Yelling with Strangers: The Magic of New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve

I guess I could have stayed home last year/night and welcomed the New Year in solitude and contemplation; but that probably wouldn’t have been what happened.

I would have either A. fallen asleep before midnight because I worked nine hours at the USPS or B. watched the New Year’s Eve celebrations on TV and lamented my singleness. You know, because television and movies tell us something magical should happen on New Year's Eve.

Instead I contacted my friend Jessica, we put on cute festive dresses and we went out; first to dinner at Zeus Cafe where my friend Lori was serving for the evening and then to the Boiler Room for Karaoke. And that’s when it got weird. Not the normal partying with Teletubbies, Care Bears, Elvis Impersonators and Nearly Nudes Portland weird, (which I’ve done and can totally handle) but frat party karaoke weird.

I’ve done a decent bit of karaoke in this town and never encountered a crowd such as this. I’ve also never been hit on with such frequent ferociousness, either.

It started with Polish Matt whose actual name is much more European, as he said...repeatedly.  It ended two hours and six dudes later with Jordan who insisted he wasn’t hitting on us just before he and Jess got into a conversation about Jesus. Well, Jordan wanted to talk about sex. We did not.

Towards the end of the conversation he asked what else he needed to know. Jess said she didn’t know if it was strange to talk about this in a bar and then Jordan tried to launch into monologue on the weird sexual positions he prefers. In a successful attempt to redirect the conversation, I asked him what part of town he lived in.

What I wish I would have said was that what he needed to know, in addition to Jesus being a real person who once lived, as Jordan said, is that, “As crazy as it sounds, Jesus is a being with whom Jess and I both have real relationships. We believe that Jesus knows us, loves us, and gives us peace. You called us wildcards, because you couldn’t tell what we were about; what we were after. You were right, Jordan.  Unlike many people we observe in this bar tonight, we aren’t desperately trying to fill our lives with people or things that we hope will provide us with significance.

“Jordan you talked about not being able to really connect with anyone ever and that even though you came here with a group of friends, you don’t really know them and that’s why you’re chatting up two wildcards on the wall who have been observing it all. That has to be lonely. I hope that in 2014 you find peace, you find trust, and you find love...in Jesus…as crazy as it seems.”

But I didn’t and soon Jordan walked away and I told Jess that even though I had cooked up this plan, I REALLY didn’t want to ring in the New Year in this place and I’d rather walk to Pioneer Square in the freezing cold and see if other strangers had randomly assembled there. We left during the frat party-est version of Afternoon Delight, walked past women hula-ing electric neon hoops in Old Town and arrived with thousands of others at the square at 11:45 pm.

There was no program, no plan, no official countdown; we were all just drawn to the square, to the tree, to connection. At five minutes ‘til, a roar rose in the crowd. There I stood, with a good friend, in a crowd of strangers joyfully anticipating the future, shouting with glee over the possibilities. It was a good place to be; sorta magical, really.

They say what you’re doing at midnight is what you’ll do all year. This year, I can really get behind that.

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.

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.

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.

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:
• Go to: http://thegroveschurch.com/give/
• Click the Donate button.
• Then write PSU Position in the special instructions section.

• 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!

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

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