a few steps backward

I messed up this week.  I didn't cut the grass.  It might seem like a small thing.  But, here's the thing.  Last week, we talked with Cindy, our sweet and welcoming neighbor, about sharing mowing responsibilities.  The plan was simple, we would alternate weeks.  Because she had mowed the grass last week, we would mow it this week.

This morning, we were walking out of our door, headed for church, and I heard the rumble of a lawn mower starting up.  My heart sank.  Sure enough, it was Cindy.  Cindy was doing my job.

Honestly, we've been busy.  But, we always are.  And I definitely could have carved out an hour to cut the grass.

At this point in our life on Thompson, perhaps the best way to serve our neighbors is doing just that, cutting the grass.  And I dropped the ball.

I've been thinking about this a lot today.  Its really easy for my mind to linger on such an experience, picking out each of my character flaws which (in my mind) obviously led to my (again, in my mind) potentially ruining our possibility of developing a good relationship with our neighbors.

Thankfully, God found a way to creep into my cluttered mind and find a corner from which to gently reprimand me.  The fact is, just like always, I have, so to speak, spoken out of turn.  Jordan and I (basically) sat by and watched while God put the pieces into place and before we knew it, we were living in a beautiful apartment on the "west side" of Staunton.  He proved that his faithfulness and he demonstrated his presence in our lives.

Still, despite seeing such a significant movement of God in my life, I stepped into the place and grabbed the puzzle box and demanded that I have control.

I don't even like puzzles.

Now, I am reminded of the most basic fact of my life.  I need God.  I need to be as dependent on him to help me through each day, to work in and through me each day, as I was when he was pulling together this part of my life.

That doesn't mean I didn't screw up.  It doesn't mean that I don't have to work hard.  But, it means that there is grace.  And it means that even though I'm human, God is God, and God will do his work.  I'm just lucky to be a part of it.

Ah, God.  I can almost see your eyes rolling.

sunflowers

A few things.

First, it has been so hot.  The classic Virginia hot, the air so thick and wet that, as they say, you could cut it.  With the dullest of knives.

Second, we moved.  This should probably be the first bit of information as it is certainly the most important.  Almost everything is in the new apartment.  And, its all starting to come together.

I love it there.  The place just makes me smile.  During Mission Year, I realized that counter space was very important to me.  Clutter stresses me out.  Trying to prepare food without ample space sends me over the ledge of sanity.  No worries now, though.  Ol' Ebenezer has counters.

 It also has this tiny back room, technically a laundry room, that Jordan and I have decided to spiff up and use as a quiet/prayer room.  This evening, I discovered that it provides a perfect view of the sunset.

When we signed the lease, I gave the landlords a card with sunflowers on it.  I love sunflowers.  Their meaning is one of faithfulness, because they turn their heads in order to follow the sun as it moves through the sky each day.  While cleaning the kitchen yesterday, I realized that there was a mug sitting on the kitchen sink.  At first, I thought it had been left by accident.  Then, I realized that Ayuko had left it there for me.  It has sunflowers on it.

Pray for us if you get a moment, will you?  Pray that we can be as faithful as those beautiful little flowers.

today

I'm sitting in what I know is the calm before the storm -- the storm of upheaval and displacement that is inevitable when moving.  I'm surrounded by open, half-full boxes, the apartment is starting to take on a slightly more bare appearance.

The last few weeks have been incredibly full.  We've had a stream of visitors from PA, the Flyers have been in the Stanley Cup final (one cannot downplay the importance of this in our home), Jordan has been working a lot, there have been social events of all kinds, we've been trying to prepare for a move...  Along with the unforeseen and unavoidable necessities of life, we've encountered some other bumps.  For example, our folly of a couch won't fit into our new apartment, so, less than a year after buying it, we went on the search for a new couch.  This has been a lesson in holding things loosely, and, perhaps, a lesson in generosity.

In short, Jordan and I haven't had much alone time, and the time we have had has been generally focused on preparing for the next thing or addressing spats that have popped up along the way.

Last night, though, we had both reached a breaking point.  In our relationship as a couple, at almost every significant event, personal pains and problems have bubbled up from their deep, dark resting place and threatened to drown the joy and excitement that comes with such moments.  They're the kind of issues that we will always carry, because they are a part of us now, a part of our story, and, in a way, a part of our identity.  At times, they seem to wake up, to snap to attention, and to loom over us like the giants of old.  Other times, they creep behind us, crafty and stealth, begin to drape the shroud of darkness over us, only to vanish the moment we turn to see if we are being followed.

For a while, they had been content to remain ghost-like.  But, in the last few days, and especially last night, we found ourselves with a few perplexingly large and fierce giants standing in our way.

It was too much for me.  I'm more emotional than the average person.  My tear jar is probably a pain for the angels to lug around and, last night, I added more salt and water to the collection.

Jordan held me.  When the strongest wave had passed, he got up for a moment, returning with his key ring in one hand, and the new apartment keys in the other hand.  He said it was the ceremonial "putting on of the keys."  Then, he asked me to put my sandals on and to grab a couple of boxes of books.  Soon, we were outside, me with tears still streaming down my face, trying to reestablish a normal breathing pattern, whimpering.  Our neighbor, who lives in the apartment above us, was sitting outside.  We all tried to carry on a normal conversation, me with a face swollen to at least one point five times larger than normal and the voice of one with a sinus infection.

Then we left, drove two minutes, and arrived at the new apartment.  Guitar in hand, Jordan led me inside and to the laundry room will-be-turned prayer room.

In Chicago, Jordan and I prayed together several times a week.  Once we started dating, we prayed together every single night -- I can't remember a time when we skipped.  But, the praying together started dwindling throughout our engagement, and, since we've been married, prayer has not come naturally and it isn't a common occurrence.

But, last night, we prayed together, laying on the floor of the tiny back room, clinging to each other, clinging to hope, clinging to Jesus.

This morning, I woke up feeling that the deep sense of inadequacy and failure that has been pervasive in my heart for a few weeks has, for now, subsided and been replaced by peace and an awareness that God is.  I also woke up feeling more in love with Jordan than I imagined possible.  Literally, one of my first thoughts was, "I'm MARRIED to that wonderful man."

I'm not going to pretend like the ghosts and giants have moved on.  I'm not going to pretend that tomorrow I'll definitely feel the same sense of peace or have the same awareness of loving and being loved.  I'm a broken human being who has a lot of filth swimming below (and on) the surface.  But, as miserable as I am at doing this, we can take it only one day at a time.  Right?

Ebenezer House

About an hour ago, Jordan and I received new sets of keys.  They are suspended from a ring along with a small tag bearing an address, the address of our new apartment.  Their significance is difficult to explain, but I'll give it my best shot.  These keys are tangible evidence of a present and faithful God, a God who provides and who loves, a God whose ways are incomprehensibly beyond my own.

This has been an experience that has renewed my waning faith, that has given me a breath of new life.

It all began a few months ago when, perusing the internet for houses and apartments around Staunton (for no other reason but time consumption, I'm sure), I stumbled upon a precious little house located on one of the rougher streets of the city.  My reaction to the cost-per-month was likely something between a laugh, roll of my eyes, and a gasp.  If the house was elsewhere, its going rate would likely be hundreds of dollars more per month.  I mentioned it briefly to Jordan, simply because of the clear difference between our own neighborhood (where our tiny one bedroom apartment is only $50 less per month) and a neighborhood only a few blocks away.  

I didn't think of it again until a few weeks later when, during one of Rick's ever challenging sermons, he mentioned something about moving into the less desirable parts of town in order to establish relationships with the people there.  The image of the house immediately came into my mind.  

Over the next few months, I began to feel a painful restlessness and a sense of urgency.  Memories and dreams of Chicago began surfacing.  Since leaving there, I have felt dried up, half-dead, "thirsty in a land where there is no water."  In the past, I've been able to suppress the memories, to keep going about my business, but this time, there seemed to be no escaping it.

"It" being conviction.  Conviction and desire.  Desire to be more engaged in incarnational ministry, to (attempt to) bridge gaps of race, class, education, religion, to live an intentional life, one of solidarity with the poor, to provide a safe place for kids, women, and men, to demonstrate (by God's grace) with our lives the love of Jesus.  Conviction that Jordan and I were called to these things, that circumstances led to our living in Staunton, a place Jordan likes to call "fertile," for perhaps that very reason.  

I know that is a long intro to the story, but it really doesn't begin to tell it in its entirety.  But, I pretend to be no Anne Lamott, and I know we all get bored pretty quickly.  

The real story began three weeks ago today.  Jordan and I had visited the before-mentioned house and had determined that once the utilities were thrown in, it would cost too much.  I was really discouraged.  We had received a letter in the mail reminding us that our lease was up at the end of June, asking to tell our landlords if we would be staying or leaving.  This particular Saturday was busy -- we had been invited to three social events and planned on making it to all three of them.  (We did.)  When we got to our second, a dinner with some friends from church, we soon found ourselves deep in a discussion about what our dreams were for our future.  One of the church's elders, Bert, had lobbed the proverbial ball over the plate for us, giving us an opportunity to share our desires.  By the end of the evening, Bert had encouraged us beyond explanation.  He was in our corner.  That was all we needed.

Later that week, we set up a meeting with Chris and Emily Lassiter, whose names I had heard often and whose faces I had seen, but who I had not yet officially met, but knew that we could learn from.  The Lassiters are an incredible couple who love Jesus and who are determined to follow him.  They are living intentionally a few streets away from the house we checked out and are involved in an urban ministry in the Staunton community.  They welcomed us into their home and we immediately felt safe and at peace.  This meeting alone was a life-giving, miraculous experience for Jordan and I.  Connecting with people who had a similar vision was beyond exciting.  We left their home with more knowledge of the needs of the Staunton community, a list of contact names running around in our heads, and a sense of assurance that God was working.

Soon after, we met with Diane and Lisa, two of the contacts that the Lassiters had given to us.  Diane is a social worker with the Office on Youth and Lisa is a police officer.  Once again, there was an immediate connection, one that reminded me of my days in Mission Year when simply having the same purpose was enough to bridge all other gaps.  Within minutes, Diane was calling a landlord about an apartment that Lisa had spotted.  (This particular apartment happened to be located on one of the streets that Diane had specifically mentioned to me in one of her emails about parts of the community where a positive presence was needed.  It was a few houses down from a woman named Elaine Rose, who I have yet to meet, but who is a minister working with businesses in the area to employ ex convicts.)  

In order to be able to afford the apartment, we would need a specific act of provision on God's part (while I would love to elaborate, we agreed to keep it on the down-low).  The same day that we met with Diane and Lisa, we met with the landlords, Eddie and Ayuko.  They asked us questions about what we wanted to do, in a way, it felt like an interview.  Eventually, Ayuko asked what books we had read, and mentioned John Perkins, a staple of Mission Year curriculum.  While I filled out the application for the apartment, she quietly mentioned that other people would be coming to see the apartment, but that she had been in prayer when she had received Diane's phone call, and that she was taking our application very seriously.  

The name of their business is Shalom Properties.

Today, three weeks from the day this all began, we signed the lease and were given two sets of keys.  We'll be moving in about two weeks.

Because God undeniably guided us and provided this place for us -- again, I emphasize that these details provide the bare bones of the real story -- and because we believe it is the beginning of our life's work, our new home will be called the Ebenezer House.  (Maybe I'll write next time more about the word ebenezer and its meaning.)

Once we're settled in, come on over for dinner.

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;
hither by thy help I'm come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
wandering from the fold of God;
he, to rescue me from danger,
interposed his precious blood. —Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing

Hoppipolla

In Brennan Manning's Ragamuffin Gospel, he tells about his friend who asks God every day for a sense of awe and wonder.  In this world, it is so easy to become overwhelmed and discouraged by the pain and evil that is so pervasive.  Still, even more pervasive, but much of the time less obvious, is the goodness and beauty of God.

When I read that portion of the book (years ago), I wanted to make it my prayer as well.  I think I prayed for that sense of awe for about three days before forgetting.  Every now and then, though, I remember.  When I do remember, I think of this song and video.

I hope I remember when I'm their age to make this happen...

Hoppipolla by Sigur Ros

May I have faith like a child.

Meet Gregory Boyle and Homeboy Industries

If you have about 40 minutes to spare, I highly recommend listening to this.  Gregory Boyle is a Jesuit priest who has been working with gang members in LA since the early 80s.  The ministry is in some financial trouble right now, and the first part of the interview deals with some of those issues.  Later on, he tells some of his stories.  


Visit the link to listen: NPR Fresh Air with Gregory Boyle


I haven't read it yet, but his book Tattoos On the Heart has received great reviews.

Aiyana

There is an unimaginable amount of unrest, chaos, and pain ravaging the world at this very moment.  Because I cannot comprehend this, because I cannot imagine what such an experience would be like, the stories pouring in from Thailand, Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan, China...

Those tragedies become topics of conversations over coffee or  dessert.  Yes, more important, more heavy than a discussion about the weather, but a discussion nonetheless.  A discourse on current events, not actions to attempt prevention, or even actions of response.

But, one story in particular has haunted me today.  It gives all of this madness a face, the face of a seven year old girl, the innocent scapegoat of this world's complete insanity.

I'm posting a video from Democracy Now, a news source that many likely avoid (or do not know exist) because of their leftist approach.  Please let that be of no concern to you, please just watch.  Witness the pain of Aiyana's grandmother, hear the pleading of the family's lawyer.  We cannot approach this in a partisan manner, or at least we must try to avoid doing so.  Rather, these events, these stories, must unite us.

This was wrong.  These things cannot happen.  What if she was your child, sister, cousin, friend, neighbor?

seven year olld Aiyana -- killed by Detroit police

Lord have mercy on us, all sinners.