If my spiritual life were a dashboard in a flight cockpit, I’m pretty sure the red lights screaming, Danger! Crash-and-burn-imminent! would be angrily blinking.
Because my faith has taken a beating this year; a battering.
There’s been disappointments in ministry and a confusion of jobs. There’s been several house moves and enough goodbyes said that would make a grown man cry. There’s been money struggles and kid struggles and a community that seems awfully elusive. And then, there’s been this discussion of new theology that has rocked me to my core, driving me to ask questions and seek answers.
Which I haven’t really found.
And the result is that my faith finds itself laid-out on the mat of some cosmic boxing ring.
Battered, down, and staying that way, I’m afraid.
The past months have seen a slow chill creep in to my heart, and the voice of God has become a whisper that I haven’t taken time to strain an ear for. My cynicism–my “intelligent” wanderings–have ushered in more head than soul, and down on the mat I have wallowed.
And, this, I have discovered, is not a good thing. Especially as a homeschooling mom to three small children. Especially as a wife to a man, overwhelmed. Especially as a {gulp} Christian missionary.
But, here’s the thing I am {re}learning about this God I started following 25 years ago: He doesn’t ask for mountainous faith; doesn’t demand on-fire-perfection.
Instead, he asks for mustard seeds.And five loaves. And water in jugs where the wine’s already run out.
And from me? From me, he asks for a getting up. An invitation for the thaw. A lifting of this mustard seed faith of mine.
Case in point. My husband needed to travel to Bangkok from our home in Thailand in January. He had lined up several meetings that were crucial to our work here in Asia, and he felt like it was a trip God was asking him to step out in faith for–even though we didn’t have the money to buy the plane tickets or the funds for a hotel or a traveling partner to go with him.
But, he made calls and scheduled meetings, anyway. And then, over the next few weeks, I saw the mustard seed grow:
1. His plane ticket was paid for by another family here who heard about his meetings and wanted to encourage us.
2. Another friend has a brother who redeemed hotel points to get him to stay at a four-star hotel in Bangkok. He was planning on staying in hostels, but now will be spending the weekend in one of the nicest hotels in the entire city.
3. A friend from another city in Thailand has agreed to travel with him, attend meetings and be another ear to process with.
4. He has been able to schedule meetings with some key leaders which, honestly, were a long shot at even getting to the table with.
5. My heart is in a fresh place– expectant for the trip, hopeful for the outcomes. And ready to manage the kids as a solo-parent for the next several days, sans the typical woe-is-me syndrome I typically spout when he travels.
And, this, friends, for me is God in Action, God in the Boxing Ring who ushers me again to wobbly feet. And this Friday, as we celebrate things to be grateful for here at SheLoves, my husband works and dreams and prays, from a cushy hotel in Bangkok.
And his wife, at home with the three kids, finds her heart a little less cold, her faith a little made stronger, the red indicator lights not blinking with quite such panic as before.
And maybe both are more a miracle than I usually give credit for.
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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:
What mustard seed have you seen growing in your life more recently?
If your spiritual life were a dashboard in a cockpit, what would yours say today?
Any other thoughts?
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About Laura:
Laura Parker is a freelance writer and homeschooling mom who currently lives in Thailand with her family. She and her husband run a travel ministry which seeks to mentor young adults and provide a greater awareness of human trafficking. She blogs honestly about a life in Asia, squatty-potties and all, at http://www.aLifeOverseas.com . She is also the founding editor for an inspirational website for educators, InspiredTeacher.net . She tweets from @LauraParkerBlog .
When we see how much injustice there is in the world, sometimes we forget that a simple act of reaching out and caring can make all the difference.
I can’t say I fully understand justice. Living in Uganda, however, as I hear firsthand the stories of people who have experienced great injustice–people who are now healing–I’m often reminded of what achieving justice looks like. I also learn that in seeking justice I don’t need to become overwhelmed.
God reminds me there’s nothing silent or static about justice. Wherever I search for the word “justice” in the Bible, I come across action. Justice is life-giving, loud and active. He also provides me with many examples on how to seek justice: speak out, reach out and give.
Seeking Justice
I learn that to seek is the desire or attempt to achieve something. I may have the desire, but if I don’t take the leap from desire to action, I’ll never “achieve” justice. Justice isn’t just the feeling in my heart. It’s the ways in which I will choose to respond to that feeling.
I’m reminded that seeking justice is a choice I continually have to make, because seeking justice, though it’s not impossible, isn’t easy. It can be uncomfortable.
It’s not easy
-Personally, I’m not very good at speaking out. I’m shy.
-Being generous is hard when I feel like I don’t have the finances.
-Reaching out requires meeting people and investing my time.
I have to be honest, sometimes I can get lazy, overwhelmed and scared. I can fail to take the leap from desire to action because it means I have to get out of my comfort zone. Therefore, I have to continue to choose to keep my heart and eyes open so I don’t fail to see injustice and take the opportunities to respond.
Lessons from Filder and Susan
Filder and Susan belong to a generation of children who were abducted by the LRA in northern Uganda and forced to live under the captivity of rebel soldiers. Many of them were forced to witness and commit unimaginable atrocities. They were robbed of their childhood and innocence. Boys were forced to become child soldiers and girls were often given away as trophy wives to rebel commanders.
Like many other abducted children, when Filder and Susan returned from captivity, their community rejected them completely. Now they are part of an initiative run by Watoto that trains and disciples this stolen generation and helps them reintegrate into their communities. They have been given the opportunity to regain control of their lives because somebody acted.
We sat at their new home on Suubi Hill, and when I asked them what was the most important thing I as an individual could do to seek justice, their answers were surprisingly simple. They said that if I care, I will stop and listen to those who are hurting around me. To Susan and Filder, former child soldiers, realizing justice begins with an interaction.
“Just talking with someone who has been through something very painful can help him or her,” Susan said. “Don’t pass and go, find out how they are doing. Talk to them, take your time to sit with them.”
Filder added: “Encourage and be faithful to one another, help them, build them up.”
I know justice is not one-dimensional. Choosing to stop, care and listen might not solve all of the world’s problems. But if it reminds one person of her worth–if one person rises up from her circumstances and starts to believe in herself again–then that simple action might just be the beginning of someone’s experience of real justice. It’s easy to think that our simple, individual acts of goodness, kindness, or love are insignificant when we see how much injustice there is in the world, but it’s exactly those simple, individual acts that, when added together, can begin to make real positive difference.
I notice that difference when I see Filder and Susan. These girls have experienced war, loss and rejection, but when you meet them, you see love, joy and a real sense of appreciation shining through them. They are healing, smiling and dreaming. They want to shine that light and share that face of justice with other women in their community. And that’s the other thing I’ve learnt about this face of justice: it doesn’t stop at that one person. It sets off a ripple.
About Stephanie: Stephanie is a humanitarian and portrait photographer for fakeleft.com where she shares stories of hope and dignity. She blogs at fakeleft.com/blog and tweets at @stephmotz
I often tease that my kids are like Gremlins. Remember those little creatures? Feed them after midnight or expose them to water and you create a monster. Only in the case of my children, rather than food or water, the impetus for their transformation into tiny, unmanageable little creatures might be exposure to particular textures; or the word “no.”
I’m convinced children should come with warning labels. If they did, our son’s most likely would have said something like, “Prepare for disagreement. Tantrums resulting in head-banging and loss of breath. Fainting may occur.”
Our daughter’s would have read: “Avoid contact with moderate light or noise, clothing tags and seams.”
The early years of parenting are particularly challenging as the time is so often spent managing the intensity of our children’s most exhausting characteristics. We could always count on our daughter to become over-stimulated, overwhelmed and victim to her powerful imagination. Likewise, we could expect our son to collapse into a raging fit at least once during every outing. As I tried to maintain my composure and sanity, both compromised by sleepless nights and the constant soothing and attention the kids required through the day, I read every popular parenting book I could find that addressed “high needs” children.
In the book Your Fussy Baby, I came across a chart that the author, Dr. William Sears, had compiled, listing descriptive words parents use to label their young children during those more challenging years of nurture and reframing them as descriptive words for similar traits as teenagers and adults. I printed the chart and put it on our refrigerator, stealing away glances as I grabbed the milk, gently reminding myself to keep some perspective.
The Changing Personality Profile of the High Need Child
The words you use to describe your high-need child will change over the years, as the traits that so exhausted you during infancy are channeled into qualities that will make your child an interesting, dynamic adult. Try to think of your child’s personality in a positive light and look ahead. Labels that seem like negatives will be positive traits in your child’s future personality.
Of course, it all makes sense when we think about it. The traits that drive us most crazy about our children now, are often exactly the types of traits we’d like them to have as adults. Our son had so many tantrums as an infant and toddler that every family picture his older sister drew, depicted him with a purple face. Five years later, has he become less persistent? No. But he manifests that same persistence and passion now as an intense commitment to tasks, taking on challenging puzzles and working through problems rather than giving up.
Does his unwavering desire for debate drive me crazy? Absolutely. I would love it if, just once in a while when I ask him to do something, he’d respond with a “yes” the first time. However, I like to hope that the go-against-the-flow attitude he so willingly practices with me will one day translate into an ability to question the judgment and requests of his friends and avoid peer pressure. Recent research suggests it may.
When our daughter was in kindergarten, she came home quite disturbed after she witnessed a friend shove a raisin up his nose far enough to warrant a trip to the school nurse. Afterwards, our daughter avoided solid food for four days, subsisting on yogurt she would lick, before she came to us in a desperate panic asking to go to the emergency room. She was convinced a raisin was lodged in her own nose, accidentally shoved up there at some point when she may have missed her mouth while eating. I found myself sobbing with laughter before I could muster the seriousness I needed to calm her down and remind her that the raisin episode was something she had seen at school and not something she had done herself.
The sensitivity and imagination that overpowered her then, has since allowed her to be acutely aware of what others around her may be feeling. She demonstrates empathy beyond her years. Similarly, whatever internal mechanism caused her to respond so severely to clothing tags, seams and loud noises has opened her senses and allowed her to be moved deeply by music, poetry and beauty. I’ve come to think of her sensitivity as her own personal superpower.
When my children behave in such a way that leaves me counting down the minutes or hours until bedtime, I try to pause and consider how their behavior might benefit them when they are mature, self-controlled adults. It’s not an easy process. In the heat of the moment, when I’m frustrated by the fact that I’ve just spent the past 15 minutes arguing over which shoes my son will wear to school, I need to be careful that I don’t assert parental control in a manner that runs the risk of breaking his spirit just “because I said so.” Finding the balance between establishing boundaries and encouraging our children’s development of “self” takes practice and is something that none of us manages to perfect, but we can take comfort in knowing that the return on our investment is immeasurable.
For more advice on parenting spirited children, check out:
Which of your children’s behaviors test your patience?
Can you think of how their behavior might benefit them if channeled appropriately?
What are some strategies you use to avoid being overwhelmed by those more challenging moments of parenting?
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About Sabrina:
An artist-turned-academic, Sabrina spends her days navigating between a wide variety of roles including that of mother, wife, graduate student, researcher and daydreamer. She is currently a doctoral student in the Communication Studies program at Northwestern University where she researches the various ways in which children and parents engage media and technology and the potential effects these interactions might have on the development of children. Prior to her time at Northwestern, Sabrina earned a Master’s degree in child development from Tufts University, as well as a Master of Arts in puppetry from the University of Connecticut. She has a passion for all things involving play, whimsy and the art of nurturing.
“Bloom” is a verb, but what really does a flower do?
By Stacy Wiebe
My “one word” for 2012 has stalked me. It first appeared while I pedaled along a country road in Thailand— three red roses standing out in the fringe of roadside grass: Bloom.
But it felt a little sentimental, and I wasn’t quite settled on it. I pondered it days later in the shower and my eyes caught a glimpse of the kitschy light fixture— painted with red and gold flowers.
Till a few days ago, I hadn’t gone public with my “one word.” But I knew that when I chatted it up with Tina Francis, whom I got to meet in the flesh during her recent stopover in my city, she would ask me! I used the washroom in her hotel room, and my eyes alighted upon … a bud vase with two red carnations.
So bloom it is. (Telling Tina made it official.)
Bloom is a verb, but what really does a flower do? It does not cause its blossoming. It is an outcome of the plant’s design, a result of the nutrients and water received by its roots and the sunlight its chlorophyll soaks in and transforms into food. Bloom, then, is a visible sign of interior thriving. An unfurling, an opening, a full turning of one’s face to the sun.
Recently, I chanced upon a vintage book whose cover was smooth as river rocks, worn by the hands of time. The paper, though yellowed, was decadently thick, the pages peppered with quotations from the editors and other writers. The title: A Garland of Quiet Thoughts, selected by JE and HS (only the editors’ initials are given), copyright 1925.
Here are some of the quotes I plucked from it, which to me breathe, bloom.
- “Our times of greatest pleasure are when we have won some higher peak of difficulty, trodden under foot some evil, and felt day by day so sure a growth of moral strength within us that we cannot conceive of an end of growth.”–Stofford Brooke
- “Every flower is a hint of His beauty; every grain of wheat a token of His beneficence; every atom of dust, a revelation of His power. In and through all things He is attracting our regard.” –Furness
- “Cultivate the thankful spirit! It will be to thee a perpetual feast. There is, or ought to be, with us no such thing as small mercies; all are great, because the least are undeserved. Indeed, a really thankful heart will extract motive for gratitude from everything, making the most of even scanty blessings.”–JR Macduff
- “Flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary humanity. Children love them; quiet, tender, contented ordinary people love them as they grow; they are the cottager’s treasure; and in the crowded town mark, as with a little broken fragment of rainbow, the windows of the workers in whose hearts rest the covenant of peace.” –Ruskin
- “We shall one day forget all about duty, and do everything from the love of the loveliness of it, the satisfaction of the rightness of it.” –George MacDonald
- “You may not be able to leave your children a great inheritance, but day by day you are weaving coats for them which they will wear through all eternity.” –TL Cuyler
- “Begin with a generous heart. Think how you can serve others. Then you shall find resources grow. Your own portion shall not be left desolate. Strength shall be shed through you. Do the utmost with what you have, and it shall go far enough.” –OB Frothingham
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About Stacy:
Stacy Wiebe likes biriyani, books and things that grow. She’s lived in Chennai, India for the past three years, writing and speaking with WOW and other non-profits.
Why do people eat dumplings for Chinese New Year? And what year is it according to the Chinese lunar calendar? A short guide to popular Chinese New Year traditions.
As a Chinese child growing up in Canada, every year, I experienced something like a second Christmas.
After the warm festivities, feasting, and gift-receiving of Christmas time, after the excitement and countdown to New Year and several weeks after the tinsel and lights have faded–the mood would build up again. Soon, I would receive more gifts, this time cash in little red envelopes, and join more gatherings full of food and family.
It was like Christmas all over again.
It is Chinese New Year.
This year, I visited China several weeks before Chinese New Year, which is, officially, today. While I was in China, preparations for this most important time of the year were already underway. When I met others, a popular ice-breaking question was, “Are you going home for Chinese New Year?”
I will be home for Chinese New Year this year, but “home” is currently here in Canada. Yet there are some easy ways to commemorate Chinese New Year even outside of China:
1. Keeping the Spirit of Giving
One of the most iconic traditions of Chinese New Year is the giving of red envelopes stuffed with one or more paper bills, given from the older generation to the younger ones. When giving and receiving a red envelope, both parties may speak words of blessings to each another, usually in the form of four-word Chinese idioms. The spirit of giving can be preserved in ways other than passing out cash too. Food associated with Chinese New Year, such as mandarin oranges, dried fruit and candy with bright foil, can be wrapped in small bunches and given to family, friends and co-workers to wish them happiness and blessings in the coming year.
2. Eating Foods with Meaning
There are many foods traditionally associated with Chinese New Year, and it may be fun–and delicious–to have some around this time of year. In northern China, people eat dumplings or “jiao zi,” the shape of which resembles a gold ingot, a form of currency used in ancient China. In the south, people eat a sticky rice pudding called “nian gao,” the name which sounds like the words “higher year.” Other foods eaten at Chinese New Year that carry meaning are noodles (representing longevity) and fish (representing abundance).
3. Wearing New Clothes
Many traditional Chinese will buy a complete set of new clothes to wear on the first day of New Year. Wearing new clothes symbolizes a fresh and new start. Wearing red–the favourite color of Chinese tradition–is another way to be festive.
4. Cutting–and Not Cutting–One’s Hair
Many Chinese will get a haircut before New Year to complement their new outfit on New Year’s day. It is considered unlucky, however, to cut anything during New Year, so those who want to cut their hair must do so early.
5. Cleaning–and Not Cleaning–the House
Cleaning the home from top to bottom is a popular way to welcome in the New Year, and to prepare your house for all the visitors who will drop by to bring well-wishes. Sweeping during New Year, however, is supposed to sweep away the good luck, so brooms are carefully put away during the New Year period.
6. Wishing People “Happy New Year” in Chinese
Chinese people greet one another with “gung hey fat choi” (Cantonese) or “gong xi fa cai” (Mandarin),” which literally means, “Wishing you a financially prosperous year.”
Another greeting is, “sun leen fai lok (Cantonese) or “xin nian kuai le” (Mandarin), which simply means, “Happy New Year.”
About Chinese New Year:
The Chinese have their own calendar, which follows the moon. Chinese New Year happens every year between January 21 and February 21, on the day of the first new moon, which is the darkest day. Celebrations run for 15 days, until the full moon appears. According to the Chinese lunar calendar, we are entering year 4710.
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How about you?
What Chinese traditions are you curious about?
Do you celebrate Chinese New Year, and how?
Do you have any memories of celebrating Chinese New Year?
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About Winnie:
The wave of Asian immigration in the 1990s brought Winnie to Canada on a little red-mast junk. To fulfill her family’s dream of running a business in Hong Kong and giving the children a Western education, Winnie’s father commuted home to Canada during Christmas and Chinese New Year, and Winnie herself spent her childhood between the two continents and among many different schools and neighbourhoods. Her growing up experience has become a mosaic of cultures, languages, and perspectives. Winnie blogs at intellectualsashimi.com and tweets @intelSASHIMI
Image credit: Collage, Esther Weng, Microsoft Clip Art
He crowns you with love and mercy—a paradise crown.
He wraps you in goodness—beauty eternal.
He renews your youth—you’re always young in his presence.” - Psalm 103:3-5 (The Message)
I wish I could come up with a story sad enough to justify my actions. A story that would tug at your heart and somehow make what I did, seem okay. Something that would justify my actions.
That’s not going to happen.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
We can’t rewrite our past; we only have today.
My hope is that in telling this story, it could change someone else’s story. That a woman held in bondage from her past would be set free. Or maybe change the way someone thinks about another person who has made the choices I have made.
I am talking about abortion.
When I was 15 and found myself pregnant, I was scared out of my mind. I was one step away from homeless and I wondered if there was a way I could keep the baby. In my ignorance I thought that because I drank alcohol one night, I had ruined the baby anyhow. So even if I had him, he would be damaged and how would I take care of him? At that time, I couldn’t even put a roof over my own head. I got the money for the abortion and ended the pregnancy at 15 weeks.
I wish my story ended there.
When I was 17, I was having unprotected sex with my boyfriend. At this point in my life, my heart was hard. I knew what the consequences could be, and didn’t care. The people in my world had let me down and I refused to love or be loved. I got pregnant, again. This time I did not hesitate to choose abortion. I did not want to end up a single mother. I definitely did not want to be tied to my current boyfriend for the rest of my life. So I ended the pregnancy at 19 weeks. Refusing to acknowledge the life that was in me.
When I was 20 years old, I found Jesus. I was told I was a new creation, cleaned from all sin, but there were choices I had made in my life that fired a war on my soul. I felt like certain things I had done in my life were too big for God. I was covered in guilt and shame. After two years I backslid from God and walked away for seven years.
Looking back, I still see God was working in my life. The very fact that I can write this today is proof of that.
I married when I was 27 to a wonderful man, and we were expecting our first child by our first anniversary.
Any mom, when you hold your baby for the first time, knows the wonder of the miracle that has taken place. The child that grew in your body. A life full of future.
When Owen was four, I wanted him in Christian school. Why this was so important, I can’t tell you; particularly when I was only attending church at Christmas and Easter. I requested a reference letter from my church and it was completed by an Associate Pastor who has known me since the beginning of my journey. She filled out my application and when she got to the part about my involvement at church, she talked about what she saw in me and what she believed for me. In that moment, I had hope. I really wanted God and needed him in my life.
I saw words that spoke of my potential, not my mistakes.
I got involved in serving and planted myself in the house and about eight months later, I recommitted my heart to Jesus. I learned that I could go through the motions, but until I opened my heart, it was impossible to grow. In my willingness to serve and be obedient to God, however, walking through the doors that were opening, I believe it allowed God to begin a work in me. The actions of trusting God with my life allowed my heart to soften enough to put my hope in Him.
So now Israel, what do you think God expects from you? Just this: Live in his presence in holy reverence, follow the road he sets out for you, love him, serve God, your God, with everything you have in you, obey the commandments and regulations of God that I’m commanding you today—live a good life. - Deuteronomy 10:12-13 (The Message)
Ryan and I had been trying to have another child since our eldest turned two. After several failed fertility attempts, we were diagnosed with “unexplained infertility.” I began to think of my abortions. The lives I had ended and the one I was trying to begin.
Condemnation and guilt entered into my heart and I was tormented by what I had done.
I began to feel like a con-artist. The life I was living, stolen. “I should be a single struggling mother,” I thought to myself. “I should have never met Ryan, and had my beautiful Owen. I should not have this beautiful life. It was my horrible choices that brought me here and I am a living fraud.”
I believed those words and they robbed my joy.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, (s)he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. – 2 Corinthians 5:17 (New King James Version) (gender included)
By the grace of God, I got pregnant at 35, seven years after my first born. I had my first ultrasound at seven weeks and saw that miraculous little heartbeat. At 20 weeks, I saw the miracle of our little baby in a 3D ultrasound.
I felt that tug at my heart, for my unborn children.
Grace.
We had a guest speaker come to our church, and it’s not that I hadn’t heard amazing sermons on grace, but I felt like this message was about me and my abortions and my life that God gave me. God spoke to my heart and truth resonated in me.
The hardest part of Grace, for me, was understanding it. When we truly understand the Grace we live under when Jesus enters our lives, we are not pushed to our knees by guilt and condemnation, but instead we gratefully fall to our knees in worship to the One who paid for it all. Jesus.
I don’t deserve this life I have. None of us deserve our lives. It’s by Gods grace we have a second chance (sometimes a third and a fourth). God saw across the oceans of time and saw me at 15, 17, 27 and 35 and loved me the same. The blood of Jesus covers my sins.
It is not that my heart doesn’t ache when I think of those babies; I sit here in tears thinking of them. It will always hurt, but I don’t live under condemnation. I have a new life by the grace of God. I know some of you may not understand and maybe have the urge to hurl a few stones my way, but I would bear the scorn of a thousand to help one person learn what it took me 15 years to learn.
Here’s more of what I learned: If you are recovering from an abortion, God knows your story and is still smiling on you; your child is in heaven with Him. God still loves you and always will. Your child still loves you. Jesus’ blood covered all of your sins. He covered every, single, sin.
And then he told me,
My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness. -2 Corinthians 7: 10
If you can stand nowhere else today, let’s stand here: God’s grace is enough. Maybe it is not an abortion that keeps you tied up. Maybe it is something else you have made bigger than Jesus. Let’s know this together: nothing is BIGGER than God. In our weakness, God makes us strong. I love that.
God looks at us and loves us, just as we are.
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About Daniela: Daniela is loving her role as stay-at-home mom. She loves Jesus, her husband and kids and jumps feet first into opportunities to serve in her community. Daniela lives by this statement, “Preach the gospel always, use words when necessary.” She loves to live life big and laughs a lot. She blogs with her twin sister Trinity at Lime in the coconuts.
Courage: mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty.
This is my first SheLoves post and I am terrified … totally and completely. I’m not a writer … at least I don’t think I am. I don’t bare my soul … ever. I have written, written and deleted this article at least twenty times. As soon as I get to the writing about me part, I panic. What do I say? It’s not like I don’t have important things to say … I just find when it comes to matters of the heart, well, I’m socially and emotionally challenged. I fear it. Which is a big reason I picked the word courage.
I have entered in a new season of my life. Things are changing and I am going to have to overcome some of the fears in my life.
So, here are three things in my life I need courage for:
1. Living the life God wants for me.
2. Learning to trust
3. Sharing my heart
Here’s what most of my friends know about me: I am an avid DIYer. I love making things and taking on new projects. Sometimes it works out … sometimes it doesn’t. But for me, every holiday brings excitement.
I love making holidays special for my kids. When I take the time to create special moments with them it’s like planting little happy seeds in their hearts.
One successfully planted, happy seed:
This is what I hope to do this Valentine’s Day, if I don’t run out of time or get too distracted with other things:
and my 12-year-old Gabe will get a heart shaped bento lunch. (I can go on and on about bento lunches but I will save that for another day.)
Here are some of the things I’ve found to inspire my DIY genes:
Ideas for Homemade Valentines:
Treats for their Class
Decorations for Around the House
Now, the Flowers
Every year I get a dozen roses. Two things: I really hate it when they die right away and two, I can never get them to look quite right. So, I did a little research and found out a dozen rose are actually very hard to arrange. This is what I learned:
Don’t put your roses in a vase that is too big
and don’t leave the stems too long.
If we know roses are coming at least once a year, we might as well be ready for them. Invest in a vase that will show them off beautifully. Just make sure it has a narrow neck, perfect for dealing with a dozen.
It never ceases to amaze me how anything I wonder about I can find all that answers I need on either a website on amazing blogs like The Art of Doing Stuff. (Thank you, Karen, for all the great info!) Definitely check out her site for great arrangement ideas.
For some more great info on caring, cutting and arranging roses, go to Martha’s site here.
If you would like tutorials or more information on any of the things I’ve shown here today, you can find all the links on my Pinterest Valentine page.
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Trin’s DIY
I’ve always got a DIY project on the go. Right now, it’s photo pillows.
I was on the House and Home website, checking out trends for 2012, when I saw this.
It’s from a very cool store called Archival Decor. This 18×18 pillow will run you $245. Ouch
So, I made my own version. They are not as big, but I like them.
Cost of these ones? Around $10. For the full DIY, please go to my blog.
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So, my SheLoves friends:
1. What are you doing for Valentine’s Day this year?
2. Is there any current DIY projects you would like to share?
3. Where in your life do you need some courage?
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About Trinity:
I have entered into a new season of my life. Each day brings something new and I am looking forward to seeing what lies ahead. I am loving being home with my kids, being a wife, spending time with family and friends.I love my home. It is our sanctuary, a place for God, rest, memories, love, laughter and happiness. We come together to grow, support, cry, get angry, celebrate, act crazy, be goofy, and strengthen…knowing this is the place we won’t be judged or criticized but instead where we will support and encourage and guide. Mistakes are forgiven and second chances never run out. To gather with my friends and family for a times of joy and love is the place I most love to be.
“I am inspired by women like Nikole, who recognize they are called to walk alongside others in the mutual goal of seeking justice in the world, not as a do-gooder, or a savior, but as a sister in Christ.”
I was raised in four countries on three continents.
I am a cradle Catholic whose first memory of God is laced with multi-ethnic faces and visions of a holy Mary. I come from a family where women’s voices are loudly heard at home and in vocations around the globe. No matter how often the world and even the church may try to convince me otherwise, I cannot separate my understanding of God from my recognition of the strength and beauty of women.
It’s amazing really, the way one woman randomly encountering another woman can tell a small snippet of her story and lay a thread down, soft and silent, one more weave of rope for that hanging bridge of hope we all dangle on.
I met Nikole Lim at a speakers gathering last year. We were signed up to share a room at the conference center. Nikole is a young striking Chinese-American woman with a playful and edgy sense of style. I was not surprised to discover Nikole was a photographer and a humanitarian documentary filmmaker. As the days went on, I wasn’t even surprised to discover that she had started Freely in Hope, her own 501(c) faith-based nonprofit committed to addressing issues of poverty, sexual abuse and educational injustice for women in Kenya.
But I was surprised to find out she was only 23 years old.
And I was surprised to find out how open Nikole was to shifting her life steps in order to dance to the rhythm of God’s heartbeat, the rhythm she heard while listening to some snippet of another woman’s story.
Through a mutual friend, Nikole was introduced to Eunice, and learned about this particular Kenyan woman’s strength and resolution to overcome the violence of rape and poverty. Humbled by Eunice’s story Nikole felt her own life forever altered and said yes to a daunting but convicting call to build a bridge between her world in California and Eunice’s world in Nairobi.
“Through Eunice’s story, I was liberated from my own selfishness,” says Nikole. “As God was challenging my heart, I felt called to start an organization to provide spiritual, educational and economic empowerment for girls worldwide. I thought that maybe, God was calling me to be a part of something greater—a part of stories that could change not only my life, but the lives of so many other women who are vulnerable to sexual abuse.”
I am inspired by women like Eunice, who in the face of horror, deep pain and mounting obstacles can courageously and gracefully hold onto the seed of knowledge that she, too, is a child of God with power and purpose.
Eunice believed in herself and in God before meeting Nikole.
I am inspired by women like Nikole, who recognize they are called to walk alongside others in the mutual goal of seeking justice in the world, not as a do-gooder, or a savior, but as a sister in Christ.
“I’ve been a witness to countless images that portray the “third world” as a place of despair,” says Nikole. “For too long, images have been used to capitalize on individuals, families and cultures. Worth has been shattered and dignity broken. My goal as a humanitarian photographer and filmmaker is to not exploit, but to leverage stories that empower, restore and transform.”
I am inspired by women who take time to listen to the still small voice of God, to discern how God would use their own unique hands and heart to foster healing in a broken world.
There are so many contexts and cultures that teach women to be passive and quiet recipients of injustice and varied forms of violence. And there are so many untold stories of women like Nikole and Eunice who do not shy away from challenge and conviction, because they believe that central to their life’s meaning and faith is the call to issue in God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. Wherever Jesus went about preaching the kingdom of God and calling onlookers to reconcile themselves to God’s love, he did so hand in hand with changing people’s circumstances to reflect the type of world God envisions for all. The kingdom of God is made manifest wherever creation moves one step closer to physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental healing.
“Our vision is for women worldwide to experience God’s transformative love by living freely in hope.” -Nikole Lim , Founder of Freely in Hope.
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My dear SheLoves sisters, I’d love to hear:
What soft threads of another’s sister’s story have been woven into your own story of hope and purpose?
Is there a friend, a sister’s story, that comes to mind that has particularly shaped how you live your life now?
Any other thoughts or comments?
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About Enuma
Enuma was born in the United States and raised in Nigeria, Ivory Coast and England. She holds a Master of Divinity degree from Duke University Divinity School where she served as Director for the Center for Theological Writing. She is an author, speaker, spiritual director and continues to lead workshops and retreats on varied topics engaging the literary and visual arts, and spiritual disciplines.
Enuma’s new forthcoming book, “Silence,” will be released in Summer/Fall 2012
She also writes an online column at Patheos called “Cornering God” about women’s ways of knowing and engaging the holy. You can find her online at www.enumaokoro.com
On a recent flight back to Seattle from Tucson, I grabbed the latest Harper’s Bazaar with a striking cover of a clearly air-brushed Madonna alongside her W./E. ingénue for an article about her full-length feature debut. I am a huge fan of Madonna (NOTE: her uncompromising vision, indefatigable work ethic and determination. Not her sexual exploitations or agent provocateur-ism). I found an article about her an irresistible indulgence relative to my usual philosophical and theological ponderings. In the article, she talks very candidly, as Madonna is wont to do, about how women who get to a certain age–an age where they are less desirable and not conducive to marriage–become, according to a Japanese saying, “stale cake.”
There is no question greater (in my mind) in the Christian church that weighs heavier on the hearts of young Christian women than: when will I meet Mr. Right and get married? Being a single woman in a church of married people of similar age can be pretty oppressive. You cannot help but feel a bit outside the box.
Two points for back story here: 1. I attended a Christian college where I wrote for the newspaper a commentary piece that received a lot of chatter on campus. It was called “Desperately Seeking the Mrs. Degree.” (See? There goes my Madonna kick again.) 2. Just recently I posted a rant on Facebook about having adult onset acne when I never had any in my teens.
Mirror, Mirror
Approaching the mirror as I washed up after my evening flight, I came face-to-face with my own lightly aging, tired-from-years-of-long-haul-flights-and-dehydration reflection. In case you did not know, dear Reader, I am a never-been married, 40-year old singleton. How could that be, perhaps you inquire? Well, over the decades, I never found myself without a date or a boyfriend, but nonetheless, if I were a cartoon character in Mulan, I would likely be dismissed by the matchmaker as “stale cake.”
Backstory One was a diatribe in how women waste so much time trying to affix themselves at an early age to someone to wed. I had no particular aversion to getting married, but I was not one to obsess about the boys on campus as much as plot my own future. Looking back twenty years later, I have no regrets and cannot say there is any inflection point in any of my relationships where I rue a course of action or my choices to separate from one of my boyfriends. Backstory two was just a hard cruel fact. Adults get zits!
In college, one of my professors told me if I did not marry my college boyfriend, chances are a Christian woman like me would never find a good man. Oh, how I thought this was a bit absurd and histrionic. Looking back, he had a point. It has not been easy finding a proper soulmate for me. Also doesn’t make it easy when you are too busy traveling the world and doing everything you want to do to really look. First place to go? Well, the church. I am not your typical Sunday submit to your husband kind of bird. So now what? Do I weep over my hope chest? No, instead, I will reflect a bit.
Past Relationships
My past relationships have been great. I have done a discerning job not dating jerks. All my guys have been attractive, really intelligent, fun and naturally athletic. What they have not been is 100% devoted to God or on any spiritual path. After several months, even the extraordinary ones made me feel like they were stifling my potential, clouding my focus. Put me on the track if you must, but understand, I am thoroughbred by nature, so please let me ride. My single-pointed concentration and my accumulation of fire were constantly being dampened by the trivialities of shared life.
Even as a youth, I was always rooting for Paul, who acknowledged being unmarried, similar to many spiritual traditions, has its place in the kingdom. He listed advantages to being single. “But I would have you without carefulness. He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord: But he that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife. There is difference also between a wife and a virgin. The unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit: but she that is married careth for the things of the world, how she may please her husband. And this I speak for your own profit; not that I may cast a snare upon you, but for that which is comely, and that ye may attend upon the Lord without distraction.” (1 Corinthians 7:32-35).
Of course, there are times where I wonder. There are times when I date a man and cannot help but ask, “Could he be the one?” I do not eschew marriage as being an aged convention or ersatz by any means. I admire my friends with wonderful marriages and I have role models who are inspirational and lovely. Many people I have stood alongside, celebrating their unions and God’s blessing by uniting them as one. For me, uniting has always felt like one plus one equals one too many. The idea of dividing my focus just does not suit my design (and I think God agrees with me.)
Maybe the essay I wrote back in college really addressed something deep within me that I did not fully realize until now. I like having 100% of my energy and focus set on goals without distractions. My desire to serve God does not really want companionship. In spite of years of regular church-going, Christian college, bible groups, and church volunteering, God just never has indicated to me it was time, or that a particular individual was the one for me. For many that might draw pity or compassion, maybe heartbreak because they sit from the perspective of a satisfying and fulfilling marriage. Others may secretly be reading this saying, “You go, girl, I wish I was as strong as you” because from their purview, the marriage decision has been more burden than bliss.
My Choice
I love and admire each woman for the decisions they make, just like I admire and respect the decisions I have made for myself. My windows look out onto a world of bold and unlimited potential. I am “stale cake” by choice, loving every flaking bit of me, even the crumbling, dry and flavorless chunks that fall to the floor. Taste me or toss me, it does not matter, because I am flavored with a conviction, perhaps unconventional, that never ceases to fuel my appetite for adventure, exploration, and contemplation.
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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear from you:
If you’re single, have you ever felt pressure to be married?
How do you deal with it?
Any other thoughts or comments?
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About Ali:
My name is Ali Valdez and I live between Seattle and Houston. I am a Christian yoga instructor, academic and writer, and devote most of my time in servitude to my students, who are yoga teachers or studio owners developing yoga communities in their cities and towns. I have also worked and led Kindergarten and small groups at my church. I love religion, philosophy and man’s inquiry on all things of higher order. I have devoted my life to study and am versed in the metaphysical, philosophical and topics of comparative religion. Practically, I love wellness, nutrition, the gross and subtle energy bodies, healing, alternative medicine, fitness, exercise, and healthful levels on many levels. I have done crazy things like marathons, sky-diving and state-of-the-art spa treatments. I look forward to connecting with you all and sharing whatever insights I may have that serve you in your aspirations. For fun, I travel the world, host retreats globally, read and write on my blog, the Gadabout. I also party with my Bun, a little five-year-old named Mathilde. You can learn more about what I do at sattvayogaonline.com
My initial encounter with the word “prophet” was in my post-college days when I attended a Vineyard Church. People spoke of prophets as easily as they mentioned the pastor or the greeters or the janitor. Prophets were often contrasted with those gifted in mercy, implying and sometimes even saying outright that while mercy people were gentle, sensitive and touchy-feely, prophets were none of these things. A prophet saw things–about you and sometimes your future. They spoke words of personal comfort (at least the New Testament instructed them to do so); they spoke of predictions regarding the church, community and even country. They had a reputation for being brash and having sharp edges. More than once I heard it said that prophets saw in black and white.
During years steeped in this culture, I had my own personal encounters with prophets. I received many words of knowledge. These prophets claimed to know things about me or offered a God-given directive for me to follow and even spoke of grand future exploits. Some words were formative, others fell flat. Such was the way with modern prophets I surmised–even they were practicing their gift imperfectly, learning as they went.
When I entered seminary I had to engage prophets once again … but this time the robust personalities of the Old Testament. These crazed men (mostly) spoke in poetic cadence and dreamed dreams, saw visions, often acting in strange ways. They were of a different breed entirely from the prophets I knew. At first glance I wrote them off as being archaic, as outdated as the Old Testament itself. But they stayed with me and began to burrow into my psyche, those poetic verses and haunting metaphors provoking me to come closer and listen. (I must pay tribute to Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann for offering me a proper introduction to these wild and wonderful prophets.)
And here is what I have learned about prophets–they don’t see in black and white, they see in technicolor. Now I find it interesting that the “tech” in Technicolor was inspired by the founder’s technical training at MIT. The name of his revolutionary color process and company are an homage to inspired instruction and his own innovation in color saturation. The prophets of old are similar in this respect; they honor their inspired instruction (which comes from the Torah) and marry that with their unique innovative vision. The prophets understood deeply the words of Genesis, Exodus, Deuteronomy, Leviticus and Numbers–and that shaped what they saw and what they spoke.
Allow me to share some simple observations from years of studying these great prophets:
A prophet sees.
- A prophet can see Torah. She sees the words of God and has studied the ways of Jesus. Because these words and ways are written on her heart, she sees through them into her world.
- A prophet can see the world around her truly. She sees with clarity the good, the bad and the ugly. She sees that the dominant story of the world misleads people into elitism, racism, poverty, violence and consumerism.
- A prophet can see the margins. She sees who is there, how they got there and what keeps them on the sidelines of society. She notices the human rights denied. She sees the invisible–who is missing from the classrooms, the hospital rooms, the voter rolls and the pews.
- A prophet can see injustice. She sees the injust structures that keep people out; the policies meant to exclude. She sees unfair trade agreements, environmental exploitation and corrupted banking systems. She sees crooked leaders and crooked laws.
- A prophet sees an alternative. She sees another way to be in this world – a way rooted in Torah, love and justice. She sees God’s abundance, not scarcity. She sees humanity in her enemy and knows that forgiveness must be on offer. She sees conflict and dreams of reconciliation, swords into plows (or tanks into tractors).
- A prophet sees newness. She sees that God is doing a new thing. God is on the move with fresh ideas and a fount of creative energy. She knows the world may be in a rut of poor choices–but God is not stuck! He is free and leading us into new freedom all the time, she has seen it!
- A prophet sees potential. She understands that the way the world is now is not set in stone. She sees potential for age-old wrongs to be set right in our day, for the brutally broken to know gentle mending, for systems of oppression to give way to unprecedented liberation, for truth to trump the lies we believe about ourselves and others.
- A prophet sees the connections. She sees the connection between her personal issues, the ones that hit closest to home, and the public practices. So her difficult pregnancy allows her to see the infant and maternal mortality rates in other countries. Her white skin and accompanying privilege help her see those in townships without access to something as simple as books. Losing her home makes her see the underside of the economic system that benefits some and exploits others. She sees the connections beyond herself, out into the larger world that God has called her to address.
- A prophet sees the colors. She sees the dark and dim for what it is. She also sees the bright and bursting hues–and all the shades in between. Seeing color means seeing life in its full spectrum.
A prophet speaks.
A prophet speaks the truth about the world as she finds it, looking through Torah-colored glasses. She speaks truth not just to power; she speaks truth to the status quo. She says that this is not the only way life can be! This is not the only way to manage your family! This is not the only way to run the world! Children don’t have to die of malaria–girls don’t have to miss out on education. Ecosystems don’t have to be trashed!
She looks at the world as it is and says it can be otherwise.
A prophet speaks about an alternative way. She tells us that there is another kingdom where justice reigns. She says there is a better option than Caesar. She dares to say that violence is not the only way to bring peace. She tells another story and narrates a new world of possibility into existence guided by the Spirit.
A prophet speaks … wherever God leads her. She offers her voice to tell His story, she offers her voice to advocate for others (because she sees them) and proclaim good news. She speaks and allows her voice to become His–and that is what the prophets of old did when they spoke to their community. The prophets had eyes that saw, ears that heard and voices that spoke His truth into their world.
May it be so for us … women who can see, hear and speak into His world in full color and full voice!
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My dear SheLoves sisters,
What has been your experience with the word “prophet?”
Click on the link above for an audio experience of Kelley’s post.
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About Kelley:
Kelley Johnson Nikondeha is co-director of Amahoro Africa and international staff member of Community of Faith with her husband Claude. She’s a thinker, connector, advocate, avid reader and mother of two beautiful children. Kelley lives between Arizona and Burundi. She loves handwritten letters, homemade pesto and anything written by Walter Brueggemann.
Though I have all the right words, but have not love, I might as well be talking to the back of your head.
Though I have all the answers to your every question and have read every parenting book and have all the resources to pave the way for your perfect future but don’t have love, I have nothing.
Though I give you everything I have and sacrifice every ounce of my energy to keep your ever-growing body in clothes that fit and feed you square meals and ensure your teeth are brushed and your emotions are vented and your friendships maintained and oh, maybe even eventually send you off to college – but have not love, it’s useless.
Love is patient as it paces back and forth across the living room late into the night, rocking you to sleep. It endures as you talk my ear off in the car after school. It smiles as you ask for another bedtime story. It drives you to karate and to birthday parties and to the mall to hang with your friends. It sits at the table and encourages you as you try to solve math equations I can’t understand. It is full of grace as you accidently knock the Rice Krispies out of the pantry and across the kitchen floor. Again.
Love isn’t jealous when you would rather trade your homemade sandwich for a friend’s twinkie at recess. Love doesn’t need to prove that I know more than you do, that I’m the boss of you, that I have it all figured out.
Love doesn’t rub your nose in your mistakes but extends its arms with grace. It doesn’t keep a mental list of how many times you’ve messed up. It doesn’t whine about how much it has to do and how little thanks it gets. Love doesn’t lose its cool over silly things that will be forgotten tomorrow.
Love is crazy for Truth, and celebrates when you discover it.
Love can deal with the tantrums and the mood swings. It trusts God in every season, and it carries on and on into grandparenthood. It’s the screaming cheerleader at your game, the beaming face in the crowd at your recital, and the basketcase on the night before your wedding. It’s the voice on the phone checking in… the porch light on, waiting, at the end of the day.
Love won’t quit.
Colourful toys and baby blankets will eventually be packed up and put away. Field trips, sports days and school dances will come and go.
One day, in the light of eternity, we’ll better understand the depth and complexity of this heartbreaking, beautiful life we share…
But for now we have three tasks to keep us on track: Put all our faith in God, hope wholeheartedly, and love lavishly. And the very best thing we can do is love.
Photo Credit: John Carleton
About Angela:
Angela and her husband Rod have been married for 18 years and they have two beautiful children, Madison (15) and Miller (12). Angela works with the creative & media teams at Relate Church in Surrey, BC where she oversees graphic design, art direction and marketing. She loves finding beauty in everyday life and is passionate about communicating hope and the reality of a living Jesus through media and design.
I forgot they were coming. I could see them waiting for me at the curb outside, sitting in an old, blue Ford van. Two large dream catchers clashed against each other in the window.
I apologized across the chaotically dressed dashboard, fumbling around for my keys to the little gallery. Dang it. How could I forget something like this?
Two wrinkly faces smiled back at me. No need to apologize. I had come–right on time. Peace rippled from these smiling strangers as they climbed down and started unpacking supplies.
That was five years ago–the strangers in the old van were respected Métis elders who were hosting a drum-making workshop. The little gallery was a non-profit, for-artists space I used to spend every waking moment running: the Muir Gallery, in Courtenay, B.C.
I was there to let them in. Then I had to go. My life was busy and my to-do list was longer than I wanted it to be. No worries, she said.
I flicked on the lights and flipped open the old tables and chairs. The walls were covered with artists’ work and a brief Métis history.
But you’re not going anywhere, she said.
As she laid out skins, sinews and wood frames, she explained that this was my time to do something I had never done before: make a drum. My eyes filled up with tears. (I have always admired people who make extra room for that one left-out, not-committed person.) So, I put away my list and let her teach me.
How could I miss something like this?
Her hands were fascinating to watch: tough, strong enough to pull hard on the sinews at the back. With grandmother finesse, she covered my littler, younger and weaker hands with hers and tugged hard.
“It is meant to heal, she said. You make a drum for someone else, not for yourself. The person who receives your drum will receive healing. You have to wait to give it to the right person.”
I touched the soft hide, pulled tight and ran my fingers over the edges. I understood the need for healing. My marriage had fallen apart the year before. I wasn’t tough enough to handle my life, alone. She smiled at me.
Near the end of the workshop, she asked me: have you ever thought about going into law? I had been looking at the old photographs on the walls, reading the Métis history, remembering how I had once visited Louis Riel’s grave beside the flooding Red River.
The question surprised me. I had always thought about going to law school, but hadn’t written the entrance exam or filled out applications. My life was wrapped up in that little gallery, sitting quietly on the edge of the high-flowing Puntledge River.
Not sure, I said.
Her laugh came as an honest, gentle rebuke. She climbed back up, into the old, blue Ford with all her unused supplies. I began looking for the keys to lock up.
You will get in. You will open the path for our kids.
That seems like a good dream. I did not know what else to say. I locked the door of the gallery and watched the sun set behind the river.
I did get in. The law school published two of my papers on the kinship rights of Aboriginal and Métis families. And, she was right about my drum.
Kisa completed her law degree earlier this year and is currently finishing her articling year at a non-profit that focuses on law reform, legal research and outreach. She grew up on Vancouver Island but has lived all over: North America, Southeast Asia and Europe. In this next season of life, she hopes to see creative community and access to justice established in Vancouver.
“Sometimes,” said Pooh, “the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”
Tonight I’m sitting in our old glider in my littlest girl’s room. She woke up a few moments ago and now I’m here, in the middle of the night, nursing her. Next to her room, her big sister and big brother are sleeping … the fully abandoned sleep of childhood. It’s taken three babies for me to learn not to resent this time–to welcome the night and the early mornings. It’s taken three babies for me to put away the milestone checklists and unsubscribe from the parenting e-bulletins, to cherish instead of resent.
It’s taken three babies for me to learn that babies are babies and need to be allowed to be babies.
Now I know that all mamas around the world could be me and all the babies could be mine and so the sisterhood stretches north to me tonight. Just as the saints world-over pray at the set times, this, the dark midnight times are the hours of the mothers.
It’s taken three babies for me to learn that it’s not the big moments but the thousands of little ones that will stay with us both. It’s taken three babies to learn that it goes too fast, that the days may be long but the years, oh, my heart, the years are flying, It’s taken three babies for me to rise from my bed in the wee sma’s, heart full, no matter how tired, to rock in the monastery of the baby’s room, prayers breathed that all sound like “thank you.”
Thank you for this moment,
thank you for this time,
thank you for the privilege of this.
Thank you for breasts and babies that can be satisfied,
thank you for dark, quiet nights and babies falling asleep,
for eyelashes and creaking rocking chairs.
Thank you for every small moment, healing something big for us all,
for the joys that masquerade–hiding–as daily life.
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My dear SheLoves sisters, I’d love to hear:
Whether you’re a mother, or not, what are you thankful for in this season of your life?
What one small thing are you appreciating today, right where you’re at?
About Sarah:
Sarah Styles Bessey lives in Abbotsford, BC with her husband and three tinies. She’s a happy clappy Jesus-lover, non-profit marketing director, blogger, writer and simple living/social justice wannabe. She blogs at www.emergingmummy.com and tweets from @emergingmummy.
My friend is dating this guy, and she is just not that into him.
Don’t get me wrong; he seems nice enough. Educated, talented, good-looking.
But she is just not that into him.
I keep asking her why she’s still dating him. Meanwhile, I see a flashback to a few months ago, when she was asking me the same question about a guy I was dating.
We both expressed similar feelings about dating, primarily, that it tends to feel awkward and unnatural. To put it into perspective, I feel more comfortable on job interviews than I do on most dates.
Singleness and the 20-something
Both my friend and I are in our mid-twenties. We are both rational enough to understand we should not panic about being single; however, we realize there are certain variables nagging at us. These variables include, but are not limited to:
1. Boredom
Because your mom isn’t always a suitable Friday night date solution.
2. Age
The other day I checked Facebook to find a kid I taught in Kids Church is engaged! Engaged to be married, not just engaged in the new Twilight saga. I felt old.
3. Sexy time
I’ve never had sexy time, but I’ve heard good things.
4. Social pressure
This point is my personal favourite, as it tends to accompany the best conversation topics in social environments. Example:
“Ashley, why aren’t you married yet?”
“Well, Random Guest at Friend’s Wedding, I’ve been so busy beating off all the eligible bachelors who keep throwing themselves at me that I just can’t seem to find the time.”
Conversations
After a three-hour-long conversation with my friend in which we beat this topic into the ground, I hung up the phone more confused than when WE started.
Clarity from a godly source
With all of this dating and relationship confusion, I figured I would go to the Bible for some clarity.
In His infinite wisdom, God brought me to the book of Judges, Chapter 16—the story of Samson and Delilah.
There are a lot of peculiar relationships in the Bible, but Samson and Delilah’s has to be one of the top ten weirdest.
To make sure we’re all on the same page, Auntie Ashley is going to give her condensed, children’s church version of the story.
My brilliant friend, Katelyn, is helping me with the illustrations. It seems only right that we have teamed up, as I remember Katelyn putting together many brilliant caricatures documenting my high school teenage heartbreaks.
So, criss-cross-apple-sauce everyone (that’s pre-schooler for “sit down and stop talking”), while Auntie Ashley tells you the magical tale of Samson and Delilah.
Samson was born with a clear purpose from God: to save the Israelites from the Philistines. Samson was amazingly strong… so long as he didn’t cut his hair. (He was also banned from eating grapes or raisins, or touching dead bodies—but that’s not important to the story.)
Samson had lousy taste in women and fell in love with a woman named Delilah.
The Philistines convinced Delilah to find the source of Samson’s strength. Delilah nagged Samson into submission, and he finally told her the source of his power.
Delilah cut Samson's hair—his source of power—and then sold him out to the Philistines
The Philistines overtook him, jabbed his eyes out, and tied him to two pillars in their temple.
In one last moment of strength and repentance to God, Samson pulled down the pillars of the temple and killed a whole crowd of Philistines and himself.
The end.
If I were telling this story to a group of pre-schoolers in Kids Church, this would be the point they might look at me with horror in their eyes.
Samson’s story and mine
I realized something as I thought more about this story. This story is not about Delilah. This story is not even about Samson. This story is about God’s purpose for Samson.
No, nix that, this story is about God’s purpose.
The greatest tragedy in the story of Samson’s life is how quickly he abandoned himself to his own desires and entirely forgot his God-given purpose. Just a little bit of nagging from Delilah, and his vision was removed, figuratively and literally.
I started thinking about my friend and I, and how this lesson applied to us. What does Samson and Delilah have to do with the fact that the very thought of dating made us both seasick?
I discovered that the common denominator is this: nagging. The three of us (Samson, my friend and I) have had things nagging at us!
For Samson, it was Delilah; for my friend and I, it is a collection of lists. Lists of all the things we should have accomplished by our age, lists of all the men we should have dated and how far we should have gone with them. Dating is not necessarily our problem; the issue is the purpose of why we are dating.
I figure the only way we can keep from losing it completely—pulling a “Samson” and shaving all our hair off—is by holding onto our purpose.
But Samson knew his purpose too—and look how he wound up!
It is not enough to know my purpose; I need to hold onto it when the rest of the world is nagging at me to do something else. Because, let’s face it, it is not really my purpose, it’s God’s. And He’s going to get the job done whether I cooperate or not.
About Ashley:
My name is Ashley and I am the Children’s Ministry Coordinator at Relate Church in Surrey, B.C. My mission is to develop the God-given potential in every child who crosses my path *Insert Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” here*. I love all things jazzy, particularly music, and I tend to break into song throughout the day for no apparent reason. I blog here and tweet @AshleyMandanici
About Katelyn:
Katelyn Szekeres is the writer of the blog, oddbutnice.com where she details her neurotic childhood, marriage and sometimes-evil cat, Gizmo. When she’s not doing that, she works as a Mental Health Worker, makes weird crafts, takes lots of photos and plans where she will be traveling next!
In 2011 (depending on the accuracy of my Math), we published 317 posts. These, plus the thousands of words, comments, shares, tweets, tears and laughs that accompanied them, framed our SheLoves Story in 2011.
“We have a pulse!”
There was a moment February this year, when Tina wrote these words on my facebook wall: “We have a pulse!” That sentence marked a moment in our SheLoves story. With every post and share after that, our pulse became stronger and more rhythmic. By May, we proclaimed the words to the Manifesto: Let Us Be Women Who Love together at LifeWomen conference and in September, we were up and (literally) running on behalf of others.
This year, we cheered Brandi-Lee on as she spearheaded an idea to gather baby formula for the poor in our city. We bought and sold Christmas cards with Daniela to give to famine relief in Africa and a whole tribe (38 women + Josh) joined with our TGIF Tina Francis, when she decided to run a half-marathon for our sisters in Northern Uganda. Together we ran, prayed, gave and eventually raised over $43,600.
- We stopped going to the gym and decided to stop eating hot fudge sundaes and become hot fudge sundaes, instead:
“I wanted my life to be a story that was so riveting, so grand, so epic, you couldn’t put the book down.” –Tina Francis
In 2011, we were invited to get up, grow up and take our place in the Story.
- We watched dictators topple with Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha as she pondered these modern-day Pharaohs and wrote:
“We are invited to be Moses–standing at the burning bush and accepting a divine summons to advocate for justice in the face of Pharaoh.”–From: ShePonders: Pharaoh, Gaddafi, Dictators and Other Bullies, by Kelley Johnson Nikondeha
- In 2011, we were drawn into a higher Sisterhood–learning and becoming women, sisters, friends who call out the best in each other. Women who cheer each other one. Women who propel each other forward.
A Global Tribe
When I visited Serbia in the summer, Tabitha, a new Serbian friend, translated our SheLoves Manifesto into her language. As she read it to us in a small room chockful of about 60 women, tears welled up in her eyes. The air felt so thick with possibility of what we could do and be, as women, when we live out of this vision of Love. In that moment, I knew this idea of a Sisterhood that embodies Love, transcended our geographical borders and human boundaries.
We also know it’s a Love that flows from hearts connected to a loving God.
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As this Story unfolds, here are some of the words
that helped frame our vision of Sisterhood this year:
- “Can we messiah one another–propelling each other into the larger salvation story of which we all have a part to play?” -From: ShePonders: Another Anointing, by Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha
- “This, the dark midnight times, are the hours of the mothers.”–From: The Smallest Things, by Sarah Styles Bessey
-”Let us be women who Love.
Let us be women willing to lay down our sword words, our sharp looks, our ignorant silence and towering stance and fill the earth now with extravagant Love.
- “I remind myself that nobody is in this battle alone and that the only way to break down these towering walls of injustice is to focus on the brick in front of me.”-From: Avoid Paralysis, Confront the Brick, by Stephanie Motz Skinner
- “We must let our light shine through the cracks. Step into the light and let people see what a real God woman looks like.” From: The Women We Are, by Christina Crook
“… authentic transformational relationships cannot be built upon power or inequality.” From: Down We Go: Why Prepositions Matter, by Kathy Escobar
- “When it comes to doing our part, every drop helps.” From: Tossing Buckets, by Shelagh Hardern
- “She didn’t need to hear my words, she needed to feel my presence. And in more ways than she would ever know, I needed to feel hers.” Erin in Iraq: Learning the Language of Presence, by Erin Wilson
“I think being the change starts where I am and with those in my life.” From: Being the Change Starts at Home, by Stephanie Motz Skinner
“Sometimes we need to see our story through the eyes of someone else. A Soul-Sista can help you find the common thread running through all your stories and you can do the same for her. We all need someone checking our blind-spots, tracking our journey and keeping us on course. What makes a Soul-sista different from a Sista-friend is that she is speaking your soul’s secret alien dialect.
This is the girl that will stay up late at night to help you draw out the maps, outline your strategy and plot out your plan to take over the world.” -From: TGIF: Sista-Friend vs Soul-Sista, by Tina Francis
-“God gives sustainable strength to the powerless.” –From: ShePonders: Renewable Energy, by Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha
- “I am completely captivated by the beauty of TOGETHER–a magnificent, harmonious symphony with Jesus being the center of it all.” -From: The Beauty of Together, by Helen Burns
So:
anointing each other + being the change right where I am + doing my part + Jesus + sisters + presence + mothering + piercing the dark hours + equality +Hope + rising + facing my bricks + leap + rise + nurture + listen + facing our fears + harmony + pray +work + together = Sisterhood.
In 2011, we saw glimpses of a new and different world that is entirely possible.
About Idelette: I like soggy cereal and I would like to go to every spot on the map of the earth to meet our world’s women.
I dream of a world where no women or girls are for sale. I dream of a world where women and men are partners in doing the work that brings down a new Heaven on earth.
My word for the year is “Roar,” but I have learned it’s not about my voice rising as much as it is about our collective voices rising in unison to bring down walls of injustice.
I have three children and this place–right here, called shelovesmagazine.com–is my fourth baby. I am African, although my skin colour doesn’t tell you that story. I am also a little bit Chinese, because my heart lives there amongst the tall skyscrapers of Taipei and the mountains of Chiufen. Give me sweet chai and I think I’m in heaven. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I pledged my heart to Scott 11 years ago.
I believe in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. I also believe that Love covers–my gaps, my mistakes and the distances between us. I blog at idelette.com and tweet@idelette.
Last year, we entered into 2011 laying down New Year’s Resolutions and deciding on ONE WORD to live from. I have practiced this for years now and it’s been one of the most powerful ways for me to stay focused, get challenged and expand into the purposes of God. I remember the year I chose “light” (as in “not heavy”). There’s been a “confidence” year. Last year, my word was “roar.”
Here’s why I love the “one word” practice:
Having a one word is deeply personal.
It requires listening to the One who knows us and wants the best for us.
It’s easy to remember.
It becomes a filter, a diving board, a prod.
It’s measurable. (Did I ____ this year?)
Here are some of our contributors reflecting on their One Word 2011:
One Word 365
This year, Alece Ronzino of gritandglory.com has taken the “One Word” idea to a whole new level and rolled out OneWord365.com. A-ma-zing.
We are joining in with Alece’s challenge: “Scrap the long list of resolutions you want to make this year (even though you know you really won’t keep them) and instead, pick just one word.”
One word.
“One word that will serve as a compass for your actions, decisions, and priorities. All year long.”
What’s your one word for this year?
Mine is:
#drumroll
SOAR
What’s yours?
Please write your “one word” in the comments. Also, let’s join @gritandglory’s Twitter conversation with the hashtag #oneword365.
idelette
xoxo
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About Idelette: I like soggy cereal and I would like to go to every spot on the map of the earth to meet our world’s women.
I dream of a world where no women or girls are for sale. I dream of a world where women and men are partners in doing the work that brings down a new Heaven on earth.
My word for the year is “soar.”
I have three children and this place–right here, called shelovesmagazine.com–is my fourth baby. I am African, although my skin colour doesn’t tell you that story. I am also a little bit Chinese, because my heart lives there amongst the tall skyscrapers of Taipei and the mountains of Chiufen. Give me sweet chai and I think I’m in heaven. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I pledged my heart to Scott 11 years ago.
I believe in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. I also believe that Love covers–my gaps, my mistakes and the distances between us. I blog at idelette.com and tweet@idelette.
“Doubt is uncomfortable, certainty is ridiculous.” – Voltaire
A few years ago my then 15-year-old daughter asked me a question out of the blue: “Mommy,” she asked, “what was there before God? I know God made the world, but how did he come into existence in the first place and what was ‘there’ before?”
The first thing that crossed my mind was whipping out John 1 or Genesis 1; the only problem is those scriptures don’t properly answer her questions.
Instead, I resisted the panic rising in my chest and the fleeting thoughts that because I had no good answer, maybe my faith was a sham. Or even that I was actually an atheist. I responded, “Julia, way to go, asking the world’s most profound questions that no honest person can fully answer!”
Right after that, the next question that got fired from the back seat by one of the nine-year-old twins was, “While you’re at it, Mom, how do we know the Bible is true?”
Yeah, just an average day driving home from basketball practice for the Escobar family!
The Webster’s definition of doubt is: “to be uncertain about something; be undecided in opinion or belief.”Some synonyms for “doubt” include: apprehension, confusion, disbelief, lack of confidence, misgiving, mistrust, quandary, skepticism, suspicion, uncertainty, and reluctance. Do you recognize any of these in your life right now? The antonyms (or opposites) include: belief, certainty, confidence, dependence, faith, reliance, and trust.
I used to think the sign of being a good Christian was a rock-solid certainty that I could back up with exact scriptures. Now, I believe a critical element of our faith journey is a willingness to wrestle with doubt by honoring it, recognizing that it is part of faith.
Downward Mobility
Doubt is embedded in a life of descent, while certainty is often synonymous with ascent. Even Jesus himself expressed doubt in the Garden of Gethsemane. As honest sojourners, we will always be living in the tension between doubt and faith. Similar to the practice of welcoming pain, if we can’t embrace doubt in our own lives it is impossible to allow it in others.
And real people doubt.
As frustrating as it can be, doubt is part of the human experience.
We doubt we are lovable.
We doubt God is good.
We doubt all kinds of things, whether we say them out loud or not. In the quietness of our hearts, in the darkness of night, most people, regardless of their beliefs, education, and socio-economic level, wrestle with some form of doubt.
Honoring doubt is similar to welcoming pain—living in the tension and not feeling the overwhelming need to make it all better and tie it up with a neat and tidy bow. Julia’s question can never be fully wrapped up by slapping a scripture on it, even though I wish it were that easy.
We must learn to hold the space for doubt.
Life down in the trenches requires us to become people and communities who honor doubt. We must integrate into our practices safe places for ourselves and others to wrestle, and trust that God is at work in ways we sometimes can’t see.
I can’t tell you the number of times I have heard friends say, “I thought I was the only one who felt that way” after sharing their fears, questions, and doubts about theology or God or their faith experience and hearing that others are in the same boat, too.
We must find ways to allow people to doubt in public, instead of suffer in private.
Pockets of love can hold the space for doubt because they put relationship above belief. It is hard to live in the space of our own doubts and hold the space for others, but we must find a way. Like welcoming pain, we must trust God is at work and our main responsibility is only to be present in the midst.
I’m more convinced than ever that we love better when we stop trying to resolve what can’t be fully resolved and focus on the very simple essentials instead: love, love, and love. Most people, regardless of their specific faith experience or struggle, tend to agree on one thing: the importance of love.
We don’t have to have all the answers.
We don’t have to take away people’s pain and struggle with belief.
We don’t have to move people toward certainty.
What we do have to do is honor doubt as a natural part of the human experience.
I continue to learn, more than ever, that the downwardly mobile life requires honoring and respecting doubt–my own and others’–instead of resisting it. It’s where real people live.
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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:
Is it easy or hard for you to embrace your own doubts? The doubts of others?
What are you learning about doubt on your faith journey right now?
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About Kathy: Kathy Escobar co-pastors The Refuge, an eclectic faith community in North Denver dedicated to those on the margins of life and faith. She blogs regularly about life and faith at www.kathyescobar.com and recently released her book called, Down We Go–Living out the Wild Ways of Jesus in Action. She lives in Arvada, Colorado with her husband, Jose, and five kids.
I was in the shower when my husband burst in with the phone: “Sorry, Katherine, but it’s Annette. I thought youʼd be upset if I didnʼt give you the phone now.”
I’d been waiting all day for this call.
“Hi,” I said. “So?”
“Well youʼre talking to a cancer patient,” she responded.
Crash! My heart and everything with it fell to the floor. After we talked, I stepped back in the shower, unable to face my family. As the water gushed over my head, the weight of the situation hit as heavy droplets swept tears away from my face and down the drain.
Our Friendship
As an actor I’ve always been able to stand my ground, to not be bullied into doing something compromising and yet it’s often been very lonely. Where were all the Christians artists? I often wondered. I so badly wanted to meet another Christian actor who shared the same vision, so we could run together and support each other. I kept praying for that person and at an acting workshop in 2007, I saw this woman who literally shone!
Annette seeemed happy, full of life, exciting to be around and had a real peace about her. I didnʼt talk to her that day, but after the workshop I emailed her and asked if she, by any chance, were a Christian. “Yes,” she responded. We met up and talked for hours, discovering a mutual dream in our hearts and we shared a similar take on life, acting and faith.
After a few years of good friendship, we started a company together. It was a huge feat as we launched EVE Entertainment Inc. Our mandate “Seek First the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” –Matthew 6:33 directed our every decision.
As it turned out, Annette and I worked incredibly well together and it strengthened our friendship.
We saw many young and older actors struggling to figure out how the industry works in Vancouver and how to navigate through the pressure. It was our role to step in and guide them through the process of finding an agent, learning how to behave on set and how to create their own career. As talent consultants, we essentially want to be the “mamas” of the industry. My dream is to encourage, inspire and draw out potential in actors. There isnʼt enough support out there and we want to fill that gap.
But the dream didnʼt stop there. Our next goal was to create a production side of the company and shoot films. Not only did we want to be filmmakers but also educators–bringing people on our set and giving them an opportunity to learn about filmmaking. Through our films we want to tell truthful stories about real people, give a voice to the voiceless and do it in an entertaining and artistic way.
In 2011, we got to shoot our first film under EVE Entertainment Inc. It was such a big deal to see this dream come to a reality. We started with The 168-hour Film Project and made a short film for their competition. The 168-Hour Film Project is a Christian film festival in LA where a new theme is introduced each year and every team is then given an individual verse to inspire their films. There are 168 hours to shoot and edit the project before turning it in. The process was amazing and we got to work on incredibly talented individuals. Our first film did very well, making it to the top 20 films of the festival with two nominations. It is now being entered into film festivals around the world.
A New Idea
With a great success behind us, we were eager to create another film for the following year. As we started planning for the next project, I initially wanted to write a comedy but then an idea came to my heart to tell a story that isnʼt told enough. I had been talking to a few women from church lately about Human Trafficking and what goes on in Canada and discovered that one of the malls near where I live, is the highest trafficked area in all of Canada. This is my backyard; the place where I’m raising my children. I wondered if anybody else knew about this? Is there enough information out there to help parents teach their children how to avoid the traps? Do girls know what to look out for and more importantly, how to say NO!? I didnʼt see the answers.
To me, film can be an answer. Film is such a wonderful medium to get a message across by simply telling a story.
Then, in the midst of raising money for our next short film, Annette, my best friend and business partner was diagnosed with cancer in late November last year. She is 30 years old, married for only five years and has a one-year-old daughter. With all the dreams she has and the dreams we have together, it doesnʼt seem fair. I know in my heart and my spirit and my soul that God is a Healer. I know she will recover, that she will be stronger, that God will do a miracle here. But … in all honesty I donʼt want her to go through this. And so here I am doing my best to be her great friend and great supporter.
I wanted to stop the film, put everything on pause and wait for her to be well again. Sheʼs my partner-in-crime. How could I do this without her? As I thought about this, however, I realized I couldnʼt NOT make this film. I have to move forward and keep going because even though Iʼm a little scared to do it alone and I do not have the resources, I have God and Heʼs come through before and Heʼll come through again. Plus: There are young girls who could actually be prevented from being trafficked.
I hope to use this short film to create a campaign and bring awareness to the community about human trafficking. I want to teach young girls how to value themselves and stand up for themselves. I want to encourage parents to get educated on this matter and I want people to stop shying away from the subject because itʼs too hard to conceive. I want people to GET TALKING and I want Human Trafficking to be abolished. Many people and organizations around the world are working towards this, but more has to be done. This is my part. I donʼt have money to give, but I have a talent and I have a voice and Iʼm not afraid to use it.
If you would like to find out more about what I am doing with this next film, would like to participate or donate please click here.
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About Katherine:
Wife, mother of two little ones, business owner, entrepreneur, actor/writer/director, filmmaker. I like to keep myself busy taking care of my family and chasing my dreams! I am passionate about encouraging others to follow their dreams and giving a voice to those who have no voice. Always ready for a fight, I love to take on new battles that seek justice while secretly dreaming about being Wonderwoman. Often quiet around those I’m getting to know, you’ll find me blunt and honest, outspoken and goofy with my besties.
My taste in film and music is likened to that of a 60-80 yr old. I’ll be watching psychological thrillers, period films, indie flix and listening to jazz, motown, opera etc.
I love education, constantly learning and sharing what I have learned.
In the mornings you’ll find me grumpy and crawling for my soy, hazelnut latte. At night you’ll find me energized and hammering away on the computer or getting into a good TV show with my hubby, who, might I add, is an incredible supporter of my career and of fighting for women’s issues (which I do on a daily basis).
Click on the link above for an audio experience of Kelley’s post.
My beloved South African friend, René, traveled in, bringing gifts of rooibos tea and Merlot from a local wine farm. She shared in our holiday tradition of turkey roasting, potato mashing and thanks giving, not that many months ago. She regaled us with tales from her homeland that left us all thoughtful and thankful, for post-Apartheid South Africa is a complex context. We spent the next morning cloistered in conversation while clutching coffee. We spoke of the theological voice of women, restitution, mutual friends, favorite spices and she offered her wickedly good impression of Desmond Tutu.
Yes, we spoke of “restitution.” (Doesn’t everybody?) She is part of The Restitution Foundation, a group of South Africans devoted to thinking and enacting restitution in their country. They offer this scenario as an example:
“Imagine a man’s bicycle is stolen. This now means he has no transport, and cannot get to work; thus he loses his job. Without a job, he cannot educate his children or support his family. Perhaps he used that bicycle to run errands for the homebound elderly woman next door; now she is affected by the loss as well. Jobless and frustrated, he becomes a drain on his community rather than a resource. What would restitution look like in this situation? Certainly it is not just returning the bicycle. He is not the only person who has been affected by the crime; his family, his neighbors and his community have also suffered.”
“Compensation” would dictate that the bike be replaced. “Charity” would suggest offering some food to his family or maybe school supplies for his children. Restitution demands more, but can also deliver something much more lasting and transformative.
As we sipped the dregs of our morning coffee, she shared about her baggage boondoggle. Our domestic carrier charged her twice as much as expected for her two checked bags. This really put a crimp in her already tight budget. So from then on, each time I picked up the check for lunch or paid for her sundries along with mine at the grocery store, I’d wave it off as making restitution to her on behalf of my country’s airline policy. We’d laugh and carry on. It was a joke–because I’d planned on spoiling her every chance I got whilst she was in town! But the joke had legs– ones that began pushing on me in terms of what restitution means in my own context.
Satisfied
After the final meal we shared, she handed me the receipt for her baggage fees and declared that restitution had been satisfied; rather tongue-in-cheek! All laughing aside, I knew a new word had entered my discipleship vocabulary.
Zaccheus
Walking through Jericho one day, Jesus looked beyond and above the crowds and saw a small man perched in a tree. All the locals knew it was Zacchaeus, a rich man due to his work as the chief tax collector.
Jesus called out, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” The little man moved down the tree and into the street quickly, eyes shining with excitement at the unexpected opportunity to host the Rabbi.
“Lord, half of my possessions I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” It was then, after this astonishing statement of restitution, that Jesus declared, “Today salvation has come to this house … ”
Giving half of his possessions to the poor was an extravagant act of charity–a great start. But the most revolutionary action was the decision to offer restitution to those he defrauded. He knew his riches were gained by exploiting the poor and his actions had impoverished an entire community. His offer of restitution demonstrated his awareness that they deserved more than “charity” (discretionary giving from his abundance) and more than “compensation” (dollar for dollar repayment). His offering made it clear that he was moving away from unjust gains and toward the costly practice of justice. I think this is why Jesus declared that salvation, or transformation, had come to his house.
Think about those who he would repay over the next set of days–what must that exchange have been like? They would come face to face with the chief tax collector but this time they would walk away with a heavier purse–radical! They would look him in the eye and he would do the same and maybe for the first time ever they saw each other as “neighbor.” Amazing! This would mark the beginning of a new relationship between them and a new way of engaging in community life together. I imagine Zacchaeus’ road of restitution was hard and had its share of pitfalls as he learned this new practice, but I am convinced it was a worthwhile journey toward the good that blessed the entire neighborhood.
So, here is the lingering question: How do we incorporate the practice of restitution into our daily discipleship? My Palestinian friend makes me laugh. Our kids play together in the park most days. I think of the policies of my country toward her people, her homeland and wonder how I can enact restitution in the context of our friendship. My state is infamous for poor attitudes and treatment of the immigrant community–is this yet another opportunity for me to find some way of living out justice by practicing restitution?
The Restitution Foundation in South Africa helps whites think about their status as beneficiaries of power and privilege, as well as creating opportunities for them to participate in restitution in townships and other communities affected by the injustice of Apartheid. Maybe we be could reflect on how we might be beneficiaries of our own systems and consider the power and privilege we possess. Then, let’s get creative and imagine how we could practice acts of restitution for individuals of these communities.
It will be costly, radical and deeply transformative. But I want to see this kind of salvation come to my house!
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My dear friends, I would love to hear your thoughts on this:
For example:
Where have you been the beneficiary of power and/or privilege?
How can you imagine incorporating the practice of Restitution into your daily discipleship?
Any other thoughts?
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About Kelley:
Kelley Johnson Nikondeha is co-director of Amahoro Africa and international staff member of Community of Faith with her husband Claude. She’s a thinker, connector, advocate, avid reader and mother of two beautiful children. Kelley lives between Arizona and Burundi. She loves handwritten letters, homemade pesto and anything written by Walter Brueggemann.
On Beyoncé, Japan’s tsunami debris and my “one word” for 2012.
by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
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“I would believe only in a God that knows how to dance.” -Friedrich Nietzsche
For some reason, it didn’t occur to me there would be dancing at a New Year’s Eve party. A small (naive) part of me hoped the night involved: steaming cups of Rooibos tea, reading excerpts of Eve Ensler’s book “I am an Emotional Creature” out loud and lemon pound cake.
I-know-I-know. I’m such a party animal.
I’d successfully escaped the dance floor for the first half of the evening by: perusing the appetizer table, hugging friends extra (creepy) long, pretending to be thirsty, then pretending I had a full bladder and initiating long conversations by asking open-ended questions like,”So, how was 2011?”
The festive yet fairly sober evening was under control until, the evil iPhone shuffled its way over to Beyonce’s song “Single ladies.”
Game over.
Squeals sounded, the couch emptied and female-folk ranging from six to thirty-something crowded the carpeted, cozy, living room dance floor. I found myself in the middle of an impromptu R&B inspired tribal circle of exuberant “single ladies” (and one exuberant dude).
I surveyed the situation and immediately started plotting my exit. “Another washroom break? A fake phone call?” I thought frantically. Suddenly the lone exuberant dude on the dance floor grabbed my hands and ushered me off the couch.
“C’mon!” he said.
“I can’t do it,” I said avoiding eye contact.
“Keep it simple,” he reassured.
“No seriously. I can’t do it!” I said fighting back tears.
“Just bop your head.”
“What is wrong with me?” I whispered. “I suck.”
I’ll have what she’s having …
For as long as I can remember, dancing has been the proverbial scary monster under my bed. I’d rather give an impromptu speech on live television dressed up as a chimp than get jiggy with it. I could never be part of Ellen’s studio audience. Just watching her dance at the beginning of her show, makes me a little short of breath.
Early 2010, my girlfriend Adriel invited me to a wedding in Seattle as her date. In my excitement to see her, I’d completely forgotten about the dancing component of the evening. The moment I stepped into the reception hall, I broke into a cold sweat. So, I did what I always do in uncomfortable social situations. I pulled out my camera security blanket.
I documented Adriel and her fabulous friends that night. They were inspiring and hilarious to watch. I thought about how amazing it must feel to be free.
Last summer, Adriel hired me as her wedding photographer. Looking back at the pictures from her reception, I’m amazed by how liberated her friends and family seemed. They made it look so easy!
Why do my arms and feet feel like lead on the dance floor? I–so badly–want a piece of what they are having.
Soul Debris
My mom has a newspaper clipping about Japan’s tsunami debris on our refrigerator. Twenty million tons of wreckage, including furniture, TVs, refrigerators and other miscellaneous domestic flotsam is making its way to the West coast of Canada and the United States.
Two things occurred to me about the story:
- Tragedy results in debris.
- Debris eventually washes up to shore.
So then, what about tragedies of the heart? Where does the invisible debris from the wreckage of a soul go? The nuclear disaster left tens of thousands dead or missing. Soul-disasters must have a similar effect. Parts must go dead or missing.
A tragedy of the soul occurs on the inside, and yet it manifests in different ways on the outside. If I think back to my childhood, I can remember a time when I was free. A time when I was comfortable in my skin. A time when my limbs were full of expression and life.
And yes, there was a great tragedy. The debris is mostly invisible. It often surfaces when I have to dance. I want to recover the parts of my soul lost at sea.
Silent Soul
Martha Graham, the Picasso of modern dance says, “Dance is the hidden language of the soul.” If dancing is the hidden language of my soul, then what is my mute soul trying to say? More importantly, given my soul’s total inability to communicate (dance) what is my soul unable to say? Why is my soul afraid to speak-up: bop my head, lift my arms, shuffle my feet? How long is my soul going to stay silent?
Martha says, “Dance is a song of the body. Either of joy or pain.” I want to hear the song of my body. My body has been running away from expressing pain for 23 years now. I want healing. Unfortunately, the only way to heal is to dance until my debris rises to the surface.
My One Word
2011 was an incredible year of growth and healing for me, but I’m starting to realize that I’ve only scratched the surface. There is still so much work to be done.
My “one word” last year was “leap.” And, leap I did. Each leap was like the swing of a big demolition ball that slowly knocked down the skyscraper of my fear.
This year is about delving deeper and pulling out the roots, addressing the foundation of the fear and identifying the invisible fear. I’ve realized that the root of most of my fear is from feeling unworthy, less-than or average.
So my “one word” for this year is [insert drum roll] … ENOUGH.
God is showing me that: I am enough. (Philippians 4:13)
“To watch us dance is to hear our hearts speak.” – Hopi Indian Saying
I want to hear my heart speak loud and clear this year. Dancing feels risky. Who knows what dark and putrid ugliness dancing to Beyoncé will bring to the surface, but I’m ready to find out.
I’m going to write a blog post at the end of 2012 titled, “How Tina Got Her Groove Back.”
#iamenough
Let’s do this!
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I love this 2008 Gap commercial featuring the adorable Ms. Hepburn. #dancepiration
Words are my chocolate. Music, my caramel. Photography, my bread. Girlfriends, my butter.
Confession: Some girls dream about Manolo Blahniks or their next Hermes bag. Not me. I dream of freshly baked bread, perfectly barbecued meat & steaming bowls of Pho. My dream lover *cue Mariah Carey song* is someone who would read out a menu to me in Barry White’s baritone voice.
I celebrate food, ask for help, interrupt conversations, laugh and cry hard, acknowledge the elephant in most rooms, fight for the underdog and believe in the power of storytelling.
My word for the year is “leap.” If something scares me, I do it.
I was born and raised in Dubai and currently live in the beautiful city of Vancouver, known for some of the best sushi in the world.
Those who really, really know me, know that my favourite movie of all time is “Fiddler on the Roof.” I first saw it when I was 16 years old and I managed to drag my then-boyfriend, now-husband John to watch it at the theatre with me three times in a matter of weeks. It was pure sacrifice on John’s part as he was definitely not a fan of musicals, but desperate to spend time with me.
I, however, was desperate to connect with something the story was telling me. Everything about the story resonated with my young heart, and it still speaks to me today.
It’s a story that parallels some of my childhood experiences and family history.
In this movie, the lead character is Tevye–a husband, father and devout Jew. Things in his small rural community are changing and he is grappling with God, life and imminent change.
Tevye opens the movie with these words: “A fiddler on the roof? Sounds crazy, no? But in our little village of Anatevka, you may say everyone of us is a fiddler on the roof, trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn’t easy, you know. You may ask, ‘Why do you stay up there if it is so dangerous? We stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word! TRADITION! Because of our traditions, we’ve kept our balance for many, many years. Because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do.”
I, too, strongly value the beauty of meaningful traditions. To me they are like the unwritten history of a family and they give us a way to define ourselves. Most families have some traditions, though many wouldn’t even be aware of them.
The dictionary defines “traditions” as:
- An inherited, established or customary pattern of thought, action or behavior
- A belief or story relating to the past that are commonly accepted as historical though not verifiable
- A time-honored practice or set of such practices.
I believe in conscientiously developing meaningful traditions in life … in family, marriage and friendships. I have discovered that through these traditions our values and “heart-culture” are passed on from generation to generation.
Why Traditions?
- Traditions provide stability – In a world of constant upheaval and chaos, we desperately need some constants in our life. Things that we can count on and things that can be an anchor that holds us no matter what storms may come.
- Traditions help us preserve strong values - Research has shown that if you grow up as a child with strong rituals, you will experience much more resiliency as an adult.
- Traditions provide identity – One of the most essential needs for every human being is the need to belong. Being a part of a family, a company, a tribe that has traditions gives you a true sense of ‘I belong here’.
- Traditions create safety and trust – they open up avenues of communication – they build foundations and confidence because of the past investments of time over and over again.
A few Burns family traditions include:
Family Nights
Ever since our girls were young, we made “family night” a part of our lives … one night a week with no phone, no interruptions. Just us committed and invested into each other. We made them fun and memorable. We are still committed to this as a family, even though it may be every few weeks, instead of weekly. I know everyone really looks forward to being together, especially the grandies.
Date Nights
When our three daughters were young, John began “dating” them individually once a month. It was one of the most foundational parts of their developing lives which I believe still carries them with strength in their lives as adults and mothers. He still takes them on dates, as well as the grandchildren now. The connection that began so long ago is still so vital and beautiful.
Toasts
This began on a Christmas Eve a number of years ago. After we had dinner and opened the traditional matching pajamas gift (and then put them on), we gathered and filled up our glasses and began to share from the heart. It surprised us how tender and yet powerful the words were that flowed, often accompanied by many tears. This is a time when we deliberately choose to invest words of honour and gratitude into the lives of those we so dearly love. This tradition is still one of my faves.
Many more traditions have developed over time. They are precious and mean the world to us.
Family Manifesto
Recently I wrote a note to each of my daughters and told them there was something I wanted from them. You see every year at Christmas and birthdays they ask me what I want as a gift and they know the answer is usually the same : “I don’t need or want anything … let’s have a date, instead.” So that has become my birthday tradition with my girls–a really fun time out together to celebrate me ageing!
But this year for Christmas I asked for something. I asked for a Family Manifesto–one that would uniquely describe “us” as a family. So, on Christmas morning I was presented with an awesome piece of wall art that is the first thing you see when you enter my home and upon it is written our story, our traditions, our values and our love.
As they presented it to me, my six-year-old granddaughter, Shalom, read it out proudly as the tears streamed down my face. Here are the words:
FAMILY GATHERS HERE
WE VALUE ONE ANOTHER
WE CRAVE TOGETHERNESS
We exhale in each other’s presence
We are fiercely protective of each other
We’re about being real, not perfect
WE ARE RIDICULOUSLY LOUD
We laugh until it hurts
We give without expectation
WE ARE GRATEFUL
We say “I love you” without special occasion
We break dance to polka classics
We wear matching PJ’s
We’re forever loyal to the accordian
We serve astounding portions of dessert
We have notoriously clean floors
We feed the birds, share licks of ice cream, and treasure hunt on the beach
We do art, we hot tub, we play bingo
We love fluffies and floats and espresso
WE PRAY TOGETHER
AND WE PLAY TOGETHER.
I want to strongly encourage you to be deliberate about creating valuable and lasting traditions within your core relationships. As I’ve discovered, traditions bring clarity, strength, value and hope to your life and the lives of those you love.
Proverbs 4:18: The ways of right-living people glow with light; the longer they live, the brighter they shine.
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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:
What traditions have you created with family and friends?
If you were to write one sentence of your Family Manifesto, what would it be?
Any other thoughts or comments?
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About Helen:
Helen Burns and her husband, John, speak around the world on the topic of relationships. They host the popular TV show “Relate with John and Helen.”
Lately I’ve been living the crazy life.The “let-me-squish-everything-I-possibly-can-into-my-day” kind of life. Why do I feel the need to do this? I think it’s because I don’t want to miss out. I kind of want to dip my toes into every pool of opportunity that exists out there.
I also feel under pressure to live up to some intangible expectation.
For me “having it all” means being a great mother, an attentive wife, the most successful writer I can be, a great friend, a work-out queen, a fashionista and a readaholic. And I want to achieve it all under the approving eyes of my greatest adjudicator: God.
Of course, the reality of “having it all” on a day-to-day basis actually consists of taking my children to their activities, school drop-off and pick-up, working on my book, marketing myself through social media (yes, necessary time on Facebook and Twitter), trying to sell my work, maintaining a blog, attending classes downtown, reading, hanging out with my kids, cooking meals, housework, working out, and, finally, spending time with my poor husband who seems to draw the short straw. And this is coming from a woman who doesn’t have to add a nine-to five job into the mix. I don’t know how those who do actually manage it. It’s exhausting. I think “having it all” is a pretty tough load to handle.
Out of Balance
I had a conversation with my mother-in-law a while back that stayed with me. She asked me why mothers nowadays never seem to have any time. She reflected on her younger days as a mother of three and remembered staying home in pj’s baking with the kids, dropping in on her friends (who were also home baking with their kids) and taking the time to see what the day would bring to her, instead of controlling every minute of it. Now, I’m not saying that my mother-in-law spent her days in her pj’s doing nothing, but the only time I have days like that, is when I’m sick. Something about that shouts ding-a-ling in my head.
How did this happen?
No one is standing over me, telling me to be all and do all; no one makes me take my children to several activities per week; no one makes me work out just about every day, and no one makes me connect with my friends via social media instead of in person.
And it doesn’t seem to just be me; I look at my friends, other mothers in the same season of life, and everyone is so busy. But do we really need to be that busy? My life is often so hectic I don’t have time for the people who matter the most to me.
I think the difference between my life now and my mother-in-law’s life thirty years ago is opportunity. I have so much more available to me and I am blessed because of it, as are my children. But I think if I don’t slow down and look up every once in a while, I’m going to miss the view.
Letting Go
I put so much pressure on myself to live a full and perfect life, but I’m beginning to realize that having it all really means letting go of something, or perhaps several things. Will my children be better off going to another after-school activity or staying home in their pjs and baking with mummy once in a while?
More than half my day is occupied with doing things that don’t matter, that won’t be important a year from now or even a week from now. What if I were to fill my day only with things I will remember for years to come? That’s the kind of life I want. There are only a few things that really matter to me: My family, my relationship with God, friendships and writing. Perhaps it may be naive to think I can live a life where I shut out everything except these important things, but I think that being cognisant of the value of each day and how I am spending my time, may just be enough.
As for my Adjudicator, as any parent knows, we want our children to be happy, not perfect. I know that when I stop to listen to God’s voice, he is asking me to slow down, let go and enjoy the beauty of a single moment.
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My dear SheLoves friends:
What does “having it all”mean to you?
How do you make sure you don’t miss the view?
Any other thoughts or comments?
About Claire:
Born and raised in the UK, Claire De Boer is a writer, woman of God, mother and wife. She is currently working on her first women’s fiction novel and a collection of short stories. Claire is also a student of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University.
I did my homework before signing up as a volunteer with the Beauty Night Society. As an advocate for women overcoming adversity, I already knew some of the statistics: one in three women have experienced sexual violence. In Vancouver, where I live, the average age of entry into the streets is 12.
The orientation filled in the other details: how to protect and care for the women and ourselves, how to offer assistance and how to deal with the unexpected. With “makeup artistry” checked off under the skills section of my application, it was a different kind of makeover I set out to help with: a life transformation.
My first shift was at a resource centre in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. I’ll admit I was nervous, but as I walked through the doors, it was a stark contrast to the grim scene I was expecting. The room was bright, its walls covered in staggeringly beautiful artwork and chipper, smiling volunteers were setting up their stations for the night. I watched as clients walked in one by one. They were greeted by name and embraced like old friends; then suddenly several arms were linked with mine and I was being pulled this way and that, cajoled for my secrets.
I was ashamed that I had come expecting to be surrounded by despair. Instead, I found a room full of love and laughter!
Since that first shift, I’ve been continuously awed: I’ve witnessed a barter between two entrepreneurs–one a jewelry maker, the other coordinates wholesale bead purchases from her home country, both supporting each other in their endeavours. An older woman brings a friend whose husband is terminally ill in hospital and “has nobody else in the world.” Without someone by her side, encouraging her to leave the house, she would be left to cope on her own.
A family–three generations of women–are regulars to Beauty Night. The mother, sober from drugs and alcohol for the last few years, is making up for all the years she was absent. Her youngest has begun volunteering, learning nailcare along the way. The eldest daughter has a child of her own now, and thanks to the childcare services Beauty Night offers, the four of them can be together to get caught up, confide in one another and mend broken hearts.
We have the usual faces show up week after week. Sometimes night after night. It doesn’t matter if they’ve just had their nails painted the night before, or if they just choose to sit and observe. Sometimes they come simply to be in a warm place and be fed. There is no question, though, why they show up—they are wanted, loved and accepted. Every woman who has been shut out, shut up and shut down is embraced and encouraged to find her voice. Beauty Night strives to return each woman her dignity and lift her up again.
The Power of Touch
One way this is done is by reintroducing touch in a non-threatening manner. The idea that touch should be anything but “safe” might be foreign to many of us. The stories of untold abuse, so many of us can’t begin to fathom. Some of the women who come through our doors are young and scared, with their stories protected and locked away, and some are old and lonely, ready with their memories and for anyone willing to listen.
The women, though they bravely put on a smile, do not always come to us from places gentle, safe and warm. I’ve sat with a girl as she wept, mentally preparing for a night walking the streets to prostitute herself. I’ve given the softest hand massage to a woman whose knuckles had been crushed because she could not repay her drug debts. Some of the women live in isolation, abandoned by their families, rejected by society, because of barriers beyond their control. And all of them struggle to get by financially. A manicure or a simple haircut are services some of us would hardly consider luxuries, but as part of our femininity we enjoy them and use them to feel better about ourselves. When power and dignity are stripped from a person, and with no money to access opportunities to better yourself, a dark, downward spiral takes hold.
Beauty Night exists for the woman who might be feeling broken, to come in and leave feeling new again.
There’s power in the place where women come together as a collective. Though we all have varied backgrounds and life experiences, in sisterhood we are united. I’m continually encouraged to see this in action when a woman who comes through Beauty Night’s doors, quiet and unsure, leaves feeling uplifted, protected and secure in who she is.
Here’s what I see: When a woman feels good about herself, and has a safety net of love and support to fall back on, she is a step closer to feeling confident enough to stand on her own and take back what is hers.
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About Heather:
When not giving in to my healthy addiction of all things involved in magazine publishing and makeup artistry, I am an advocate for the Deaf community and a cheerleader to help others turn adversity into strength. I tweet at @HeatherVince.
Images: “Generations of Beauty” and “Beautiful Ladies” by Ken Villeneuve
Today is National Human Trafficking Awareness Day in the United States. Today we stand for Freedom by looking at ways we can be part of the change, starting in our own hearts.
21 things we can do today to end sex trafficking:
Address the brokenness in my own life.
Oppose the legalization (total decriminalization) of prostitution.
Stop viewing pornography.
Make lifestyle choices that don’t further global inequality.
Educate myself and others about human trafficking.
Become an abolitionist.
Promote gender equality and human dignity in your daily life.
Directly ask the men in my life if they pay for sex.
Give women the same opportunities as men.
Partner with the efforts of REED and other organizations who fight for freedom.
Advocate for just immigration policies and safe paths of migration.
Pray for the freedom of men and women affected by brothels in my city.
Question the norm of “sex for sale.”
Support the education of women and girls, especially in developing countries.
Protest the proliferation of the “pimp ‘n ho’” culture.
Seek freedom from a lifestyle of consumerism.
Contact my governmental representative with my concerns about trafficking and prostitution.
Become a foster parent.
Do not stigmatize prostituted women.
Challenge those who make sexist “jokes.”
Pray for healing to come in the area of trafficking and sexual exploitation.
QUESTIONS & CONVERSATION:
What idea moves you to act today?
Where will you start today?
About Michelle
Michelle Miller is Executive Director of REED (Resist Exploitation, Embrace Dignity). Founded in May 2005, REED stands against trafficking and sexual exploitation through outreach, advocacy and education.
Photo credit: Hong Kong street sign by Kay Chernush for the U.S. State Department.
“I saw young women experience Christmas for the first time as free women.”
By Alan Koller
I was the guy who was always told, “Nice guys finish last.” I almost got it tattooed on my arm. In Grade 6, I was voted the best boy in the class, in a secret “Girls Only” poll. Three perfect scores. Thank you very much. That should give you a clue into who I was when I was young. What inspired my heart towards Mercy Ministries, however, started in college after two ex-girlfriends’ lives took some difficult turns, following their relationships with me.
Were these situations my fault? No, would be the response by most standards. The message from God, however, was different.
He simple said: “Their hearts were not yours to play with. Their hearts were placed in your hand to honour and respect first and foremost.”
[Insert photo of hand of God cuffing me in the back of the head here.]
Now add the fact that, after college, I spent 14 years bartending in Vancouver’s high-end hotels, seeing the male/female bar scene at its best and its worst. I learned how hard it was to tell who needed help. I wanted to at least try and do something, and cooking at Mercy Ministries, a residential program for young women who deal with life’s controlling issues, has become the way I am serving the cause.
So, what is it like for me to cook at Mercy?
-It is an honour of course.
-It’s fun.
-It’s emotional, definitely.
Each time I walk through the door I have to remember in this home are young women who have been emotionally and physically abused, mostly by men. Many of them have developed eating disorders as a result of the abuse. And there I am as a single guy, walking in the door with lots of food. Interesting, indeed.
Last year I got to cook dinner for the staff and girls at the Mercy Christmas party. It was an amazing night. One I will never forget for various reasons; some great and some not so great. Unfortunately at one point I stood next to a young woman, listening to another girl tell her story about what she was thankful for at Christmas. That young woman had to walk away from me, and I watched her starting to wring her hands with so much anxiety, I felt it necessary to return to cleaning up the kitchen. I stood in that kitchen and thought to myself, What happened to that young girl so my presence would cause her that much pain? I wish she knew I would never cause her any pain and if anyone tried to hurt her when I was around, she would be protected.
That night I saw I saw another girl, upon receiving a Christmas stocking, ask: “What is this?”
How is it possible that a Canadian girl would have no idea what a Christmas stocking is? I couldn’t understand it. I grew up with great parents and had a wonderful Christmas every year. To think a world like hers exists doesn’t make me sad, as much as it makes me angry. I wished I could go back in time and visit each one of these girls and personally ensure those responsible pay and pay dearly for their involvement in causing a need for places like Mercy.
But as usual God showed up again and pointed out some more things I should be noticing at Mercy.
- I saw young women experience Christmas for the first time as free women.
- I saw tears of joy as they opened their gifts.
One of the gifts was cash for each of the girls. They were given strict instruction that the money was to be spent buying gifts for themselves. [Slightly emotional moment.] One of the girls asked if she could use some of the money to tithe with. [Emotional moment times ten.] Praise God.
- To see young women so afraid of food, eating and enjoying life at a dining room table was incredible. Oh and these girls can sing, and sing very well. Best Christmas carols I’d heard in a long time.
- To be sitting in the room as one of only three men and have one of the girls say to the three of us: Thank you for what you do, because for many of the girls here, their experience with men has been horrifying, and for the first time we can be around men and feel safe. “Thank you,” she said, “It means a lot to us.”
[Insert a moment of feeling completely OVERWHELMED here.]
Words truly cannot express what I experienced that night or any of the other days I have been in the Mercy home. I do know this: I will not stop serving at Mercy. There is too much at stake to sit back and do nothing.What God has ultimately shown me is as much as I would like to find the source of the abuse for each one of these women and introduce those abusers to the wrath of God at my hands, God has shown me that Mercy is the answer, instead. Through Mercy God is building an army to defeat this evil. The soldiers in this army are the young women who walk through the doors of Mercy. They will be able to help countless other women fight and overcome their own battles. They are going to be the ones who lift others out of the darkness.
My job as a man is to make sure they have the tools they need, the encouragement they need, the protection they need and, most importantly, the love they need to know they are not alone in this fight.
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About Alan:
I grew up in a small town in BC and had a great childhood. My culinary side was cultured at a young age; I still remember standing on a chair in the kitchen stirring custard with my mother. Even though I have always had a passion for food and for cooking, I have never cooked professionally or trained. I just watched and learned. I am very blessed to be able to cook now purely for the joy and love of it and I am honoured to use my gifts to help build Mercy Ministries.
I know what you’re thinking: Where is our Dubaiian goddess, Tina Francis? Doesn’t she know it’s Friday? Doesn’t she know I rely on her witty quips and anecdotes to get me through my final day of work? Why has she abandoned me in my time of need?
Don’t fret, friends. Tina is off on a business trip to India and is getting some much-deserved time off. So, today, I, Ashley (S’up!) will attempt to fill her rather large (figuratively speaking only, of course) shoes.
I figured with big shoes, comes the need for a big story.
It started with a single sentence:
“You should be over it by now.”
Obviously, this is not how the story itself begins, but merely the trigger that set off my fiery Italian fury. The conversation itself began with a few lines from a poem by Elizabeth Bishop.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master
So many things seem filled with the intent
To be lost that their loss is no disaster.
[Insert that Skype sound when your friend sends a message.]
“What does your quote mean?” asked the individual who will remain nameless.
“It’s from a poem called “One Art,’” I responded.
“Sounds depressing.”
“Well, maybe you should read the whole poem in context before you begin judging it,” I quipped.
“Fine. Send it to me.”
So I did.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master
So many things seem filled with the intent
To be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something everyday.
Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing further, losing faster
Places and names and where it was you meant to travel
None of these will bring disaster.
I lost two cities, lovely ones,
And vaster some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them but it wasn’t a disaster.
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love)
I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master
Though it may look like (write it!) a disaster.
–Elizabeth Bishop
This poem sparked a very long, rather futile, conversation about loss, how long it should take to “get over” something and how “depressing” the poem is. It was about that time I heard the words, “You should be over it by now.”
My hands were shaking, my face was flushed and I could feel all my emotions rising to the center of my throat until I could not contain it anymore.
Confession: I lost myself a little right then.
“The whole point is that losing is indeed an art. You don’t just wake up one day ‘over’ all the hurt that has ever come your way. It’s something that needs to be practiced—mastered—and even then, it takes some convincing. Yeah, it may be sad, but it’s how the poet feels and as far as I’m concerned, she should be allowed to feel it.”
The art of losing is hard to master.
One Word
My one word to frame 2012 is “NEW.” Last year was about repair–healing from some major losses–but this year I want something new. I guess, in some way, everyone enters the New Year wanting something new.
Shouting “Happy Regular Year!” just wouldn’t possess the same excitement at midnight.
Upon reflecting on my big poetry fight and the poem I love (and still don’t think is depressing), I realized that if I want to have a “new” kind of year, I’ll need to become a master at losing the old.
I will need to take a few steps in the direction of “New” … My 5 things:
- I will need to get better at letting my emotions out … and not just when there’s a sad song on the radio or when I’ve been pushed to my boiling point. No more “stony heart.” I’m going to need to soften up.
- I will need to jump at new experiences. This may even mean traveling alone, spending money, going somewhere I’ve never been, or saying “No” to something I know I love in order to try something new. For example: At the end of February this year, I will head down to Oregon with a few friends for The Justice Conference. I expect this to be a great “new” experience for me.
- I will need to leave some things behind. I tend to associate “leaving” with letting people down, which I suppose could end up happening, but that is not what it means to me right now. I’d like to step out of those old things that just don’t fit anymore to find some new things that do.
- I will need to do things I don’t think I can do.
- I will need to do uncharted, unplanned things. I will need to lose my schedules some times.
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So friendy-pies,
- If you haven’t shared yet, what’s your “One Word” for 2012?
- What are some things you need to lose to make room for your new word?
- What new things are you doing this year?
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About Ashley:
My name is Ashley and I am the Children’s Ministry Coordinator at Relate Church in Surrey, B.C. My mission is to develop the God-given potential in every child who crosses my path *Insert Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” here*. I love all things jazzy, particularly music, and I tend to break into song throughout the day for no apparent reason. I blog here and tweet @AshleyMandanici
I’ve never been a big fan of making New Year’s Resolutions. Don’t get me wrong–I think the end of a year is a great time to take stock, offer gratitude and set intentions for the future. I understand the logic behind making resolutions, and I like to think that some people enjoy the satisfaction of keeping them for the entire year … or, better yet, for the rest of their lives. (If I’m talking about you, Go you!)
But I can’t help but wonder if this practice is, for many of us, less-than-helpful. Unmet resolutions can taunt and haunt us. (Insert a dejected “Who was I kidding, I knew I’d never follow through with that!” here.) It seems that a list of resolutions – perhaps full of earnest intentions to exercise regularly, take up meditation, write a screenplay, eat more leafy greens – often turns into a reminder of all of the ways that we’ve failed at making changes. We tell ourselves we have failed at becoming better.
So, at the end of 2010, when SheLoves contributor Sarah and editor Idelette both suggested scrapping the resolutions and instead selecting One Word for the coming year, I quickly jumped on board. If you’re a regular reader of SheLoves Magazine, you’re likely familiar with the “One Word” conversation. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you can find out here.) This word could act as a guide, a reminder, a cushion, a prod, an intention.
My One Word
As I prepared to greet 2011, it wasn’t hard to pick my one word. When I got still and listened to what word bubbled up in my heart and spirit, it was PRAISE. My focus would be on gratitude, on offering praise to God for blessings big and small. I spent New Year’s Day last year at Crescent Beach, walking and talking with a kindred-spirit friend. It was a stunning day, and on our meandering we kept stopping to admire the beauty around us – the grey-blue ocean, the wheat-coloured grasses, the pink glow of the setting sun on snow-capped mountains in the distance. Not to mention the eagles, the herons, the pups and the smiling passers-by.
I was grateful not only for the glory of life and nature, but also for the beauty and depth of my friendships. PRAISE on that day seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Cut To
A handful of you may know I’ve had a bit of a rough few months, health-wise. In early October, on the heels of a fantastic trip to visit some friends and my hilarious old aunties, a nasty virus hit, bringing the unrelenting sensation that I was swallowing shards of broken glass. After four weeks of this, I developed pneumonia. That really knocked me out. Just as my lungs were starting to clear, I came down with pleuritis, an inflammation of the lining of the lungs that can occur after a bout of pneumonia. I was certain I’d fractured a rib or two from coughing; that’s how much it hurt. When the doctor told me the pain would last at least four weeks, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I had no way of knowing–when I felt that first tickle in my throat in early October–I’d still be under-the-weather come January. More than a few times during the past three months I’ve felt concerned, discouraged, sick of being sick. If I had a dollar for every time I uttered the words, “It is what it is,” well, I’d have myself quite a lot of dollars.
It Is What It Is
During the worst of the pneumonia, it was almost impossible to sleep. The coughing intensified when I’d lie down, so I stacked a bunch of pillows and tried to sleep sitting up. (Unless you absolutely have to, I don’t recommend trying this at home) I was used to being healthy and regularly getting eight or nine solid hours of sleep, so those pneumonia nights (is it just me, or does that sound like the title of an Eagles album?) felt long and rather miserable. I’ll mention now that in addition to choosing my one word for 2011, I had also selected an intention for the year: SELF-CARE. I had made a promise to nurture myself and there’s no denying that being sick gave me a massive opportunity to put that vow into practice.
Self-Care
I adopted a new middle-of-the-night routine: about every two hours, I’d stand leaning over a pot of boiling water with a few drops of essential oil in it, hearing the crackle and pop of my lungs as I inhaled the steam. Then I’d do child’s pose on my yoga mat, hearing the crackle and pop of my spine/ribs shifting as I stretched out my mid-back. Then I’d crawl back into my bed-chair and read.
On one of those pneumonia nights, I sat propped up against my pillow pile, wide awake at 3am.I’ve never been one to get up and read in the middle of the night. (Typically, if I see 3am, it’s only because I haven’t gone to bed yet.) So even having the light on at that time felt a bit surreal. I don’t know if you could say I was at my wit’s end, but I just didn’t know what to do with myself. Tired of being sick, tired of being tired, I prayed to God for peace, comfort and healing to wash over me. And then I remembered.
“Praise.”
I reached for a notebook and pencil and began to write a list of things this time of illness had given me. I took stock of all of the ways it had allowed me to receive, to just be, to practice that self-care. I wrote quickly and before long I had a full page of things I felt grateful for. I read over this list and thanked God for everything on it.
I praised.
I felt God’s presence that night, enveloping me and bringing the comfort I’d prayed for. I loved the power and simplicity of having my one word to lean on throughout the year. Praise came easily when things were good, but even when– especially when–life felt challenging, turning to PRAISE helped me to get my eyes off of myself and back onto God.
By no means will I leave praise in the dust now that we’ve closed the book on 2011. I can always keep praise tucked away in my back pocket.
My one word for 2012? Drumroll, please …
GRACE.
But that’s a whole ‘nother story.
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About Stefanie:
Stefanie is a Registered Clinical Counsellor living in Vancouver, BC. She feels blessed to work in a helping profession and is grateful that her work requires her to show up not in a power suit but with listening ears and a compassionate heart. Stefanie enjoys spending time with family and friends and has never met a kid or baby she doesn’t like. She is a noticer and appreciator of birds (chickadees, herons, eagles) and many a beach rock has come home in her pocket. Stefanie is a lover of music, tv and movies, and she is gifted at absorbing and retaining useless pop culture trivia. She loves walking, fresh air, the smell of dirt, and anything of the salt and vinegar persuasion. She can often be found puttering.
Last Monday night, a few of us “SheLovers” gathered in my home and online to pray, hug, sip on warm Vanilla Rooibos tea and give thanks for what God had done in and through us in 2011. I am thankful for everyone of you who showed up, skyped in or tried to skype in.
I was reminded how God comes to live inside of our words and makes a home inside of our thank you’s.
God truly inhabits our praises.
So, we said thank you. And I’d love to continue to say thank you, in this very space where we gather daily, bring our hearts and our words, our comments and our shares.
Today I am sharing a list of 31 thank you’s (some inspired by what was said last Monday night), but I’m hoping you would share what you are thankful for too. How great would it be if we, together, could write a hundred Thank You’s to the God who writes this story in us and through us.
So, today I am thankful for:
1. a Sisterhood who gathers, because we believe Love can transform our world.
2. a Sisterhood who brings stories as offerings.
3. the power of words.
4. living in a time of technology, so we can connect with Stacy in Chennai, Stephanie in Kampala, Neritia in Cape Town and friends everywhere.
5. a Sisterhood that is global.
6. a daily deposit here.
7. different voices gathering here.
8. a place where we may practice our voices.
9. a place where our stories are welcome.
10. a place where we celebrate authenticity.
I am thankful for …
11. a place where our voices get stronger and clearer as we write.
12. a community who believes in cheering each other on.
13. showing a different way for women to be together, love each other and encourage each other.
14. girl stories.
15. aligning us with Your heart.
16. a space that’s about heart, not age.
17. a space that encourages me, stirs me, moves me, challenges me, grows me.
18. a space that celebrates the feminine heart.
19. a space that facilitates the uniqueness of every individual.
20. a place that reminds me, “I am not alone.”
And thank You for this:
21. a space that nurtures my soul.
22. a place of Together.
23. a place where transparency is more than ok.
24. a place to celebrate our feminine mind.
25. a Sisterhood who sees Beauty in everyone, everywhere.
26. a Sisterhood who believes in the value of what each one of us has in our hands.
27. a Sisterhood who mobilizes.
28. a Sisterhood who acts.
29. a Sisterhood who cares about justice … in our hearts, our backyards and to the ends of the earth.
30. a Sisterhood made up of women who Love.
And yes–absolutely yes–I am thankful for:
31. a Sisterhood who gives …
* * *
PS: 32. Thank You, God, for weaving us together into something Beautiful.
33. Thank You, God, that You tell the best stories with our lives.
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Now, my dear SheLovers:
Has this space meant something to you, called something out of you, grown something in you?
What about the women in your world?
What are you thankful for? I’d so love for us together to give a hundred thank you’s.
I’d *love* to hear what you are thankful for–for what was, what is and for what is to come.
About Idelette: I like soggy cereal and I would like to go to every spot on the map of the earth to meet our world’s women.
I dream of a world where no women or girls are for sale. I dream of a world where women and men are partners in doing the work that brings down a new Heaven on earth.
My word for the year is “Roar,” but I have learned it’s not about my voice rising as much as it is about our collective voices rising in unison to bring down walls of injustice.
I have three children and this place–right here, called shelovesmagazine.com–is my fourth baby. I am African, although my skin colour doesn’t tell you that story. I am also a little bit Chinese, because my heart lives there amongst the tall skyscrapers of Taipei and the mountains of Chiufen. Give me sweet chai and I think I’m in heaven. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I pledged my heart to Scott 11 years ago.
I believe in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. I also believe that Love covers–my gaps, my mistakes and the distances between us. I blog at idelette.com and tweet@idelette.
If my spiritual life were a dashboard in a flight cockpit, I’m pretty sure the red lights screaming, Danger! Crash-and-burn-imminent! would be angrily blinking.
But, here’s the thing I am {re}learning about this God I started following 25 years ago: He doesn’t ask for mountainous faith; doesn’t demand on-fire-perfection.
Laura Parker is a freelance writer and homeschooling mom who currently lives in Thailand with her family. She and her husband run a travel ministry which seeks to mentor young adults and provide a greater awareness of human trafficking. She blogs honestly about a life in Asia, squatty-potties and all, at http://www.aLifeOverseas.com . She is also the founding editor for an inspirational website for educators, InspiredTeacher.net . She tweets from @LauraParkerBlog .
