I just read an informative, easy-to-read, easy-to-understand essay (The link is provided at the end of this post.) written by an African-American woman named Akilah Hughes on one of my favorite websites, www.hellogiggles.com.

Wherever you stand on the Michael Brown case, we must take note that a young man is dead and that his family is grieving--not only his family, but an entire community, and much of the nation as well. Jesus loves them and hurts for them--as should we all--in this time of suffering and loss.

Not only that, but if we want to begin to understand why people are so outraged about this entire situation and others like it, we're going to have to step out of our own contexts (and possibly outside of this particular instance entirely) and educate ourselves about the contexts of those who live in a constant state of fear and hesitancy due to the color of their skin. I've never in my life experienced anything like that and can't imagine experiencing it...

Can you?

It's impossible to fathom because it's not my reality, and I'm guessing this is a foreign concept to a fair amount of you as well. But it IS the reality of so, so many in our country, which is why we have to listen, learn, and reframe how we think about and live in our society if we want to take seriously this whole holistic community thing I think Jesus was shooting for with his earthly ministry. 

Hughes says, "I can’t force you to feel how I’m feeling—and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies. I can only help to make you understand that life is not the same for everyone in this country, and it never has been. If you don’t feel anything about this Michael Brown case, please note that privilege. It is a privilege to not have to fear for your life, or the life of your family. It is a privilege to not have to critically think about race and oppression. Some of us may never be that lucky."

"What it feels like to be black in America in 2014"

And sometimes a class assignment and a subject you love unite. The following is my most recent "Concept Sermon" (abbreviated/mini sermon) for my upper level Wisdom Traditions preaching class:

            I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sermon preached on Song of Songs in my twenty two-ish years of life in the church. This is probably due to many Christians (including pastors) not always knowing quite what to do with the text. God is never specifically mentioned within the eight chapters of the book, and the scripture initially seems to be filled only with sexual innuendos leaving readers to wonder how it ever came to be one of the wisdom literature books in the bible in the first place. However, if one is to read the text through a feminist lens, there is much to be gleaned beyond the surface level. For instance, Song of Songs provides us with perspectives about the power of women and the importance of egalitarian relationships.

            We do not have to look very far within the culture in which we work, live, play, and learn today in order to find sure signs that women are generally considered man’s less-than-equal counterpart.  Women do not get paid as much as men do in various jobs. Women are not always chosen for certain jobs due to their gender. Women who are single mothers are considered irresponsible human beings while single fathers tend to steal the show (“What a great guy!” you’ll often hear people say.). When women stay with significant others who abuse them in various ways, more attention is focused on how “weak” the woman is rather than taking a minute to try to understand her side of the story. I do not say these things to discount mankind as a whole in our world, but I do wish to point out that there are inarguable biases in our society toward men and that we all need to be more active in our efforts toward standing in solidarity with women for equality. And believe it or not, Song of Solomon provides its readers with tools that encourage such equality.

            Throughout the book, the Shulammite woman continuously does what she has to do in order to be with the man she loves despite all who are against her. She thrives despite the chastisement from the Jerusalem daughters about her love for the man and does not let the guards of the city abusing her keep her from pressing on to find and be with her love. (Now, that is a powerful woman!) Multiple times throughout the text it is made clear that the male voice in the dialogical poetry that comprises Song of Songs is absolutely captivated by the unnamed Shulammite woman whom he loves. They are (as far as the reader and many commentators can tell) in a relationship based on equality.

 In an article she wrote about Song of Songs from a feminist and womanist perspective, Robin McCall says, “The Shulammite has power over him, her lover acknowledges, not because of anything she has done, but simply because she is herself— beautiful, desirable, and precious to him.”[1] I wonder what would happen if we were more diligent in telling little girls from the earliest stages of their adolescence that they have power and that they are enough just by being themselves and that they need not worry about fitting into the norms deemed appropriate by culture and society. What if we told little girls God created them for more than who society tells them they need to be?

            A recent top-of-the-chart country hit feeds the exact opposite of the previously mentioned idea. Rising country star, RaeLynn, has explained that her song, “God Made Girls,” is a tune of empowerment for young women. Instead, however, the song seems to condone keeping in place the stereotypes, constraints, and bold lines to which women are expected to adhere. RaeLynn’s idea of empowering women and the ways in which McCall beckons us to notice the women empowerment in Song of Songs seem like two very different concepts. Some of the “God Made Girls” lyrics read, “Somebody's gotta wear a pretty skirt/Somebody's gotta be the one to flirt/Somebody’s gotta wanna hold his hand, so God made girls.” While it is acceptable for girls to grow up into young ladies and women who like to do these things, I am incredibly confident in saying that God did not create women specifically for these and other like-minded purposes.

We need to give the women in our world a better representation of God’s love for them and make clear that they are strong, powerful, and that they deserve nothing less than the best—in their work, in their families, and in their romantic relationships. And we, as the larger society, do not get to call those shots! We must meet women where they are, empower them by standing in solidarity with them, and remind them that they were created and are loved by the One who loves them for nothing that they did, but simply because they are themselves.

---

[1] Robin C. McCall, “‘Most Beautiful Among Women’: Feminist/Womanist Contributions to Reading the Song of Songs,” Review & Expositor 105 (August 2008): 430.

Thanks to my Field Education class this semester, I have finally started to form a connection with the theological and communal significance of the eucharist. For whatever reason, the traditional liturgy works its way into my spirit as my voice joins with those of the sixty-or-so others gathered around me in the pews at early service, and I feel a tangible connection to those I have the honor of serving communion once a month in the contemporary service as our fingers brush against one another as I hand them their bread or hold out the juice so that they can receive it. Jesus' presence is very real in those moments for me now, and I'm thankful for so many reasons (including but not limited to: "I have an authentic connection with a sacrament! Maybe I can eventually be an elder after all!")

One of the ways that I better understand the doctrine of the United Methodist Church is through the singing of hymns. So often in church, we just stand and sing through the words without taking the time to appreciate their theological importance, but they teach us so much when we take time to internalize the meaning of the lyrics. "One Bread, One Body" is no exception. Written by John B. Foley in 1978, its importance and teachability continues to be relevant and helps me to understand the importance of why we participate in holy communion.

The scriptural basis for this hymn comes directly from 1 Corinthians 10:16-17 and Galatians 3:28 (UMH 620). The passage from 1 Corinthians speaks to the importance of community that is made evident in the sacrament of communion. 1 Corinthians 17 says, "Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread (NRSV)." By partaking in communion, individuals from all over the world, join into the larger community known as the body of Christ, which strives to live and work together to spread the Good News of Christ all over the world. 

The theology of this hymn also speaks to the importance of community. The verses seek to explain the message of Galatians 3:28 that all are one in Christ. Gentile/ Jew; servant/free; woman/man are all mentioned as a means to make clear that all are welcome in the body of Christ. Though there are many groups who remain excluded from the body, I think this hymns beckons those who sing it to remember that the lives we live and the work we do that we claim are all for God's glory must include loving, living, and working with all people. Otherwise, we do not grow and we are not whole in the ways in which I believe God intends for us to be. We can't go this journey alone; therefore, we need all people--all parts of the body-- to be who we are called to be. Partaking in communion should cause us recognize Christ's presence with us and also to consider what genuine and holistic community looks like. We must find ways to create and nurture such communities in our churches.

In the United Methodist Book of Worship, there are several services detailing the liturgical components used to celebrate the eucharist. The aspect of community is also prevalent in the liturgy of these services.  The final prayer before the "Sending Forth" reads:

Eternal God, we give you thanks for this holy mystery

in which you have given yourself to us.

Grant that we may go into the world

in the strength of your Spirit,

to give ourselves for others,

in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

In this prayer, we thank God for what God does for us and with us in the "holy mystery" of communion, but we also ask God to give us what we need for the journey--including the strength of God's Spirit so that we may give ourselves for others. This giving happens in a variety of ways, but we are certain of one thing: As Christ gave himself for us, so we, too, should strive to be humble and selfless with servants' hearts in order to continue what Christ began so long ago--loving, caring for, and walking with all people, especially those who were pushed into and kept in the margins of society.

This prayer reminds me specifically of the Great Commission in Matthew 28 when Jesus assures his disciples that he will always be with them and that they should go into the world to make disciples of all people. By telling them he will always be with them as they go and do these things, we as Jesus' disciples in the present age can also have courage and be confident in asking God to give us God's Spirit so that we may be equipped to live the lives to which we've been called. Communion rejuvenates us to live into our call by allowing us to remember all that Christ has done and is doing in our lives and by encountering God in  the partaking of the sacrament.

Another helpful resource that speaks to the intricacies of communion is a United Methodist document called, "This Holy Mystery." Within its contents are discussions about everything from various meanings of communion to the ways that it's practiced and also the ways in which this sacrament is a source of grace in the lives of United Methodists. 

Much theological and spiritual significance is portrayed throughout the eighteen page document. While there are practical aspects listed like how to set the table and how to prepare the elements, "This Holy Mystery" also talks in detail about communion as a means of grace. United Methodists understand communion to be a means of grace because it allows us to encounter God, be in community with one another and be thankful for the free gift that Christ gave to us through His death and resurrection. This gift is not something that we deserve or receive because of anything we did but because God loves us and is gracious and compassionate toward us (Ephesians 2:8).

Communion, like Baptism, can be a confusing sacrament to fully comprehend. It's difficult to fathom all of the incredible things that happen seemingly just because some words are said and because we get to eat yummy bread and grape juice. However, as each of these resources make clear, this ritual is about so much more. It is a mystery, but it is also life-giving in that it connects us with the One who gave us life and connects us with one another in community (THE community!) that supersedes all time and space, enriched and sustained by the Spirit of God. What a PRECIOUS gift we have been given in this sacrament! May we always be thankful and partake as much as possible.

Funerals are a bit of a bizarre phenomenon to me.

I honestly never really paid attention during them until the past year or so. (We'll just leave the reasoning at this: Dead bodies. And, I will be cremated.)

I got the opportunity to pay close attention to a funeral yesterday as I shadowed my Field Education supervisor while he led a funeral service. Not to mention, he was doing this was for a family he had never met. He's friends with a funereal director up the road from our Field Ed. site, and the director calls him when families come in that are in need of a pastor to lead the service because they don't have one otherwise--don't have connections with a local church, haven't been to their home churches in many years, etc.

Our pastor had a lengthy discussion with one of the daughters of the deceased prior to the day of the funeral, and it was clear he had done his homework as he transitioned through each piece of the service. He talked with them while he led the service like he had always known them and their loved one, all while being incredibly respectful of the fact that he didn't.

As he moved from the goal of their time together to the hope we have in the Gospel to discussing special memories about which he had been informed prior to the service to the necessary "Where do we go from here?" piece, an overall sincerity seemed to be the glue that held everything together.

The family was sincere in their grief, in their love for a mother, grandmother, sister, friend.

Our pastor was sincere with his intentions in leading the service--to look back and be thankful, to look ahead and be hopeful.

I'm still piecing together what it will even look like for me to lead families through grief when the time comes, but I feel like I got a pretty good starting view yesterday into how I hope to lead, how I hope to provide comfort. 

I think most of all it has to do with loving the grieving family authentically, speaking sincerely (when it's appropriate to speak), and being a vessel of God's presence and care for that family so that the grieving process continues and doesn't stop at the, "Life will always stay right here, in this moment" phase.

Life does go on after death as hard as that is to fathom in the moment of immediate grief. And while the service was not led in such a way that pushed the family to hurry and get to that mindset, it seemed as though the Spirit was inviting that understanding. Most everyone gathered seemed so open--open to celebrating and remembering their loved one's life as well as open to the idea that their loved one would want them to keep going, keep making each other laugh, and keep loving one another even though the loved one was no longer there to lead the charge. 

It was beautiful, really. Watching and sensing a hurting family s l  o w l y begin the initial stages of moving through their grief together. All right there in that very room. Gathered close to one another as beautiful words and stories were shared from a place of sadness, love, and hopefulness on the loved one's behalf. 

Funerals really are bizarre phenomenons. In the span of the 30 minutes to an hour they take place, they manage to acknowledge both the very real feelings of the sting/pain/grief/torment/bereavement that comes with death, but also glimpses into the refreshment/deep breath/calm/peace/rejuvenation that only eternal life in Christ can bring.

Jesus' promise to always be with us was almost tangible as I sat at the back of a room that held a grieving family yesterday--from the comfort of the pastor, to the detailed care of the funeral director, to the love and compassion the various friends and families showed one another and showed their loved one. 

Who could have ever known I'd be blessed by attending the funeral of a person I didn't know from Eve? I didn't, but I'm very thankful I got the opportunity to experience such an incredibly ... bizarre phenomenon.

My Grammy is on my mind today.

My Grampa passed away when I was a senior in high school, only a month or so before my paternal grandfather, lovingly known as Pepaw, left this world. It was strange. I had never experienced the pain of anyone close to me passing away before the deaths of these two great men. I can remember going to the funeral home when friends of mine had lost loved ones throughout our childhood--grandparents, parents, a brother. All of that was incredibly sad, yet when my Grandfathers passed away, I don't remember feeling a whole lot of sadness for myself, just everyone else they'd left behind in their journey to eternal life.

Shortly before Grampa passed away, my mom's family was made aware that my Grammy was in the early stages of Dementia, which is essentially a precursor to Alzheimer's. We were fortunate that the progression to Alzheimer's began slowly and that even today she's about as healthy as a 90 year old woman with Alzheimer's can be, besides the memory loss, that is. We've also been fortunate that my grandmother has not become violent as her disease and age continues to advance, as is often the case Alzheimer's patients. She lives comfortably and happily in an assisted living home, and continues to report that she loves it there and that the "food is great!" despite no longer knowing where she is.

This woman has never had, nor do I believe she will ever have, a mean bone in her body.

As hard as it is on my mother and her siblings to sit in the painful everyday reality that Grammy no longer remembers where she is, that it's her house in which we congregate for special occasions and holidays, and most heartbreaking, who they are anymore, this amazing group of women never ceases to surprise me with the ways they band together to selflessly and courageously take care of my grandmother. Never mind that they all have their own family and work responsibilities and health concerns of their and their immediate family's own. They somehow figure out how to balance their responsibilities, take care of Grammy, and manage their grief all at the same time. I don't know how they do it, but I am continually inspired by the perseverance they have exhibited throughout this difficult journey.

Because I'm many miles away from home, I've not had to help with these responsibilities. In fact, I'm almost certain I haven't even seen Grammy since Thanksgiving of 2012. Almost two years. Though I've called, sent a couple of cards throughout my time at seminary and also some pictures with descriptions and dates on the backs of them for the photo board that hangs in her living room at her apartment (She used to think that was the greatest gift she had ever received.), I would be lying if I did not say that there is guilt and heartbreak and sadness that dwells within me for not making the appropriate plans to see her over the years. Shoot, I'm scared to even call and talk with her anymore because I don't know how she'll react to not knowing who's on the other line, and I'm not sure I could handle her not knowing in the first place.

Used to when I would call and remind her who I was that same ol' Grammy that I had loved all my life would pipe up and say, "Of course. Hello, sweetheart, how are you today? What have you been up to at school?" I miss those calls, and I'm ashamed to say I don't call anymore. Because I haven't been around the past couple of years, I haven't had to experience my grandmother, the one who loved me more than life itself at one point in her life, look me in the eye and say, "I'm sorry, but who are you?" Though I hope to see her before she leaves this world, that particular moment will be one I will have to breathe and pray deeply to get me through it.

I refuse to end this blog on a sad note (since you were so kind enough to read through the ramblings in my head this fine afternoon), so I will leave you with some of the happiest memories I have of my Grammy and our time together:

My Grammy has the sweetest eyes, and though my mom's have more strength/passion/fire/sass behind them (I get that from her :) ), they're basically identical.

My Grammy loved to read more than anyone I had ever known. Seriously, the woman would go through two huge novels in a matter of a week or so and not bat an eye. I loved our trips to the library.

She would take me to the local country club swimming pool and throw things for me to dive after.

We always played games--everything from card games to Chinese Checkers--and it never failed we would laugh our way through them.

She would drive anywhere from ten to forty minutes down the road to watch me play sports growing up.

She was (and is still, I would imagine) so calm. You couldn't help but be at peace when in her company.

I loved helping her in the kitchen. She was always doing, baking, cooking something in there, and I loved helping her with (and sometimes sampling)  all her hard work.

We used to go on dates to Waffle House, and I refused to eat at any other Waffle House because it "just  wasn't the same" without her there.

I loved listening to her tell me stories as we sat together and flipped through old photo albums (The woman was a champ at picture organization--names and dates on every Polaroid print.).

Most of all, I just loved the way she loved me. And the rest of her family. Her hugs were the most gentle and sincere of them all, and she definitely knew how to make sure everyone in her presence know they were special, cared for, and loved. What a gift this woman has been to our family. My life is even more of a gift because of her.

There are many (necessary, and sometimes blood-pressure-elevating) hoops to jump through in order to become an elder in the UMC through the ordination process. One of the most stressful parts of this process is making sure that all appropriate paperwork is filled out at the appropriate times.

One of the first sets of paperwork I ever had to do needed me to state when I was baptized. I didn't remember it, so I assumed that I was baptized as a baby because the UMC believes in infant baptism. When I called my mom to ask her about it, she told me that actually wasn't the case.

Turns out my sister and I were baptized together. She was a newborn, so I was probably 4 or a fresh 5. As she began to tell the me about the day we were baptized, one tiny, blurry piece of the day returned to my memory before she could get to that part of the story. After the baptisms had taken place, our pastor at the time took my sister in one arm and took my hand with his free one, and he walked us around the sanctuary.

What a weird thing to remember.

I actually preached on baptism and calling this past Sunday, and I was really struggling. It had been a long, hectic week at school, and before I knew it, the end of the week had snuck up on me only at the beginning stages of my sermon. I had stretched my brain and my resources, and nothing was coming together. Nothing was making sense.

My husband took me out to dinner and a movie to escape the stress, but it lingered around in my mind for most of the evening as much as I tried to suppress the anxiety about how it was all going to come together. As we drove home that night, as I often do when I get stuck on a paper/project/sermon/real-life situation, I began to spill aaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllll my thoughts about baptism that I had up until that point and what'd'ya know? Mine and my sister's baptisms popped into my head.

As I began to vocally flesh out what I thought baptism meant and think about that through the lens of our baptisms, it became blatantly apparent to me how our calling was nurtured and encouraged and supported by our church family who renewed their baptismal covenants that day, promising to raise us in the faith. I was not only promised in my baptism that I would never go it alone from the standpoint that Jesus would always be with me, but my church family and the greater Universal Church would also always be with me.

Not to mention my sister.

As we've gotten older, we've gotten progressively closer. Turns out we've ended up having a lot more in common than we originally thought back in the day when we spent the majority of our time together yelling and throwing things at each other.

We were baptized on the same day. We were given our call on the same day. From that time forward, we've continuously grown closer to one another, but also closer to God thanks to the support of our parents and our church families who made a promise that day to always help us advance in relationship with God.

I'd never stopped to consider the close bond I have with my sister today was in any way shaped by our joint baptisms years ago, but now I really think it played a part. Not only are we both working toward similar vocations, but we also help one another understand a little more about God the more we have opportunity to reflect on those things...together.

We not only joined the Body of Christ that day, but we were initiated into our own little community--a safe space that presented itself as we got old enough to recognize it, a place where God is at the center when we are intentional, a place where we grow in our understanding of God and how we're supposed to live out each of our respective callings in light of our initial call to join Christ in ministry to all the world.

It's a place I love to go, love to be fully present. A place where we laugh, cut up, say stupid things, voice our frustrations, spill our heartaches all over the other one, all while unconditionally loving each other (as much as humans can do that sort of thing), and encouraging each other to press forward in what we feel like we've been called to do though it is sometimes painful.

I think my takeaway from this realization about our baptisms is that I hope to work harder at creating more Christ-centered relationships--ones where I'm not scared to talk about my faith, where I can authentically encourage others to talk about theirs, where we can ask questions, where we truly seek to have the love of God at the center as a means to better understand what it means to live out our calling in the world as we were first given at our baptisms.

[Foreword: I began writing this post last week and have just now had an opportunity to complete it.]

Suffering is abundant this week.

In reality, suffering is consistently abundant. But the subject itself and its emotive/moral/religious side effects within the life of my loved ones as well as within my seminary classes is very prevalent this week.

For a semester that has proven itself such a rejuvenating source in my life, this semester has also forced me to wrestle with the idea of suffering and how we think about it within the context of faith and in relationship to God.

In my Wisdom Literature class, we've just finished three weeks of studying the biblical book of Job. For those who are unfamiliar with the story, Job is presented as an entirely righteous man who is suddenly plagued by a number of devastating misfortunes, including--I would argue the most heartbreaking--the loss of his children. He also loses all sources of livelihood and contracts an insufferable skin condition that refuses to go away. His three friends show up when they hear the horrible news of the loss Job is suffering and each eventually present three viewpoints of God to try to convince Job, no matter how righteous he thinks he is, that he MUST have done something to deserve all of this pain and loss. The reader finds out in chapters one and two that God has essentially caused this death and destruction in Job's life by allowing Hasatan (Satan) to make all of these things happen to Job. Job spends 35 of the 40 chapters arguing his righteousness with his "friends" and angrily demanding to know why God even created him if God was going to take everything away from him. He claims that God is silent during this time of devastation and destruction in his life, but I have to ponder the question, "How much did Job's friends deter him from finding/hearing God in the midst of such tremendous suffering?" Other questions abound from this piece of wisdom literature such as, "Why does God cause/allow bad things to happen to those who love God?" and "How do Christians, as people charged with the call to love God and love all people, talk about hope and grace within the suffering frameworks of Job and today's real-life situations of suffering that those around us face?"

While I do not concur with the ending of Job--where God "restores" all of Job's fortunes, because, well...what about children who died in the beginning?--I will always believe in and search for hope/God's presence/God's action in the midst and aftermath of suffering because I believe with all of my heart that is what I am called to do. I refuse to explain away or dismiss suffering, but I will always work to be diligent in being fully present with those in my ministerial/familial care to hopefully remind them that divine love cannot be defeated or overcome by suffering, though we may not want to even consider God or God's love for us for several years after we face heartbreak.

There is no quick fix for suffering. It is real. It is messy. It is often unfathomable, with no explanation.

I received a text from my mother earlier this afternoon before my second class of the day (Theodicy, ironically) informing me that one of the little girls with whom my younger sister has worked with in an outreach program for underprivileged children for the previous four summers or so passed away in her sleep last night. She was six years old. In the face of such devastation, what do we say to the family? What do I say to my sister who loved this child like she was her own?

In my opinion, those are both kind of trick questions. I believe that there is a considerable amount of healing power in love through presence and silence. Nothing I can say will bring that child back. Nothing I can say will automatically flip a switch in the hearts and minds of her family and my sister to make their mourning cease. I believe that life will continue, though it will not initially feel like it for those who are grieving her loss. I do not believe that the hole they have in their hearts because of the loss of their daughter, sister, grand daughter, niece will ever be filled.

But I do believe that these, and others who suffer, will be given what they need to survive. Even when life doesn't seem like it's worth living because the suffering is so great. God's power is not shown by smiting those who are not righteous enough, nor does God use God's power to kill children. No. God's power is made known to us in the inward transformation that happens when we experience suffering in our lives--through family members who take time off work to be with us in time of loss, through our community who actively takes time to pray for God's peace and presence to be known in spite of suffering, the people from small-group who show up to our house with food for us and our family, in the friends who do not make us explain what we feel and in the pastor/pastoral presence who does not attempt to explain away our pain or move us to some sort of healing, when frankly, we are in no way ready to even utter such a word.

Suffering cannot and should not be explained away. I think it is our duty as Christians, as well as human beings, to wrestle with it, yes, but also to do our work to alleviate suffering in the world. That's what we're called to do. No, such work does not involve "quick-fix" answers. This kind of work calls us to be authentic, to provide a safe space for sadness and mourning, and above all, to love those who hurt as Christ taught us to love. 

I believe in healing. I believe in the transformation that comes out of bad situations. But I also, while not believing that God causes suffering, believe fully that God is big enough for us to blame God at first when bad things happen to us--because it hurts and as the Creator of all things, whom many of us believe to be all-loving and protecting, it makes sense that God would be the first target for our anger, our grief and our questions. God is big enough for that. God is also big enough to heal and to restore. And it happens all the time. Maybe not in the way we'd like it to happen or in our timing (at least, that's often my experience), but I do believe that is the work of God: healing and loving and restoring God's people. 

While this is in no way the end-all, be-all answer, it's the answer that makes the most sense to me as of now: I believe that God loves us through our suffering, and that that's what we are called to do for others in their time of need.

I will admit that I feel a bit like Carrie Bradshaw this morning (Aside: Yes, I was one of those high school girls who watched an episode of Sex and the City here and there despite my mother's request not to do so. I honestly just loved Carrie and Big as jacked up as their relationship was. I was also drawn to the unbreakable bond between Carrie and her friends. I knew I wanted friendships with that kind of strength and resilience despite the various adversity they faced together.) as I sit in front of my computer with messy wavy hair left over from yesterday and a cup of coffee as I attempt to get enough control over the thoughts in my head to fling them onto the page.

This week has been a week, y'all. 

I don't necessarily mean that it's been bad. In fact, I think there was only one emotional breakdown and that had to do with the Sacraments. I'm learning that that's the norm for this season in my life. I'm really being challenged to wrestle with the significance of the Sacraments recognized by the United Methodist Church. It's almost a literal tugging on my mind and heart as I try to figure out why these are such difficult concepts for me to grasp as someone who hopes to be a pastor in the future. But then I get to Sacraments class on Wednesdays, and I'm reminded why. Learning in a communal setting where I feel free to ask questions is healing and helpful to my calling (and to my sanity).

I actually talked in both of my classes yesterday, and while this might seem like a, "Uh...so?" kind of happening at the surface, for me, it's a pretty big deal. For the first year and a half of my seminary career, I managed to get by speaking up little to none in my classes. I'm surrounded by people who are incredibly gifted in a number of ways, one of which being able to eloquently articulate concepts, theories, and reading comprehension/application (effortlessly, for some of them). I can do those things, too, for the most part. However, I often have to process those things aloud before I can helpfully contribute to a conversation. Yesterday, my professor for my Theodicy/the-problem-of-evil-in-the-world-if-we-have-an-all-powerful-as-well-as-all-loving-God class (who is a proponent for not making students talk in class because he never had to and still got his doctorate and became a well-established professor and author) could apparently tell the wheels were turning like crazy inside my head, so he asked me what I was thinking. I think I managed to articulately word vomit (yes, I actually think that's possible haha) my concerns and confusion with evil. I won't go into that discussion because I'm sure it would be a bore, but at the end of the day I spoke up about what I thought and the professor didn't look at me like I was nuts, so, for me, that's a step in the right direction!

There have also been many reminders of the evolution of life this week. A dear friend of ours has been undergoing a number of grueling medical procedures in the hopes that she will be chosen to have a double lung transplant due to having a critical condition called IPF. Two families I care about deeply have lost older members of their respective families. I have other friends who are having difficulty getting pregnant, yet another friend just had a precious baby this week. In a week where I'm deeply contemplating suffering, death, and what God's role is in those aspects of our earthly existence, I can't help but be overjoyed and thankful for the gift of new life (both literal and spiritual) with which God provides us. I find myself just going and looking at the pictures of that sweet baby when I get tangled up in thoughts about issues of loss and mortality, and it's nothing short of healing. New life....thank God for new life, and the eternal life we are promised in Christ. 

On another note, church last night was incredible. We have a family service called The Gathering on Wednesday nights, which I have gotten to help plan and lead as part of my Field Education requirement. The group that comes consists of mostly young families with kids who are usually 12 and under. We did stations worship last night so that the worship experience could be more interactive for the kids. We dimmed the lights and played music to set the mood, and let me tell you. Watching families worship in that way together is the most I've been moved in church in quite a long time. Witnessing parents really invest in their children's (as well as their own!) faith through a worship experience was nothing short of beautiful. I get teary-eyed now thinking about families going together to my Pastor to be anointed with oil and be prayed over together. Kneeling down to be on the level of their children as oil was placed on their heads as a sign of the Holy Spirit being with them, I was moved by these parents' dedication to the nurturing of their children's spiritual formation. It was such an uplifting, fulfilling, assuring experience, and I am so thankful to have been able to witness it. 

And finally, I'm thankful when things happen that let me know I made right decisions in my past. I won't say more than that, but I'm thankful for reassurance. Especially when it comes in the forms of new beginnings for people I once cared deeply about! Thankful for true love and the way it ebbs and flows, yet remains so strong and the greatest gift of all.

Thanks for letting me spill my thoughts and feelings all over the place. Please keep in prayer the families I mentioned who lost loved ones this past week, the mom and baby of the newborn I also mentioned earlier, as well as our dear friend going through the medical procedures for a double lung transplant this week. I so appreciate your prayers, and I hope you'll let me know if there's anything I can be praying with you about. Have a wonderful weekend, one and all! Carrie Bradshaw, signing out!

Those who know me well also know that my relationship with the Sacraments recognized by the United Methodist Church is a complicated one as of late. This issue of relationship is not due to hurt that has been inflicted upon me by the Church. At least, not intentional pain... 

The bottom-line is: I was never taught about the Sacraments.

Until recently, I wasn't encouraged to explore the Sacraments to understand their meaning and theological significance in light of how I understand my faith. 

Instead, Baptism and Communion were merely things we (my hometown congregation) followed along with in our hymnals as part of the rituals whenever it was necessary. Fortunately, after a couple of weeks being completely terrified that I would never know enough about the Sacraments to become a pastor in the UMC, I have had the opportunity to explore a number of different perspectives and resources that have helped me to better process what the Sacraments mean to my denomination and in the Christian tradition thanks to my Sacraments and Ordinances class this semester.

In the Methodist Church, we are fortunate to have several resources that assist us in learning about and celebrating the Sacraments through word and song. While I haven't spent much time with these resources beyond a surface level in the past, I've gotten the chance to learn more about Baptism over the past week by using resources including the The Book of Discipline of The United Methodist Church, the UM Hymnal, and the UM Book of Worship.

TBOD is a helpful book for UM's to obtain very succinct statements about what the denomination believes about various parts of our tradition, including the Sacraments. I actually found TBOD to be much more helpful than I originally thought was possible. For those of you not familiar with UM Polity, TBOD is known to be a very dry, rigid resource that is only helpful if one knows how to navigate it. However, I found that it gave one of the most clearly defined explanations of what the Sacraments are and their significance to faith out of the resources I have explored thus far.

It explains that Baptism is a gift from God of grace, which humans did nothing to receive (Eph. 2:8). However, it makes another important distinction that I think had previously been a missing piece of the puzzle for me. It emphasizes that Baptism is not just a mark that separates the baptized from the unbaptized. It's not about a mark that we receive because it's just something we're supposed to do as "good" Christians. The candidate (or the sponsors, if the candidate is not able to speak for him or herself) makes a commitment to living a life with Christ in Baptism. It serves a holy purpose: to initiate the candidate into Christ's Holy Church, which means recognizing that everyone is wanted, everyone is welcomed, everyone is loved, and everyone is a part of the body; we have all been washed in the Spirit in order to be part of what God is doing in the world (1 Cor. 12:13).

Believe it or not, hymns have a lot to teach us about Doctrine (church teachings) and also help us celebrate monumental celebrations such as Baptism within the life of the Church . You might be familiar with the concept that hymns have something to teach us; however, it wasn't until I took UM Doctrine last semester that I began to comprehend that hymns are of more use to folks than dully singing them on Sunday mornings. The hymn, "Open My Eyes, That I May See," (UMH, 454) is no exception.

This is one of the hymns listed as appropriate to accompany services in which baptisms are performed, and upon reading the lyrics, it is clear to see some scriptural parallels that would lend it to that categorization. Psalm 119:18 (NLT) specifically says, "Open my eyes to see the wonderful truths in your instructions." By becoming part of Christ's Holy Church through Baptism, believers (or their guardians if they cannot speak for themselves) commit to being active within the life of the Church. Such a commitment requires senses that we as humans do not possess on our own. In light of the new birth we experience in Baptism, we must allow our perspectives to be changed or enhanced by God so that we may be effective in joining God's mission to alleviate suffering in the world and bring people into the life of the Church.

Because unconditional love is at the crux of Christianity, it only makes sense that part of the commitment of Baptism would include the candidate agreeing to serve God with the Church as it seeks to extend its ministry to all people. The last verse of "Open My Eyes, That I May See" says, "Open my mouth, and let me bear gladly the warm truth everywhere; open my heart and let me prepare love with thy children thus to share." Baptism instructs us that our commitment is not solely to loving and serving God, but also loving and being in rightly related community with others so that we may all work together to understand the magnitude with which God loves all persons.

Beyond hymns, much can be learned about Baptism by reading through any of the four baptismal covenants in the UM Book of Worship. The language used within these covenants is of particular interest to me for a number of reasons, including but not limited to the fact that the language we use to conduct baptisms today has been used to conduct baptisms of Methodists (and other Christian denominations with language spoken at the exact time of Baptism) all over the world for many, many years. In this way, Methodists are connected to one another in doctrine as well as in spirit.

Within each of the baptismal covenants, there is a prayer in which the pastor presiding gives thanks over the water that will be used in the baptismal ritual. It's in this prayer that I get the sense that I'm not only connected to those in the UM tradition who have been baptized before me, but that I am connected to God and those who have loved God all the way back to the beginning of Creation. Within this prayer, the candidate and the congregation are reminded how instrumental water is in our religious history and tradition and what those stories tell us about the faithfulness of God. It concludes with the explanation that Jesus was nurtured in the water of a human womb, yet was anointed with God's Spirit and that Jesus then goes and invites his disciples to die and rise with him in baptism as a commitment to join his mission to make disciples of all people.

Now, I hear you over there. "That's a lot!" you say. And you're completely right! I'm still wrestling with these concepts as well, such as how to eloquently articulate the transition from the old covenant of the water that protected Noah, the Israelites and others to the new covenant of water and the Spirit with Jesus. But, as I understand it, baptism is a commitment to "dying" to one's old ways of living and "rising" in new life with Christ as the focal point for the ways one lives every part of his or her life. As I understand it....The water in Baptism washes our sins away (which is directly connected to the fact that Jesus died to take away the Sin of all humanity) and Jesus' Spirit anoints us in our commitment to live our lives serving God by loving God and loving others in seeking to end suffering in this world by leading those who are lost to a relationship with Christ. 

Baptism is not a onetime commitment. It's a commitment that is on-going, ever-evolving, always-learning, always-growing. We continually commit ourselves to trusting God to give us new beginnings we need to be one with Christ. We fall short...a lot. The gift of grace in the new beginning of Baptism is that we receive a lifetime of those new beginnings accompanied by the promise we will never have to go them alone (Matt. 28:20).

I encourage you, if you have interest in learning about the Sacraments celebrated in your tradition and the ways they give spiritual life to those who partake in them, not to wait around like I did for someone to teach me. Go out. Reach out. Ask for help. It's okay. And, really, it will benefit you so much. Even though I still have much to learn, I already feel much better off than I did before beginning this semester's journey with the Sacraments.

Is an "angry pastor" an oxymoron?

This is a question with which I wrestle on occasion. I tend not to be angry, and I may generally come across as a "nice person" to some people. But the truth is that I, as do other human beings (at least I hope I'm not alone!), get angry on occasion. 

And I never know what to do with those feelings.

Most of the time, I'm able to angrily ramble to my husband or to myself within the confines of our home, which enables me to process my thoughts. What I'm learning about extroverts is that we ain't so good at keeping thoughts and feelings cooped up in our brain. It's good for most of us to get it out, even if we think we'd be better off internalizing. 

The problem with such rambling, ranting, and venting presents itself in the realm of pastoral care, particularly when it pertains to someone I love being hurt--whether it be by another person, group of persons, and/or an establishment/organization. When I feel that those I love have been mistreated and made to feel worthless, that's when I begin to feel the heat rising from my gut, to my chest, to my face. Maybe you're familiar with those sorts of feelings yourself. 

Often, I'm able to stop the explosion of anger before it explodes all over the place, including onto the person who has come to me to sort through their pain with them. And other times, I don't. For me, it's hard to put my thoughts and feelings aside when I feel someone I love is being jeopardized. This feeling has since extended to people outside of my immediate group of loved ones, which causes anger and sadness to spill over into other issues such as oppression, social injustice, and lack of consideration for women's rights and overall value as human beings. That's all fine and great, but how can I truly help someone if I'm so caught up in my own emotions?

So, I guess the question fumbling through my mind today is, "What would God have me do with these emotions?"

I know God knows I'm human. I know God wouldn't want me to try to mask or pretend that the "mad" emotion is something like a switch that I can just turn off whenever I please. The issue here is whether or not there is room for anger in ministry.

Some would very quickly tell you, "Yes, of course there's room for anger! If no one's angry about all the horrible things happening in the world, nothing will ever change!" Still others would say that it's expected of pastors (particularly women, I would argue) that we should--to use the trendy pop-culture phrase--"Keep calm and carry on." Or maybe even, "Never let 'em see ya sweat!" (Thanks, but I'm a sweat-er. Literally. The parishioners are gonna see that side of me regardless.)

I often, when thinking about this dilemma, think of Jesus the "pacifist." What would HE have me do? (Parts of me doesn't really think Jesus was AS much of a pacifist as Christianity sometimes makes him out to be. When we consider all of the boundaries he crossed and out-of-the-box thinking to which he introduced his disciples and followers, I tend to think of him more as an activist. Someone who wants us to do what it takes to love people, even if it's something that means we're looked down upon (or punished) by an entire group of people. I think Jesus calls us to love. But I digress...)

As frustrated as I know some of us get with Paul due to the language he uses in his letters to address various audiences throughout the New Testament, I particularly like chapter four of Ephesians where Paul is instructing the Church about how to live and work together in their new-found faith in order to act as one in the body of Christ. In verse twenty six, he says, "Be angry, and yet do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not give the devil an opportunity." The section in my bible where this instruction is found is appropriately (in my opinion) labeled, "Rules for New Life."

What I received from focusing on this particular passage is that anger is okay...in moderation...if it helps you be constructive for Christ. Sure, we're all going to have moments where we're so angry that we're going to have to explode in some way, because for some of us that's just how we "deal." What's important, I think, is not to stay confined mentally, emotionally, and spiritually in that explosion. There has to be movement from that place of explosion to an eventual place of peace. 

We cannot merely pray our feelings away, but I do believe in the power of prayer. Even praying about our anger (something I need to do more of) can be fruitful! I'm learning that I cannot go this road alone without asking for God's guidance and acknowledging God's presence in the midst of all situations, particularly the ones like this where I'm fully aware that I'm at a loss to my own human nature. I'm learning that I have to at least be in the process of dealing with my own emotions before I can help someone else sort through theirs.

And it is a process: figuring out how to handle emotions in light of who we're called to be as pastors, Christians, human beings. But I think our emotions--all of our emotions--are valid and should be felt. For me, feeling helps me really "get it" where issues of suffering are concerned. My feelings and my emotions help me connect to people, and I'm good with that.

However, it's extremely crucial that I don't let those emotions get the best of me, that I work to find the good in those with whom I'm angry, and remember that they, too, are children of God and are made in the likeness of God just as I like to think I am.

Anger can move us to positive action. I truly believe that. Please hold me accountable to the movement and grace of new life so that I may refrain from dwelling in the explosion.

Those who read my blog on the reg or are close enough (and kind enough and patient enough) with me to listen about my life know that I like to truth-tell about what the seminary experience has been like for me.

And it has been a journey, to say the very least.

Don't get me wrong. I like what I'm learning. I like experiences I'm having. I like people I get to spend time with. 

But, some days, the journey feels long. Like, really long. Some days, it seems like there's no end in sight and I'm not sure I'll make it to the other side (of the stage to get that piece of paper, ya feel me?!). Some days--well, a lot of days if I'm really being honest--I doubt that I have what it takes. I start to throw questions around like, "How can someone like me be a pastor? My thoughts are too scattered to change the world for Christ, to ease suffering, to lead people in their faith;" "Is this really what I want to do with my life? I love structure and, other than Sunday morning, there ain't much structure about this vocational path I have chosen to wander down;" "What if I don't do enough?" "What if I lead people astray, or worse, don't efficiently lead people at all?"

These are all questions that hit my brain about once a week. Some people will tell you that seminary isn't that hard, that it hasn't challenged who they are as a person or as an aspiring ministerial leader. Some people will tell you that they love all of their classes and the amount of time spent in class, but I'm just not one of those people. And that's okay. It's taken me about half-way through this seminary journey to realize: I'M OKAY. Just as I am. 

Different people will have different experiences, and really. What a GIFT it is that we can look to one another for reassurance in different areas of our educations and ministries where others of us do not feel as confident.

Luckily, I am blessed to be part of a community where I am nurtured, encouraged, and supported in more ways than I could name. Jerome United Methodist Church has been such a blessing to be involved with since our move to Ohio. Today, we spent the majority of our day at church worshiping with a popular Christian music group called Citizen Way. I forgot how much I connected to God through loud music filled with good theology and carried through the air by guitars, drums, and talented voices.

Not only was my soul renewed by singing along with familiar lyrics--and not only singing them, but actually feeling them--but spending time with my Ohio church family was also nothing short of refreshing. Getting caught up on their lives from where we've been out of town for the past month. Talking to moms about their little ones and watching their eyes light up as they tell me details of when the baby is due and watching their eyes water as they explain that the youngest in the family is growing so quickly it's sometimes difficult to fathom. Talking to little ones about how good cotton candy is and how fun the obstacle course was, and listening to excited chatter about the ever-popular dunk tank ("I got to dunk Pastor Dave!"). Listening to some of our youth talk about life in general while we absentmindedly spun cotton candy and made popcorn in the fancy machine. Moving tables and cutting up with the men while we loaded things into various trucks and then drinking cokes together afterward.

Community. Community is what reminds me that I'm not alone in this journey. It reminds me that I am enough and that my enthusiasm (half used to mask my nerves, half used because I'm genuinely excited to stand before a congregation) is appreciated even in such mundane things as giving the announcements to those gathered in worship. It reminds me that even though I'm far away from my biological family, I've been genuinely welcomed into countless others. It reminds me that God is present and breathing and moving in interactions where love is shared.

I am so thankful for our Jerome family tonight--for the opportunities to be in ministry, for the opportunities to get to know families as well as individuals, for the ways that we are uplifted and reassured in the times that the seminary journey feels never-ending. I am inspired by this love, and I hope to let the wonderful day I had--refocusing on God and what truly matters--shape the entire semester, as it starts tomorrow.

May I learn. May I grow. May I give. May I love. 

Last night--after the electricity had come back on and everyone in the house was heading for bed--my sister, as she has done countless times throughout our life together, called me into her room to talk. I was exhausted due to the  m a r a t h o n  that has been the past couple of days, but I knew if she was calling me into her room before bed that it must be important. We began to talk about something that had been bothering her, which later turned into her giving me a more detailed account of her many experiences doing ministry with underprivileged children in rural and urban areas.

My sister has a gift, and I've known this for a while. Anyone who knows her well and/or has seen her with the underprivileged children she's worked with in various settings know that she has a gift when it comes to making children who don't have enough--food, clothing, shelter, protection, or love (many times, all of these rolled into a gigantic, sad combination)--know that they matter as human beings. From helping organize programs that teach children about their faith, to working to make sure those kids and others have access to food during the summer (This is important because when school isn't in, these children don't receive the free or reduced-price meals that they're able to benefit  from throughout the year at school. Thus, many of them go hungry from lack of food/nutrition during the summer.), to collecting and distributing school supplies so that these children might be able to more fully participate in school. She and the teams she works with do this and so much more for kids who need to know that love does exist in the world and that God does love them, as impossible as that must be for them to imagine with the home-life situations some of them endure on a regular basis.

As we sat on her bed and I listened to her eloquently and passionately relay to me her most recent adventure--going with a group from her church to do ministry with inner city kids in Memphis--the conditions that many children live in was made all too real for me. She told me about a little girl who had bruised stripes on her back from where someone at home was spanking her with a belt. She told me about another little girl who didn't know how to give kisses and quietly asked people, "Hold me?" throughout their days at the program in Memphis. One day while a counselor was holding this particular little girl, she asked her, "Does your mommy not hold you like this at home?" to which the little girl responded with a small shake of her head indicating that such love was not given to her in her everyday life.

My sister continued to tell me about some of the success stories about children she and others were able to reach over the course of their short stay in Memphis, but she also continued telling me about conditions of these children that she learned about during her time there. 

I finally looked at her and said, "Do you ever just have to walk away?" She seemed shocked that I would ask such a thing. "I mean, do you ever just get so overcome with emotion that you have to excuse yourself from them?" I asked. She explained to me when the little girl that told her about where the stripes on her back came from, that she had to turn her head and look at something else, as a feeble attempt to pull herself together. "We were in the middle of lunch," she said. "There wasn't time for me to get emotional." She essentially followed those statements up by saying that it's vital for effective ministry that she put aside her emotions in those situations and focus on the present, making sure that her own emotions don't get in the way of what she believes (and I believe) she is called to do, which is care for, love on, feed, protect, clothe, and teach kids about the God who loves them by being a vessel of God's love in the lives of these children.

My sister is incredible. There were many times as she was talking last night that I had to fight to choke down my own emotions and tears--of bitter sadness for the children who aren't loved or taken care of like God intended, but also of complete joy, admiration of and thankfulness for my baby sister--who, clearly, isn't such a baby anymore.

I learn a lot from B. I always have from the moment she got here. But what I learned last night is that we, as human beings, are often very good at letting our emotions get the best of us. It's hard to see (or hear about) children who haven't had a change of clothes in a week or a good meal in a week, children who have been hurt by no fault of their own, children who don't know how to give a kiss--something most of us don't think twice about--because they don't receive them in their own homes.

It's HARD. Thinking about children in need is HARD. Witnessing people on the street that clearly do not have a home is HARD. It's HARD to deal with the illness or death of a family member--our own or someone else's. It's HARD knowing that there is so much going on in the Middle East right now that we can't even fathom because many of our lives are so rich (full) on this side of the world.

Where. Where do we turn? How do we make sense of this mess? How do we go forward? How do WE, little old we, get involved and make a difference in the lives of those whose daily reality is suffering?

Do I wish I had an easy answer for you? For us? Yes. Of course, I do. However, alleviating suffering is not easy. In fact, it's overwhelming, and that's why we sometimes think that putting a bandaid on it is the best we can do. 

I tend to run away from suffering. It breaks my heart, makes me cry, and I ask God for mercy and healing and comfort and food and clean water and love in the lives of those who so DESPERATELY need these things. But then...I step aside. I don't get involved. I don't take the time to listen to what God is actually trying to say to me to move me to action in the various situations I pray about. I have no excuse for this, but after listening to my sister's devoted and faithful testimony of who she is and what she's learned from her experiences in ministry, my goal is...and I hope you will join me in this effort...to actually be still and intentionally listen for what God wants me to do in the midst of all this suffering. Everyone can contribute something--even me, even you. 

We have to be so patient and passionate about producing hope by alleviating suffering that we intently listen for the voice of the God who is still speaking. For the voice of the God who is still calling us from death to life. For the voice of God who is still telling us to move and live and act in the world so that others might actually believe there is a God and a God who loves them unconditionally.

It's a process. An intentional process. Thanks to my sister and the ways she continues to teach me and inspire me, I plan to start being much more involved in this process than I have as of late. Here's to eagerly listening for God and living out the passions that God has given each and every one of  us for providing hope and love in this world. 

I like the warmth of coffee in the morning, especially on the cool July days we've been having.  I like the swooshing/flapping sound my maxi skirt makes as I walk, kind of like a sheet hung up on a clothesline to dry. I like people, but there aren't many around today. I like dark mornings brought on by the aftermath of thunder storms, but not when I have to be at work. I like living in my own little world, especially on the dark and quiet mornings because I feel like I have the space to daydream.

I daydream about going home, a place where worrying seems to cease and I can breathe with incredible ease. I daydream about what life will be like after we finish our degrees. I daydream about being back at Mountain T.O.P., especially in the summer when I see friends and friends of friends posting beautiful pictures of the mountains, sunsets, campers, and families. I daydream about Heaven some days, especially when contemplating death and dying and the grief that those I know face because of those things. I wonder if Heaven is anything like what we imagine.

I wonder about things of the past more often than I should. I wonder about people's minds, personalities, hearts, the ways that they carry themselves...wondering what in life has made them so seemingly positive, negative, or various descriptors in between. I wonder what people are thinking. I wonder what life would be like had the Fall never occurred. I wonder how cool it would be to snap my fingers and see anyone that I wanted to see or be anywhere that I wanted to be. I wonder what people think about me more than I should. I know I get too caught up in making others happy.

I know that God exists. I know that I am loved. I know that not everyone knows they are loved by God because they are not loved by other people as God intended. I know that my call deals primarily with loving these people and making sure that they know they're not alone. I know my perspectives are not necessarily right and are certainly not the only perspectives. I know that being a pastor will be difficult, but most days I'm up for the challenge. I know that God is active and alive, stirring the hearts of those who love God to think about, pray about, and live out ways that ease suffering and glorify God in the process. I know that one person can make a difference, but I also know that one person can sometimes make a much bigger difference when enveloped in a loving, open, and affirming community. I love genuine community.

I love family. I love friends. I love my church families. I love God. I love the potential of the Church to be what it was intended. I love hearing people laugh. I love seeing little ones play and live and grow. I love when voices align for the perfect harmonies during practiced hymns or spontaneous a cappella performances. I love music and the ways that it helps me connect in so many ways. I love nature--the trees, the dirt, the sun, the sky, the rocks, the water. I love being fully present, though it doesn't happen as much as I'd like. I love people and experiences that God works through to help me grow as a person. I love God's love. I love to give love. I love to be loved. I love love.