send out a scouting team to Jericho may have given Joshua a few extra heart palpitations. Joshua was a part of the last scouting team and the results of that excursion led to him being one of only two of the original crew who exited Egypt to actually set foot in the Promised Land after 40 extra years in the desert.

At the beginning of this whole crossing the Jordan entering Canaan situation, God told Joshua to be strong and courageous. I use to think it was because of the opposing forces Joshua would face. Now I think it was because God knew that the things God would ask Joshua to do were straight-up big crazy.

Joshua was strong and very courageous and he kept following God into the big crazy unknown.

Joshua didn’t make his own strategies. Clearly, because they most certainly would not have looked at all like the path God led him down her. Instead, Joshua waited on God’s plan. Joshua knew his place; it was on his face in submission to God. So, at times, he and his people were rendered weak and a little useless. In the end, they learned to fully depend on God. God was with them and protected them and waited until they were all healed before he used them. God delivered them from their desert wanderings to the land of plenty.

What God requires from us is the same as what was required of Joshua, to be strong and trust and to be courageous and wait for the, sometimes big crazy, plans of God; not to create ones of our own. God is our deliverer, we are not.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

Friday, June 21, 2013

Boromir and the Portland Summer

When spring officially faded into summer on Thursday evening I was walking through the South Park Blocks listening to The Classic Crime song Vagabonds. It’s a song about loving a city and loving living in it.

“People can't get enough
Of living in the darkness and the rain
But when the sun comes out
The streets are filled with songs
And people playing it loud
So the whole world can sing along”


OK, I know that this song is about that other Northwest city, but it still applies. I LOVE Portland and the streets WERE filled with song as I left my friend’s apartment and walked the 10 blocks home in the twilight. Summer is here and the sun will soon come out and stay out for three long glorious months. We have been waiting. We are getting kinda stoked.

In Portland, we say, "If you don’t like the weather...maybe you should leave because this is how it is." Well, that’s what we say in late February when it’s rainy, cold and forever dark because we get like five hours of daylight. Notice I did not say sunlight. The light we get is filtered through heavy gray cloud blankets.

In late February we don’t tell those weather whiners about Portland’s spectacular summers because in late February, we only a few vague memories of the sun. We remember that once we frolicked in parks without dodging random hail showers. Those few precious memories we hoard.  We guard them and keep them close and use them to strengthen our belief that we deserve those three glorious summer months.

We negotiate with our unkind, selfish selves that will use those months for good, like cycling or kickball. We tell ourselves that only we, the ones who know the long months of weather misery, can wield all of that unbridled sunshine and temperature perfection.

We put in our time! Those months are ours and ours alone!

We get a little Boromir and the Ring about it.


OK, so in the dead of winter we’re a tad dramatic. After all, the five hours of daylight and miserable weather have forced us to retreat inside reading books, watching movies, and playing board games. Drama happens.

In October, however, when the memories and effects of long cloudless days filled with sunshine still linger on our minds and on our skin we say, “Yeah, the never ceasing rain and the darkness can be brutal at times but it’s all worth it for the summer. July, August and September are awesome.”

Today is the first full day of summer and we are on the cusp of greatness. We’ve already quadrupled booked everyday of every weekend. The joyful anticipation is building. July 5, you’re Portland’s unofficial first day of summer, we’re waiting for you. The weather’s been sort of weird this year, don’t let us down.


Saturday, June 15, 2013

From Creepy to Etsy: Some Thoughts on Revelation

Personalized Dress Hanger from Etsy ~ May 2013
The book of Revelation use to seriously freak me out.

A. The imagery can be sorta creepy.
B. I really don’t understand what is happening in parts of it.And I'm not so sure I want to.

However, there are some parts I can really get behind. Like the section where Jesus introduces himself to each church. It is unique and personal to each community as if he is saying, “This is how YOU know me, this is your UNIQUE relationship with me.” And he does know them; he calls them out on the specifics of what each is doing right and on what each is doing wrong.

I imagine each church lined up in a row and as Jesus walks down the row, he takes each one by the shoulders and speaks as both friend and authority all in one. “Hey, Ephesus, you know me. You know that I’m the One who takes care of all things, who holds you in my hands. You know how I walk and move among you and our other friends. You. Know. Me. And I know you. So, I want to tell you something, you are doing good stuff. Yeah, I really like it. But…don’t forget me. I love you. Do you still love me? You’re doing a lot of stuff. Make sure that this stuff you do, is done out of love for me. Be with me first; LOVE me first and above everything else.”*

He continues this stroll and speaks to each church about both their good and their bad choices

And to the last he says, “Philly, you are newer here, but I don’t love you any less. We are just beginning. Remember that I hold all the possibilities. I know it can be overwhelming, but I will take care of it. I will take care of you. I can open and shut doors as needed to guide you into the right ones. I know you are weak, but you still stood strong. I’m proud of you. Now stay strong. I know you are being bullied, but don’t you worry. They will receive their comeuppance and then everyone will know how much I love you.”*

Jesus was telling each church to love God, themselves and their neighbors in ways that were unique and best suited for them in their particular circumstances. I think this is true for us as individuals, too. Just as Jesus acknowledges and encourages each church’s different strengths, Jesus acknowledges and encourages each of our different strengths. That is, when we take time to listen to him and let him do so. 

Just as Jesus, out of love and desire for the good and best, calls the churches out on their individual poor choices, Jesus calls out our individual poor choices, but here again, we have to listen. 

Jesus understands/ knows/gets each of us waaaaay better than we understand/know/get ourselves and he wants to share this knowledge with each of us to help each of us in unique and personalized ways. Jesus is not offering mass-produced assembly line solutions. He’s creating hand-made quality goods. Turns out, Jesus is less big-box, more Etsy.  So that's cool and not creepy at all.

*Loose paraphrases of Revelation 2:1-7 and 3:7-13 mostly based on The Message and The Voice translations with dashes of NIV.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Promising Possibilities

In John's first letter to the new followers of Jesus he writes, "Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known."

How promising is this?! Oh, the possibilities! I am fairly certain we don’t ever fully grasp what an absolutely incredible promise this is. Most probably because we don’t fully grasp who God is.

God created everything.

God has the power to control everything.

God knows everything.

God, like an good parent, wants the best for his children.

Now, we as humans are certainly not the best gauges of what is best. Sometimes we even fail at being good gauges of what is adequate. I think this is the root of much of our discontent. Knowing that we are created in God's image, we prefer to see ourselves as mini-gods, able to judge and discern what is right and best, instead of how God sees us, as children who need to be guided into making proper choices. To be clear, we are children God LOVES beyond all measure and would do most anything to ensure we receive what is in our best interests (see: sending Jesus as a sacrifice for our poor choices, etc.)

So, God sometimes doesn’t allow our lives to play out the way we imagine or desire. Sometimes that’s because the desires of children can be their ruin.

A few Sundays ago, while I working with the kids during worship, I asked them to name the one thing they would want in the whole wide world. One said a robot, another a super fancy car (I mean super fancy with a name I have never heard of) and another, with a twinkle in her eye, wanted the entire building we were sitting in to be made of chocolate. The rest of the children completely rallied around this idea.

Children don’t make the best choices. And the truth is, neither do adults.

It's comforting to me to know that with all of the choices I have already made and all the paths I have already taken, what I will ultimately be is not yet known. Because I am God’s child, my future is still full of promising possibilities.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! ~ 1 John 3:1

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The Office: Finding Comedy In the Midst of Tragedy

The Office: My Favorite
This week a natural disaster devastated a community. I know what that feels like. It feels absolutely horrible. This week I was going to write an entry about what The Office meant to me during my long recovery from Hurricane Rita. When I saw the devastation in Oklahoma, I reconsidered.

Then scrolling through twitter I saw a tweet from Patton Oswalt, presumably in response to someone telling him he was being insensitive:


So after seeing this I thought, “I will indeed write about The Office because in tragedy we need comedy. Otherwise, why go on?” So here I go:

My hometown was ravaged by Hurricane Rita in the fall of 2005. During the initial aftermath, my mornings and evenings were spent in phone calls to loved ones in Louisiana: locating family and friends, assessing damage to various homes, churches, schools and businesses, and creating plans of action.

Two months later those plans were being executed, only, without me. I was 3,000 miles away spending my days at my new job in Human Resources in a bustling metropolis that had all but forgotten what occurred on September 24. I was trying to understand how to be a part of this seemingly normal office/city life while the many of the people I loved were standing in FEMA food lines, shifting through the debris piles of their former homes, and having discussions with insurance companies.  

It was about this time that I discovered the television show The Office. Turns out, I really needed a laugh. The Office delivered. Over and over and over again. 

The Office
was in its second season and my friend Erin and I would call each other during commercial breaks to discuss the hilarity of the previous scene. At the end of each episode we would recount all of our favorite parts, laughing hysterically and craving longer episodes.  Sometime later the network execs somehow heard our cries and delivered. Erin and I were overjoyed.

Over the last 8 years, I have had some seriously trying times. Much about my young life has been unstable and insecure, but for me, The Office has always been a place of certainty. It has had the same expertly designed set, with the same well written and well performed characters, delivering the same high caliber commentary on a reality that in many ways is shockingly similar to mine. It was always there when I needed a lighthearted respite from my reality and, for that, I am extremely grateful.

Thank you, good people of The Office, for providing laughter in my life; for helping me go on.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Making Peace with Psalm 23

Green Grass & Quiet Water ~ May 2013 ~ Portland, Oregon
Where I grew up most, kids learned the 23rd Psalm. I think they had to in catechism. Where I grew up, all the school buses altered their routes to include a stop at the Catholic Church on Mondays for catechism classes. Because of where I grew up, I heard that Psalm recited as rote and therefore I didn’t much care for that Psalm. Also it talked about valleys of death and rods and staffs, and hearing that over and over and over again sorta creeped me out.

Where I live now, I do full time ministry through my church by encouraging and supporting university students and other transients of my downtown Portland neighborhood in a variety of ways. To do this work, I raise my own support. I sorta suck at this aspect, but that’s another story for another time. And now I have an agent for my book so I’m retooling my book proposal which means an enormous amount of research and writing and editing and feelings of inadequacy. Again, another story for another time. And I also have a life full of relationships with people not connected to anything mentioned above that I try to maintain. I guess you could say I've got some stuff going on.

I try to be diligent about maintaining a Sabbath. Because of what I do, it happens to be on a Wednesday. What I mean when I say 'Sabbath', is a day where I truly try to stop and rest and spend some time focusing on God, believing that my to-do list will get taken care of…eventually…in God’s perfect timing. Sometimes this involves a lot of deep breaths and verbal reminders that it WILL all be OK.

On one of those Sabbaths God reintroduced me to Psalm 23.

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul.


The message and God haven’t changed, but I have. I now hear them more fully. I now know that life is better when I take a moment or a day to lie down, to be still, to let God’s truth, wisdom, love and life pour into me, to have my soul feel all shiny and new.

Today was the last Sunny honestly warm day Portland will see for a while. I spent most of it inside working. That was up until the last hour and a half of daylight when, due to a variety circumstances, including locking myself out of my apartment, the Lord herded me down to the green grass beside the quiet waters of Willamette River and, there, the Lord refreshed my soul.

Sometimes we just need to take a moment to pause, breathe and remember that it WILL all be OK.

Friday, May 3, 2013

I'm Scared of the Nothing

From the good folks at IMDB
I use to get crazy anxiety when I came to the end of a plan. Mostly because I didn’t know what was going to happen next. I like plans. I used to be kind of obsessed with them, actually. Emotionally, I don’t do super well with the nothing. I feel like I'm shouting along with the Empress in The NeverEnding Story when she is about to get swallowed up by the nothing, “Say my name, Sebastian! SAY MY NAME!”

I’m scared of the nothing.

It’s kinda like when a new born baby endures her first bath. That baby has no idea what she’s getting into and, frankly, it’s scary. I mean she’s just recently gone through some fairly traumatic stuff so understandably she kicks and screams and cries. This is the unknown, this is the nothing. Soon she learns that she will survive this ordeal. Going forward, each bath time gets a little less scary. Sometimes when the air is cold and she has to get marker scrubbed off her arm she cries a bit more than usual, she may not know why this has to happen, but she knows she will survive.

She believes she will survive because she is becoming dependent. She is learning to trust.

I went to the Faith & Culture Writers Conference a month ago and heard William Paul Young, the author of The Shack speak. A good deal of what he said resonated with me, but in particular he said that God is healing us so we can be children.

Healthy, safe, and well cared for children aren’t obsessed with plans. They are unaware of the nothing.

When I live my life in fear of the nothing, I make some really desperate choices that are not for the best. So, I am choosing to live my life as a child of God, as a child of love, not of fear.  I am learning to trust. I am becoming dependent. I will survive.

Friday, April 26, 2013

Different but Equal

A Pansy among Impatiens ~ Portland, Ore. ~ August 2011
You and I are different. That’s for certain. We grew up in different places. We watch different TV shows. We listen to different music. But we are equal. We are equal because each of us has made poor choices and in doing so has failed at loving God, other people, and ourselves well.

I am sassy and stubborn and I seriously struggle with dependence on God alone. I make poor choices. My poor choices hurt people, they hurt me. Your poor choices do the same. Our choices are different but our need to be forgiven makes us equal.

Not a single one of us has it all together. And we never will. We will still be human, no matter our age.

I say this to level the field. I say this to free us from the compulsion of projecting ourselves as false pictures of perfection. I say this to free us from constantly looking to other people for comparison. I say this with the hope that this freedom will enable us, as broken beings in desperate need of God’s healing and grace through Jesus, to come to God.

A little over a year ago I went to The Justice Conference in Portland where someone spoke of justice as being the equalization of all people.

What if we lived with the realization that we are all indeed equal but all drastically different?
What if we admitted to and owned those differences?
What if we talked about those differences without ranking them?
What if this honest communication helps us grow in knowledge and confidence of our true individual identities?


Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don't be impressed with yourself. Don't compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.
~ Paul’s letter to the Galatians The Message Chapter 6:4-5

Friday, April 19, 2013

Waiting isn't for the Weak

The Pink Tree of Portland ~ February 2012
Today is the 30th Birthday of one of my favorites. She is handling it way better than I did.  Today, she posted on Facebook: “I've been looking forward to 30 since 25 so I'm über-excited about this particular birthday.”

I, on the other hand, went a little, “Oh-my-pants-I’m-turning-30-and-I’ve-failed-at-life,” kind of crazy. I went for a walk on the waterfront along the Willamette River and admitted to God that I felt like I had failed because I didn’t have an awesome career or a fabulous marriage/family. In fact, I was nowhere close to either of those realities and I was a week away from 30 – unemployed and severely single.

God gently replied, just on the north side of the Morrison Bridge, near the pink tree where I often hear God’s responses;
 “You’re wrong. Failing, for you, would be already having those things. You are waiting for a reason. For something better. For me.”

I believe this. I believe I have seen glimpses of this in the incredible amount of healing and growth that has happened in the almost two years since this walk.  But I still feel like I’m waiting.

And sometimes it feels a little like that time I went a tad berserker because I was ridiculously hungry because I waited until 1:30 pm to eat my first meal of the day and because I was waiting for what felt like an eternity in a food cart line. And by wait I mean absolutely NO movement. There was no ordering then waiting for food prep. Oh no, no, no, I was waiting for the OPPORTUNITY to order. It was excruciating. I was good for no one. Really. I couldn’t talk to anyone because I all I could think about was how hungry I was and how the line WAS NOT MOVING and gave no indication that it would anytime soon. It’s a little embarrassing how obsessed I got.

Eventually I got my Vietnamese sandwich and then I walked the half-mile to my friends’ home to eat it. Those 15 minutes were totally bearable because of the movement.

I’m learning what it looks like to wait with elegance, especially when it feels like there is no movement. It’s hard to not be in control, to not take the little that I know and run with it. But that is what God is asking of me. God is asking me to be strong…to be courageous… to wait. Waiting isn’t for the weak. 

This whole food cart scene is a prime example of failing at waiting with elegance. But that’s OK, because while I’m waiting I’m learning how failure can be an excellent teacher, too.

Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. 
~ Psalm 27:14 NIV

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

I'm a Liberal and other Admissions

In a conversation with a friend this fall, she admitted to me that she was a lesbian. I admitted to her that I was a liberal. “Feels good to say it out loud, doesn’t it,” she said. Later that evening I sent a text message to a mutual friend that read, “We tossed around a couple of L words this afternoon, mine was liberal."

The deal is that I knew this about my friend, not because someone outted her to me, but I just kinda knew. None of us are as good at hiding our true selves from one another as we like to think we are.

Still, my friend didn’t have to tell me, but it was good that she did, for both her and me. I don’t know why, but there is something powerful about verbally admitting who you are, even if everyone else has known for a long time. So here I go:

I’m liberal. I agree with a lot of left wing ideas. This is counter to the culture I grew up in. This is also counter to the typically publicized Christian culture of which I never had any part. As a Christian, I’m more than OK with that.

I’m a geek. This is tougher for me. There is a part of me who, growing up, wanted to be a Kelly Kapowski level of cool. I was not. I am not. I love Doctor Who. I recently pulled my pub trivia team from 9th to 7th place because I know that Anikin’s home planet is Tatoonie and that Mike Tyson raises pigeons and I know this not because I’m a sports fan, but because I’ve read multiple books on pigeons.  I read The Hobbit and the Lord Of The Rings trilogy for the first time last month and really enjoyed it. I am currently obsessed with Gilmore Girls and I can kick some serious Settlers of Catan ass.

I’m loud.  My voice, my laugh and sometimes my clothing demand attention.

For most of you none of this is a shock, just as my friend coming out to me wasn’t. But for me, admitting these things is a big deal because it means I own them. I identify with them. It means that I am further defining my shape. I’ve spent a large part of my life trying to fit my life into other people's molds of acceptability. I am not going to anymore.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

When Love Looks Ridiculous

University Place Hotel ~ March 2013
 “There are elements of the ridiculous about you…” ~ Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones’s Diary

On an open suitcase filled with 40 brown paper bags hangs a hastily handmade sign stating, “Finals Survival Kits” in the hallway outside a meeting room in a hotel in downtown Portland. My life is a little ridiculous. Hours of work and a surprising amount of struggle have resulted in this strange tableau.

Once a term we collect donations from members of The Groves Community to create these kits, these small brown paper sacks filled with exam supplies, pencils, candy, granola bars and cracker and fruit snacks. After I purchase the supplies based on revenue collected, we gather to assemble the kits. Students pick them up on the following Sunday to hand out to their friends during class the week before finals. This is our tangible way to share God’s love with the students in our neighborhood of downtown Portland. Well, this time 40 out of the 30,000 students.

And now, as I stand in a worship service singing about the sacrifice Jesus made for me, I think of how tiny and ridiculous this offering in the hallway outside is in comparison. I think about my personal experience with God’s beautiful, gracious, expansive love and am a bit ashamed of my pathetic offering. All the while I am acutely aware of the great amount of time, effort and love that went into it.

I am humbled.

For a moment I understand what the scriptures mean when I read that all of our offerings are like filthy rags, or when Isaiah proclaims that he is a man unfit to be in God’s presence and for that moment I am thankful to be so poor and terminally in transition because these limitations free me to see my humanity, my utter weakness and my insufficiency so clearly.

If I worked in a larger church, one that perhaps had a building and a budget for student ministry that includes not only an actual livable wage but also resources for this kind of project, the presentation and completion of this project would look entirely different. It would be super slick and with a fancy logo on boxes and banners all presented on a table decorated appropriately.

I would not have to wait and see what resources are given to this specific project by generous church members and then spend hours calculating how to get the largest impact out of a smallish budget and I wouldn’t have to figure out how to transfer kits back and forth via mass transit or my feet from my apartment across campus to the room we use half a mile away in the on-campus hotel.

The project would look pretty and require less sacrifice and I would look at it and think about how great we are and about this swell thing we are doing for students and how God will use it for his good.

Instead, I look at it and think about how God had to move us and provide for us in every step and the result is sitting on the floor in a hallway in a suitcase with a paper sign.

Then I think about how much students really do appreciate this gift. About how exited they were to get them at the end of Fall Term. The students receiving these kits were unfazed by the simple plain packaging and are instead surprised and swell with love at this gift of love without condition.

It's interesting how closely this act parallels God’s gift of love through Jesus; the simplest of circumstances providing the most extravagant gift of love and humanity’s hesitation, apprehension and just plain resistance to receive this gift.

When I hand out kits, I realize how starved for love we all really are because, honestly, this kit is one of the smallest tokens of God’s affection. We really do accept the love we think we deserve and we are people in need of genuine love. We need truth and light to break through the lies and darkness that inhabit our souls enabling us to begin the process of being able to accept the abundance of love that God desires to give us.

And I think about what Jesus said, “This is large work I’ve called you into, but don’t be overwhelmed by it. It’s best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won’t lose out on a thing.” (excerpt of Matthew 10:40-42 MSG)

Friday, January 25, 2013

Jesus: Lonely Like Me

The Great Salt Lake ~ September 2011
In Still: Notes on a Mid-faith Crisis, Lauren F. Winner talks about her faith being somewhere in the middle; not in the excitement of her conversion but in the numb monotony of the middle. In one section she is reading her Bible in an art museum and she writes what she thought at that time:

“The story ends with Luke’s telling us that Jesus often withdrew to lonely places to pray. ‘A little like escaping to the quiet of a museum,’ I think. What can it mean for a place to be lonely?
‘A place, lonely like Jesus? Lonely like me?
Maybe I can make my loneliness into an invitation – to Jesus – that he might withdraw into me and pray.’
” (page 141)

I have been thinking a good deal about Jesus’ loneliness. About how often he was misunderstood, even by his best friends. Around that time I read chapters 14 through 17 of Matthew and was struck once again at how hurtful it must have been for Jesus to be constantly misunderstood. I reflected at how hurt and lonely I felt after being misunderstood one day last Spring. So much so that I was perhaps too brazen crossing busy intersections because at that moment of pain I really didn’t care what happened to me.These four chapters of Matthew begin with Jesus trying to retreat to a lonely place, perhaps to grieve the loss of his friend and cousin John the Baptizer. Soon, though, people found him. Jesus took pity, healed them and then fed the over 5,000 with five loaves of bread and two fish.

Jesus finally does get that retreat with God and afterwards walks on water to a boat where the disciples were experiencing strong winds and waves. This is where Peter walks out in faith toward Jesus, then remembers the harsh wind and the waves around him and falters.

A little bit later Jesus feeds another 4,000 people this time with seven loaves of bread and a few fish. Soon after Jesus warns folks about the yeast of the Pharisees. The disciples, misunderstanding Jesus, thought he was scolding them for forgetting bread for their trip. This is how I translate what Jesus says in Matthew 16, “Seriously. You think I’m worried about bread? I just feed over 5,000 people, twice, with one person’s sack lunch. Come On! This isn’t about bread. It’s about gross false teaching.”

Just after this Peter answers wisely when Jesus asks, “Who do you say I am?” Peter got it! “You are the Christ, the son of the living God.” But quickly forgets and falters once again. And then there is the transfiguration. I really love what Oswald Chambers wrote about this in the June 16 entry of My Utmost for His Highest, a reflection on John 15:13.

“It is far easier to die than lay down the life day in and day out with the sense of the high calling. We are not made for brilliant moments, but we have to walk in the light of them in ordinary ways. There was only one brilliant moment in the life of Jesus and that was on the Mount of Transfiguration; then He emptied Himself the second time of His glory, and came down into the demon-possessed valley. For thirty-three years Jesus laid out His life to do the will of His Father , and John says, ‘we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.’ It is contrary to human nature to do it.”

To me the remarkable thing about Jesus is not that he died a cruel, painful, death, it’s that he LIVED 33 years among people who truly never really got him. And he didn’t give up on them. Jesus kept on loving them even when they exasperated him; even when they made him sad or forced him to shout. He was patient with them. He was kind. He endured. He never failed.

He retreated and found his alone time with God, the one who created him, the one who KNEW him and he LIVED.

Long before his brutal death on a cross Jesus tells his followers to take up their crosses and follow him. This imagery evoked was of a prisoner on a march to his death. We are all prisoners marching toward death; prisoners to our pride, to our self-serving choices, to our independence, to our greed, to our lust and to so much more. Jesus knows this and yet he continually asks us to follow him. Jesus knows about our struggles; knows what it is to be lonely and he asks us to follow him, he asks us to LIVE.