Joan's Palms on Sunday

If I told this story
you would worry
say "stay safe"
"carry pepper spray"
to stop it
stop her.
Was it
dangerous?

Danger of soft pillowed hands
filled with warmth of life
and sun and scraping by
and scrapping on the street.
Warm under waving palms,
this is no royal procession:
smells and scenes of rejection
men and women who want food
no flimsy 'bread of life'
but a hearty soup.
It is all backdrop to a bruised and limping plea:
"Got a quarter?  Or a dollar?"
No, but we can get food
if you want?
"Oh yes!"
Handshake introduction:
"Joan."
Laura.
Civilized and safe
until despairing strength pulls me in
too close
my hands wound in hers
and here is danger
close as a whisper-sob
of jibbered fear:
"the police don't understand."

I have to pull away
from the insane harm
and helpless hurt
in her hands.
I hate to
have to
let her go
admit defeat
and fear.

Walking away was right?
But Joan's babbled yells
were no consolation
no checkmark
for a task completed.

It is this uncertain
mess of conscience
pepper spray would not
ameliorate.
It is this day of significance
warming me up to
full absurdity of royal parade
led by a donkey.

Danger and bruises and hands and holiness,
wrapped in palms this Sunday,
invite me to tell a story
that repeats.

Eep! 2 Weeks!

There's been so much to write about these past few weeks, and I just haven't done it!  I don't know if others have that same experience... when there's too much to say.  There are days when my journal reflects that overload as well, and the result is short phrases and disjointed words.  Because I know it's important, and I want to transcribe it WELL, but there's a logjam from my mind to my typing fingers.

What's been rolling around in that time is a lot of reflection on Holy Week and Easter.  Lent was deep and powerful for me this year, so I had an odd sense of wanting to savor its last few days as Holy Week ticked down to Sunday.  In the small group I attend, a few of us talked about the beautiful focus of Lent-- this time to place ourselves firmly in a process of moving toward the cross.  Liturgically speaking, I've been mulling the last week or so on what focus can come from the season we're now in.  I read Acts 1-2 this morning:

After [Jesus'] suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them over the course of forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father.

At a lecture I attended this week, the speaker advocated the value of "non-productive  repetition of the liturgy"-- meaning that we're not to put ourselves through Lent, Epiphany, Advent (etc.) for our own betterment and improvement, but for the sake of living in seasons of obedience to God.  In that light, I'd agree that observing Lent doesn't make me a better person... but it can prepare me to be an Easter person.  A person with fresh appreciation of the cross and its rending indignity.  A person who needs and welcomes the wounds on the hands and the side of Jesus.  A person who waits for the promise.  Waiting and teaching in turn can prepare me to be a Pentecost person.  And so on.

All that to say, I'm going to keep turning the soil of Holy Week.  Let's have Jesus appear and stay with us and speak about the kingdom of God. 

Reading Words

LOTS of words.  =)

Yeah, there's a bookmark in all of them.  Guess what I should be doing...
This is why I do so much quoting on the blog! 

Handmade Love

Homemade card + envelope I made for a friend.  Not gonna lie, I was pretty proud of it... so I share.  =)

Lines and Grays

"...in a world of poverty, the lines between darkness and light, good and evil, destructiveness and creativity, are much more distinct than in a world of wealth.
One of the temptations of the upper-middle class life is to create large gray areas between good and evil.  Wealth takes away the sharp edges of our moral sensitivities and allows a comfortable confusion about sin and virtue.  The difference between rich and poor is not that the rich sin more than the poor, but that the rich find it easier to call sin a virtue.  When the poor sin, they call it sin; when they see holiness, they identify it as such.  This intuitive clarity is often absent from the wealthy, and that absence easily leads to the atrophy of the moral sense.
David helped me see that living with the poor does not keep me away from evil, but it does allow me to see evil in sharper, clearer ways.  It does not lead me automatically to the good either, but will help me see good in a brighter light, less hidden and more convincing.  Once I can see sin and virtue with this clarity, I will also see sadness and joy, hatred and forgiveness, resentment and gratitude in less nebulous ways."     -Henri Nouwen, Gracias

Strong words.  When I read them, I literally stopped and said, "whoa."  I'm not completely convinced, but I think I mostly agree.

Ponder ponder?

Outside the box, but built in line...

"A key spiritual discipline, therefore, in the upside-down Kingdom of the oddly shaped Christ is the practice of doing out-of-the-box Kingdom things. When we respond to Jesus' example and actively step out of our comfort zone—the status quo, what is expected, and what is normal—on a regular basis, we give God the opportunity to gradually chisel away attitudes and habits that are not life-giving and to bring our values and life practices in line with the Cornerstone."

The stone the builders rejected has
become the chief corner stone; this is the
LORD’s doing; It is marvelous in our eyes.
This is the day the LORD has made; Let us
rejoice and be glad in it.
                Psalm 118:22-24

Too Good

"Sometimes the relationship I offer you seems too good to be true.  I pour My very Life into you, and all you have to do is receive Me.  In a world characterized by working and taking, the admonition to rest and receive seems too easy.  There is an intricate connection between receiving and believing: as you trust Me more and more, you are able to receive Me and My blessings abundantly.  Be still and know that I am God."

-from Jesus Calling

It was an incredible day.  Didn't start well, though.  I fought my alarm clock (cell phone) with swipes at 10-minute intervals.  The tender sunlight on the neighboring palm tree won my admiration, but didn't pull me out for a run.  I rolled over.  I moaned.  I finally pulled myself upright and started reading today's Lent devotional.  Be transformed by the renewing of your mind... The words of the prophet Isaiah (chapter 53) became appropriate, became interesting, became my prayers, became a window into God's heart for loving and redeeming the whole world with a suffering love.  It transformed me and my mind, my attitude and my morning.

The day wound through a meeting about me (goals, progress, plans) and a meeting about the state of the Presbyterian Church (USA).  Both were surprisingly encouraging.  I should write more about that.  Next time.

I finished the evening with a run at sunset.  All my prior trips to the local park had been in the mornings, and what a different scene it was!  I passed people constantly on the sidewalks.  School-kids ambled to get home before dark.  Adults finished days of work.  The noise!  A joyous tumult: Mexican lady walking buddies, street slang around a busted engine, Vietnamese moms and dads and brothers.  My favorites were the parallel soccer games.  Men/ young adults kicked up some serious dirt for an intense futbol match, while a grupito of young boys had their game set up with coke bottles marking the goals off to the side.  People FILLED the public space in a way that I rarely see in the U.S.  They overflowed into a place of fun and commonality and health.  People who would never be in a room together were linked in a rhythm born of shared life and limited space.

Jesus, it's too good and vibrant.  Help me receive.

Generate Hope

I've crossed paths with people pioneering a brand new non-profit called Generate Hope that's confronting the grim reality of sex-trafficking in San Diego.  Here's a glimpse into a little-known aspect of this sunny city, from an interview as their first women's safehouse opened last week.

There's not much commentary for me to add...  I am grateful for organizations like this one offering aid for a gaping need.  I feel strongly about the Church's responsibility to step up in the face of grim, stark realities like this.  I reflect on yesterday's sermon on Jonah, in which the preacher firmly argued that, "Our disobedience is the world's catastrophe."  Our failure-- and even refusal-- as the Church to engage a society that craves power, exploitation and literally cheap sex is disobedience.  And it is catastrophe.  Every individual actor in the sex trade screams for love, for ministry, for the light of Jesus.  Of course we feel compassion for the women entering recovery.  But what about the larger, frightening, disgusting system?  Are some of them our Ninevites?  The johns, the pimps, the gangs, the accomplices, the abusers who made that little girl feel unsafe?  Imagine a world in which THEY were healed as well.  Imagine a world where that resounding catastrophe could be replaced by hope.

It's a miracle, but one we've seen before: out of dark, wounded, belly-of-a-whale depths, hope comes.

"I stake the future on the few humble and hearty lovers who seek God passionately in the marvelous, messy world of redeemed and related realities that lie in front of our noses."

-William McNamara

Getting to the Point of Sacrifice

I went to a small group on Monday night and had a fresh insight into Lent.  I've observed Lent to varying, growing degrees over the past few years.  As I remarked to one friend this year, the liturgical seasons have a larger significance for me in transitioning travels from place to place and in the absence of other life rhythms like school semesters.  Whether I see snow or falling leaves or freshly-tilled soil, I can count on 12 months taking me through the life and death of Jesus.

So yes.  This season of Lent.  Simplicity.  Discipline.  Focus.  And I've always sort of vaguely understood Lent as a time of sacrifice.  Sacrifice that doesn't even nearly approach what we're talking about Jesus doing in dying for our redemption, but sacrifice in some mystical, general way.  So some of us give up meat or sugar or facebook and draw closer to God in the process.  But this little meditation that we did talked about the central sacrifice at stake as we approach Easter is dignity: 

"if I am honest, my Lenten sacrifice is mostly self-help-- giving up something I probably should not be doing anyway.  Would I risk my reputation or any of the other things that give me a sense of dignity in order to help others?  Do I treat my dignity as a gift of which I am a grateful steward, or as something that I have earned?"

Chewing on that, and on Philippians 2:5-11, I began to think about our common perception of dignity.  It's something we hold onto, fearfully protective.  We talk about earning the respect of others-- often for good things we do.  And yet, there is this crazy invitation if we take seriously what it means to be like Christ, who didn't exploit his equality with God, but emptied himself, humbled himself, became obedient to the point of death-- even death on a cross.  It is an invitation to know our worth without having to earn it.  In sacrificing all dignity, Jesus clothed us in the worth and unending love of the Father.  What would happen if we gave up something a little dearer than chocolate cake?

Somethin's Happenin Here

(Praise God!)

For the first time in a while, I've been BUSY.  Not pretend-busy, not finding things to do here and there, but legitemately, dawn-to-dusk (or mid-morning to late evening...) busy.  It all started almost two weeks ago-- and yes, it's been an excuse for sparse blogging.  I've continued meeting with people doing ministry here in the city, and those meetings have transitioned from lots of "Hi, What do you do?" conversations into "Let's talk more about ____" discussions.  That is deeply reassuring and hopeful to me.  Baby steps and opening doors.

Then, as blogged about last week, I spent a day in Ensenada, Mexico.  The next day, I met up with a former Trek student (going to Mexico City this summer as Trek staff!) and then went into team meeting mode.  Thursday through Saturday were Urban Mosaic meeting and training days, so the 4 other guys on our team with Geoff and me rolled in from Seattle and greater L.A.  It was wonderful to finally put faces with names, to hang out, learn more about Appreciative Inquiry as a congregational change process, and grapple with team identity, purpose, and performance.

Yeah, that mouthful about congregational change appreciative WHAT?  =)  Basically, Appreciative Inquiry is a very intentionally positive way of going about change-- applicable to any institution.  We see Biblical principles all over it, because it finds and affirms what is right and good in an organization (Philippians 4:8, as a relevant support).  It's a lot like doing community development based on assets or evaluating a person by his/ her strengths.  Fleshing out our reading with hands-on understanding and dialogue brought out the potential delights and difficulties of using the methodology in a church setting.

Then, after a day of sabbath rest, a new week roared into action with a day-long conference with Luis Palau CityFest folks, followed by some other good, God-infused meetings.  And now it feels right to take a few days to stay on top of emails and administrative joys.  Oh Lord, be my guide...!

Slow Steps

I went down to Ensenada, Mexico today with some friends to explore starting a photo project among kids in a community there.  Okay, some of them are going to do a photo project; I tagged along.  The purpose is to highlight the talents, hearts and perspectives of children in this community-- a human settlement established about 20 years ago.  The project would have kids doing basically the same assignment in several locations worldwide simultaneously.  Drawing them together in an exhibition will be fascinating and rich.

That's all incredible.  But what I thought about, as we walked streets so much like other settlement streets I've walked in Latin America, as we had conversations by front gates, as we let a community speak to us through its members, as we got to know a school director who really cares for his students and lights up at this opportunity, what I thought about was keeping my pace slow.  Literally.  I always forget that I'm an americana who walks like she needs to get somewhere.  Even when I don't.  This was the second or third time this week that I've needed to slow down to really walk alongside whoever I was with.

In that situation, I'm presented with two options.  I can either keep the pace that I like-- brisk and efficient-- and then pause periodically, or I can recalibrate and walk in agreement with my companion(s). 

Of course, I'm not just thinking about taking a stroll anymore.  =)  I'm thinking of ministry and partnership and my job and my lifestyle.  I'm thinking of the pastors I want to get to know, the people I might mentor, and the Jesus who walks with me.  I'm thinking about the agreement of walking together with God (Amos 3:3).

What if here were the only place I needed to get to?  And what if that covenanted companionship was the wonder and joy and goal?  Of course we'd still be going places.  It would still stretch my legs and expose me to smiles and sunlight and tears and tricky footing.  Yet, it would go at a pace that quiets my mind and settles me into the here and now so that I may hear and do with new faithfulness and trust.

That kind of sounds like a nice walk.

Gracias, Henri Nouwen

I didn't make it past the first page of the introduction without bursting into tears.  I didn't expect that.  I thought I would skim right through Gracias: A Latin American Journal-- and sure, I would be appreciative of Nouwen's incredible insight, but it wouldn't rock my socks off.  You see, I read Gracias almost five years ago, during my first summer in Mexico City on the Global Urban Trek.  My roommate and I shared a bed provided by our host family, and we shared this book as well, passing it back and forth, chapter by chapter, pushing through dusty days of struggling in Spanish.  So it's possible I could have missed something that first time.  =)  Further, I found new resonance as Nouwen writes lovingly of Lima, Peru and his months spent there.

THAT, I think, is what yanked at my heart on page "ix".  A cry escaped me as I read:

"It was there that I discovered for the first time that those who are marginalized by our society carry within them a great treasure for the church.  It was in Lima that I learned that without prayer and community all my pastoral activities would end up in fruitless burnout."

Nouwen jumped right in and named this tension I've felt for years-- loving Latin America deeply, identifying the wealth it offers us in faith, hope, love, and knowledge, and yet failing to find our call in that place.

"... my desire to live and work with the poor in Latin America was not matched with a concrete call... I also started to see that niether God nor God's people was asking me to make Bolivia, Peru, Guatemala, or Nicaragua my permanent home.  My experiences there, exciting and rewarding as they were, never led me to that deep inner 'imperative' that forms the center of a true call."

Exactly!  People often ask me, when they learn I've spent 3 summers in Mexico City, if I want to work there long-term.  Of course I do!  But each time I go, my little ears perked and swiveling for hints, I see that no, there are Mexicans/ Peruvians/ others to do this work.  That's what brings me back to the land where I have an imperative. 

"I so much wish I could be with my friends again and share whatever comfort and consolation I have to offer.  But I know that I must stay where I am called to be and suffer my feelings of powerlessness in solidarity with them.  More than ever I have to be faithful to those who have been given to me and trust that my little faithfulness will bear fruit, even when I don't know how or when.  More than ever I have to claim the spiritual truth that the poor of the world-- whether in Peru, or Toronto, or wherever we may be-- are given to the church so that the church may be revitalized and so the fire of love that Jesus brought will remain ablaze in our world.
      More than ever I have to believe in Jesus, whose short life, few words, and limited actions were boundless in their radiance because of his radical obedience to God.  More than ever I have to rely on the prayer of the heart that allows me to embrace people of all times and all places even when my life will be short and my travels few.  More than ever I have to be free to love with a love that is simple, direct, and open to anyone at any time, in the unshakeable conviction that such love can cast out all fear and overcome all the powers of destruction and death."

Mixed Media

I know, I haven't posted art stuff for far too long!  (Implied confession: I haven't been adequately exercising that part of the brain and spirit.)  I was thinking about it (yeah, in which time I could have drawn SOMETHING!), and began to consider all the other, practical ways I find artistic expression.  For example:

     rearranging furniture in my room, hanging pictures, filling wallspace...

  modelling my ministry role...

       

          cutting my hair...  (all by myself for the first time today!!!  yay!)

   cooking pretty food...

                                  making home-made cards and envelopes to send...

So not all art goes in a box... or a frame.  I have to say that living with other artsily-inclined individuals definitely helps the creative juices.  I'll promise you - and myself - something more traditionally art-ful.... next week.

To the Limit

In setting out a schedule and goals for myself today, I was thinking about an observation from a CRM colleague in South Africa.  He pointed out that most Westerners operate in a crazy breakneck cycle of solid work followed by a solid escape, break(down?) or vacation. 

There's no point in my wasting even a second pretending that I haven't done precisely that on MULTIPLE occasions.  So I started wondering why?  The first thing that came to mind was a pride in knowing my limits-- just how much I can take-- and a twisted, determined frugality that doesn't want to waste that capacity.  I do the same daredevil stunt with my car's gas tank.  (Yes, daredevil in my life involves some gasoline in a hose and a debit card.)  I like to get the tank as empty as possible before I stop to refuel.  Not at a half- or quarter-tank, but plumb empty.  And after 8 years with my Corolla, I know pretty well when that is.  Stopping earlier is somehow a capitulation, a confession of weakness and uncertainty.

With my life and with my car, I calculate according to an endpoint-- a limit.  Sure, I can do 4 days with less sleep.  I can handle a nonstop schedule for a week, right?  I can keep offering to help out-- as long as I haven't hit my end yet. 

But I have a feeling that abundant life is not found at the edge of a stranded breakdown.  So I'm looking for a rhythm of frequent refueling, and I'm lifting my gaze from that bottom line.  For surely, surely, satisfaction stems from things more profound than making it to the red E.

How to Meet the Neighbors

In moving different places, it's become clear that there is a narrow window of opportunity before it becomes quite awkward to make first contact with one's neighbors.  I've been thinking about strategies that work...

-delivering homemade cookies
  *** extra-effective if done while the power is out ***
-strolling by with a dolly/ moving equipment (obvious conversation-starter)
-wandering outside during high-traffic times: when trash goes out or when normal people get home from work
-sitting in common spaces: stoops, patios, laundry rooms
-mowing the yard with outrageously antiquated, environmentally friendly equipment  (another fail-safe conversation-starter)
-borrowing things and/ or asking for help (tools, blenders, an egg, etc.)

Other ideas?

Unpacked

Finally, bags are empty.  Drawers are full.  And I mostly know where things are. 

My car is being titled as a Californian, and I'm following suit with a voter's registration and license to match.

I haven't given this level of commitment to any place since I left home after high school.  In Massachusetts and Miami (and obviously Mexico City and Lima and all the other adventures in between), I held firmly to my Tennessee ties.  California wouldn't let me do that.  Literally, the state has strict residency laws that I couldn't get around.  =)  In some ways, though, it's refreshing to be all in.  Of course my family would still welcome me back home in a heartbeat (and I'm incredibly grateful for that), but I have taken my stuff and my car and my job to another place, so for now, it's home.

When I crossed the deserts of the southwest last month, I thought a lot about God taking the people of Israel through the desert.  I understood in a deeper way the profound meaning of springs and pools and blooms showing up in such a desolate place.  The thing about deserts is that they FORCE you to keep moving.  There's not even the slightest temptation to settle down and put up a white picket fence.  That would be ridiculous!  And so, as I see this time of wandering and formation as a time to let God lead and teach me in the way I should go, I think a little desert mentality can be a good thing.  San Diego isn't exactly wilderness, but it's not Canaan either.

Bags unpacked, but within easy reach.

Inspired

That was my primary reaction to the week of staff orientation (called First Things) with Church Resource Ministries.  Having technically been hired 9 months earlier, I didn't have huge expectations for the loaded week of sessions, training and activities.  But I really appreciated the work, thought and prayer that went into bringing staff on board well.  Even though I had completed my initial support-raising, the concepts taught were solid reinforcements to my own experiences.  Above all, the ethos of CRM shone through 7 full days.  There was a clear priority and emphasis placed on THE first thing in life and ministry: our relationship to Jesus.  Incredible people shared their stories and feedback to sharpen one another.  Vulnerability was clearly valued, with open tears and personal testimonies.  I was impressed by the fact that nearly everyone I spoke with mentioned a major point of growth that they had encounted in the past year or two.  No one had all their stuff figured out and squared away, regardless of age and experience.

Of course, we also went through financial protocols, IRS compliance and checklists galore.  There's no way to make some of those things living, inspiring pieces.  That's okay.  Through it all was a conviction of being in the right place at the right time.  I'm glad for new friendships, new respect for CRM, and new checkpoints with which to hone the ways I pursue ministry and call.  Onward we go!

"A woman loves beyond her questions
and dreams beyond her doubts."

I reached into my raincoat after writing yesterday's blog post and found those lyrics scribbled on a scrap of paper.  From an old (1991) Steve Wariner song-- totally out of context, but a well-written line.

Life with Questions

The wind is whipping savagely today-- it's an ugly snarl of weather compared to the gentle, sunny days I've known so far in San Diego.  In Tennessee I would worry about tornadoes.  In Miami I would have thought of tropical storms.  But here, I guess it's just wind?

Living in a new place gives you so much to learn.  Of course, there are the weather patterns-- which winds mean what, the cloud color that foretells rain, the quality of sunshine that will last for days.  There are the traffic patterns-- how to get where, what part of town to avoid when, which roads make good stand-bys and back-ups.  And then there are the people patterns-- who lives, who thrives, who fights and struggles.  Who buys what, and where.  Who is out on my street - and where are they from - and where are they going?
Even with the howling wind, I hear strains of the trucks that cruise the neighboring streets, selling something (I haven't actually seen them yet, just heard their competing tunes).  It's not the sing-song of an ice cream truck, but a trumpeting patriotic strain of bugling.  Its competitor (I imagine) toodles something similar to "Do your ears hang low?"  My roommate thinks they're vegetable vendor trucks.
Most afternoons, the little girl next door spends some time with an improvised tetherball.  It's something ball-ish, round, wrapped in grocery sacks, linked together and tied to a pole.

I spent a lot of the past week trying to figure out where I would be living for the imminent future here in San Diego.  (For those who don't know, my current house is going into foreclosure, so I needed a new place starting in February.  And God has provided!)  I looked, I prayed, I met potential roommates.  And I kept wondering, "Okay, really, am I here to be seriously invested in my community?  Or am I just going to live there?" 

In the past, I've let myself be content with unanswered questions-- questions about the veggie trucks, or the neighbors, or the girl playing plastic-bag tetherball.  I ask the questions - in my head, or maybe to a few friends - and the fact that I have the slip of information to ask makes me feel smart and observant.  I live there.  And I spin some stories out in my head.

I don't think that's the point of living, or the point of questions.  Questions are meant to create opportunities and incite something different.  Even when what they incite is not an answer, in the strictest sense, questions push us forward and outward, to a place of risk.  So, though I'm leaving Lantana Drive, I take questions with me.  Questions to ask and questions to live and questions that invite me to relate to other humans with a little extra love and concern.