SheLoves Magazine

Between Isaacs and Samuels: The Space Where God Disappoints

“What is the name of the space where God disappoints?”

By Enuma Okoro | Twitter: @TweetEnuma

God keeps tripping over my beggar bowl and spilling its meager contents.

So I am going to stop begging.

My heart is weary from begging.

I know why Sarah did what she did with Hagar and Abraham. I know how Eli found Hannah, drunk with the pain of prayer. Right or wrong, God disappoints. Me. You. All of us at some time.

Yes. God is faithful. I know of Isaac and Samuel. God Laughs. God Hears.

But what of the space between laughter and hearing, between Isaacs and Samuels? What is the name of the space where God disappoints?

That space is the place where many people dwell, where temporary settlements and makeshift camps start to take on the permanency of home. So what is the name of that place? I want to validate the reality of that place with a name. I want us to learn to speak openly about that place and to remember the people who live there.

Where God disappoints.

Where children are not born.

Where men and women walk one-by-one instead of two-by-two.

Where loaves and fishes do not multiply.

Where the poor in spirit or body do not seem blessed.

Where the faithfulness of God seems to be just a rumor.

Who are the priests that dwell with the people between God’s laughter and God’s hearing? What are the sacraments in the nameless place where God disappoints? If nothing else, I want the bread and the wine, the faint reminder that when the body of God was broken and the blood of God was shed, and the Son of God cried out words of forsakenness, that at one time God even disappointed God.

So maybe that is the name of the place–the long sad sing-song name of “Eli Eli lama sabachthani?”

I can live with that naming because it comes from the very mouth of God. Have you heard of that place? Do you know people who live in that place? Can you serve from that place? Can you love from that place? Maybe it is possible to set up camp in that place because I know that God has been there and whatever spaces God has been in, God somehow still remains.

And I know what happens after the Golgatha cry, after Sarah’s scheming and Hannah’s weeping. God moves from disappointing and invites us to new realities, new places where we shuffle our feet reluctantly, tiptoe carefully, uncertain if we can trust the ground, if we can move from pain to healing. Uncertain if we can trust the  God who Rises, who laughs, who listens.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• Have you ever found yourself in that space where God disappoints?
• How have you met (or are you meeting) God in that place?
• What do you name that place?
• 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.

Her spiritual memoir, Reluctant Pilgrim: A Moody Somewhat Self-Indulgent Introvert’s Search for Spiritual Community (Fresh Air Books, 2010) was a winning finalist in the 2010 USA Best Books Award and received the 2011 National Indie Excellent Book Awards Winning Finalist in “Spirituality and African-American Non-Fiction.” She is co-author with Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove of Common Prayer: Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals

Okoro’s new forthcoming book, “Silence,” will be released in Summer/Fall 2012

She blogs at Reluctant Pilgrim on Patheos about women’s ways of knowing and engaging the holy. You can find her online at www.enumaokoro.com

Image credit: Woman with bowl, by Justin Hubbard

TGIF: Woman Thou Art Hungry!

On dunking goldfish in tartar sauce, Zen Elmo and finding my true hunger.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
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About four years ago, I got in a heated discussion  screaming-sobbing-snot-filled-straight-up-gangsta-fight with a family member who will remain anonymous–let’s call this person “Jo”–about finances (or lack thereof) and my futile attempts at looking for a job. After a month of sending out cover letters and resumes, Jo gave me a newspaper clipping  and suggested I apply for a position I was insanely overqualified for.

“ You can’t get emotional about it,” Jo said. “You just have to be a grown-up.”

I knew in my heart that if I did this particular job, I would start dimming my light, thinking small and believing that this was the best I could do. It broke my heart that Jo wanted me to settle,  didn’t want me to strive for more and couldn’t see why I was offended.

I started crying so hard, tears were pouring out of every orifice of my (upper) body. I grabbed my purse, car keys and started barreling down the street.

With one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand on my phone, I started calling my “lifelines.” You know, the peeps you call when your jeans don’t fit, your credit card blinks “Insufficient funds” and your grandmother is really sick.

After two unanswered calls, something in my gut pushed me to call Idelette, who was still a relatively new friend at the time.

Idelette has a secret superpower–I think of her as “Zen Elmo.” With two seemingly simple words, “Oh sweetie,” and her head cocked to the side, all mortals feel accepted, understood and smothered in love.

A Big Hunger

I sobbed as I breathlessly recounted the details of the fight with Jo. To clarify, this was not a drama-queen “I’m not getting my way” tantrum cry. This was a “I don’t know what I’m doing/ My life is a mess/ I have officially hit rock bottom/ I did six years of school and have no marketable skills/ I’m a freaking liability/ Does anybody care?” gut-curdling cry.

“I had to leave the house,” I told her. “If I stayed, I’d eat everything in the fridge and the pantry. I’d eat till I was sick, and then I’d cry because nothing I ate would satisfy me.”

“Oh sweetie …” she said. “You’re hungry.”

“No,” I replied, “I’m not hungry.”

“No, I mean, you are huuungry. You are hungry for more out of life. You are hungry to live out your purpose, your dreams, your passions. You are hungry to use your talents. You have BIG dreams on the inside of you. You have a BIG hunger you are trying to fill.” She paused. “Sweetheart, you are hungry!”

A Sick Heart

This was the first time I had heard the word “hungry” being used in a positive way. I’d been medicating my “hunger” on the surface but never acknowledged my real hunger, my real desires, that were thrashing around like an angry tidal wave on the inside of me.

Proverbs 13:12 says:

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.”

Good Lord, my unmet desires were making my heart sick.

Fast forward to March, when I’m talking to my friend Julie. Much like Idelette, Julie too has a superpower; she has an uncanny Yoda-like ability to look into my eyes and see the muddy backroads of my soul. I told her the story of the straight-up-gangsta-fight with my family that eventually led to my big moment of enlightenment.

I told her how I’d been learning that “being hungry” is not a bad thing and how I’d noticed a gradual change in my eating habits. I now ask myself, “What are you really hungry for?” before eating. I realized that I tend to eat even when what I really need sometimes is sleep, a hug, a bath or a phone call with a friend.

“Have you heard of Rachel Cole?” Julie beamed, “This is exactly what she talks about.”

What are you truly hungry for?

When I Googled Rachel Cole I was thrilled to find out she was having a “Retreatshop” in Seattle called “The Well Fed Woman.” The words “well fed” made my toes curl. It oozed abundance, acceptance and affirmation. I knew she was my kind of girl when I read the tagline on her website, “What are you truly hungry for?”

Rachel affirmed some truths I’d been learning on own my journey and taught me some new ways of articulating my relationship with food and hunger.

Here are some nuggets that resonated deep in my belly:

1. Identify your Primary Hunger.

One of the things Rachel articulated beautifully was distinguishing between your Primary Hunger and Secondary hunger.

She gave an example, “If you want a date night with your husband, perhaps the primary hunger is connection, physical touch, intimacy, play or communion.”

So on the surface, it may seem like what I want is to lose weight (secondary hunger), but what I really want (my primary hungers) might be unconditional love, or to feel accepted, or to feel at home in my body.

It takes courage to dig deep and unearth the raw hunger sitting at your core.

2. We can’t feed the hungers we don’t know. 

It’s like dunking a goldfish in a creamy tartar sauce, instead of water.  Sure, I love lemony mayo, capers and tarragon as much as the next girl, but that little Petsmart fishie needs water to breathe and live!

Soooo … [scratching head] when I’m watching Real Housewives of Vancouver, “just-to-see-what-all-the-fuss-is-about,” with a bag of Cheetos,  what I really need after a long day at work might be a hug?

So many times I’m the goldfish sputtering about in tartar sauce,  self-medicating with food, Facebook, Netflix, blogs or Pinterest.

I needed to create pockets where my true hungers could be made known.

Rachel says, “The practice of digging deeper is essential to being a well-fed woman. We must look under the covers, peel back the layers and expose what wants to be fed.”

3. When we receive our beautiful hungers, the “how” takes care of itself.

Once I figured out the hungers I was denying and misplacing, it got easier to make decisions that truly feed me. The habits that are right for me, may not be right for you, but here are some things that have really helped me:

- Before I eat I ask myself, “Tina, what are you really hungry for?” Is it food, sleep or a pee-break? Sometimes it’s a plate of good ol’ fashioned food. But every once in a while, I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee, when I actually want to shampoo my hair and read my new Joan Didion book in a towel turban.

- I don’t buy fashion magazines. They hijack my mind and make me ache for Heidi Klum’s legs and crave a Wendy’s Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger in the same breath.

- I still have a long way to go on this one, but I got rid of all most of my clothes that fit Mini Me.

- I surround myself with healthy friends who affirm me, but also hold me accountable when I need a reality check.

- I now receive and share wisdom. Three amazing women helped me find deeper clarity on the issue of hunger. Idelette first reframed the word “hungry” for me. I shared Idelette’s story with Julie, who affirmed my journey and pointed me in the direction of Rachel. Rachel gave me fresh language and tools to identify and connect with my true hunger. Now, I’m sharing what I learned from Rachel with you to come alongside you on your journey. See how this works? Karma baby.

- I read what God says about me in the Bible. One of my faves: “You are altogether beautiful, my darling, And there is no blemish in you.” -Songs of Solomon 4:7.

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We are hungry people.

Idelette is right about me, I have big dreams and a big hunger I’m trying to fill. While it seems so much easier to numb or ignore my true hungers, I’m learning that denying them leads to an unsatisfied, famished life.

I want to savour, delight and relish life. I don’t want to be imprisoned by insecurity, jealousy, exhaustion, criticism and guilt.  I want a better life, a life for freedom, for myself, and my girlfriends.

What would a world with women unified with their true hungers look like? 

In the words of Michaelangelo, (the orange-masked turtle whirling pizzas, not the Italian Renaissance artist): “Cowabunga!”

Mind. Blown.

Marianne Williamson says it beautifully in this prayer:

Dear God,
Please free me
from false appetites
and take away my pain.
Take from me my compulsive self,
and show me who I am.

Dear God,
Please give me a new beginning.
Unchain my heart
so I might live
a freer life at last.

Amen.

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So, dear ones, I want to leave you with some of Rachel’s brilliant questions:

- Today and tomorrow the hunger I need to feed is _______ .
- What gets in the way of you feeding your truest hungers?
- If you have a busy schedule and are really strapped for time, what is one way you could feed yourself in the shower, in traffic, in the kitchen, etc.?

Love you more than Coconut Mango Oat Muffins,
xoxo,
Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.

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My name is Tina. Loved ones call me: Teen.

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.

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.

Wellness Wednesday: From Fear to Release

“I’ve had two opportunities in my life to look death in the eye … but one was governed by fear and the other by joy.”

By Ali Valdez

For a long time in my life, phobias were the fears other people dealt with—traumatic, life-limiting fears that put up invisible walls and stop people in their tracks. I had none to speak of—at least none that you could classify as phobias—until 15 years ago when I met my fear dead-on.

I had begun traveling regularly for work. Soon the trips became long-haul flights. I thought I had it down until a particularly traumatic summer flying out of O’Hare when the plane needed to make an emergency landing. The cockpit was on fire.

In the instant I knew what was happening, the fear of flying and falling overwhelmed my body, my mind, my life.

We had to fly around to drop fuel so we wouldn’t explode upon landing. The energy in the plane grew from panic to sorrow and then heaviness as everyone began to pray. As the voice of the pilot cracked, the flight attendants cried.

There were no rational indicators that this would have a happy ending.

As I bowed my head, emergency-landing style, I fixed my eyes on a bag from the Chicago Shedd Aquarium. Inside, a set of toys I had bought for my little brother Giordano. My greatest sadness in that moment was that I would probably never see him again. I prayed that God would allow me to give Giordano those toys.

When we approached landing, the runway was lined with fire trucks, emergency crews and rows of gray body bags. It was the moment of truth: was I coming home, or going Home?

Miraculously,  the pilot managed to bring us all down safely. I’ve lived to tell my story, but for years I was paralyzed by fear. Flying became very difficult; I imagined myself buckled into a plane seat floating among the clouds without the shell of the plane.

I was no longer able to sit by the window because I believed watching the wings and witnessing their buoyancy was a bad omen. I refused to fly Continental Airlines and I still check the crossing of my legs when there is turbulence in the air (I have this weird idea that if my legs are crossed, God will bring the plane down.)

I would dream I was falling, which according to “experts” on the Web, means anxiety over letting go. It could also be a drop in blood pressure. One site suggests the dream stems from our monkey days when we slept and sometimes fell from trees. For me, I suspect it had to do with that flight from O’Hare.

After this experience every flight I took I believed would be my last. I reached a point where I had to make a choice: continue to spend half my working life feeling afraid, or pass through the door of fear into a place of release. I had to begin to enjoy flying.

My opportunity to face my fear came a few years back when I was invited to go sky-diving in Santa Barbara. I knew plenty of intelligent, capable, sound-minded individuals who did this regularly and I admired them. I also knew that I needed to confront the behavioural patterns that stemmed from my fears.

There are some things people don’t tell you about sky-diving. The airtime itself is nominal—twenty minutes max—but the wait for your turn can be hours. Not that I minded; I wanted the parachute folders and the pilot mechanics to be laser-focused.  But then there’s the reams of waivers you have to sign that use words like injury, death and mortal—it’s enough to make your knuckles white.

Everyone diving that day showed signs of nervousness, but I was so calm, strangers assumed I was a regular. For me it was simple—this was something that needed to be overcome. Nothing, including this long drawn-out waiting period, would stop me.

Flying was part of God’s plan for my life. I knew I could no longer begin every journey in a state of anxiety and panic. I also knew I had to be a role model for my daughter, teach her courage and to not be afraid, to live life fully, with focus and without fear.

The plane itself was enough to motivate even the most acrophobic (those afraid of heights and falling) to want to leap from it. A rickety old thing, plied together in places (I’m not joking) with varying types of duct tapes, it had a little too much breeze and rattle for my liking.

Once airborne and almost ready to dive, I sat right at the opening of the jump door. I noticed the first knocking of my knees when the hatch opened and a cold gust of wind slammed against my face. It was the window seat from hell. As the plane turned sideways to dump the free fallers, there I was, open sky, a droning engine in my ear and down below, planet Earth.

Another untold for the novice skydiver: tandems have to hold on, hurl your body out, bring it back in, then jump—all to gain enough momentum for the dive. That knee-knocking foxhole moment of hurling my body out only to have to come back in was too much—this had to end. I remember shouting an expletive and taking the leap.

The free-fall drop, the moments before the parachute opened, was the ultimate adrenaline rush. Floating on my belly with my limbs lifted, I felt complete liberation. A smiling photographer floated across from me, loving life. Contagiously, there was nothing but joy racing through my limbs.

This was my time with God: viewing the planet through that rounded film of atmosphere—the perfect Santa Barbara coastline, the majestic weather. What a momentary indulgence in His creation. It felt smooth and safe. I was praying, but unlike my Chicago flight, I prayed with praise and joy for this wonderful experience of feeling alive and fearless in the sky. The landing was triumphant, my feet like feathers touching the ground.

The experience taught me that I must face my fears head-on—to go through the door I was too afraid to open. I have had two opportunities in my life to look death in the eye, and through both I was deep in prayer, but one experience was governed by fear and the other by joy.

In passing through my fears, a whole new world awaited me, one of infinite possibility where I now define my life through faith in Him.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I would love to hear:

• Are there any doors that represent fear in your life?

• What would happen if you opened the door?

• What awaits you on the other side of your particular fear?

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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

Photo credit: flickr.com 

A Picture of Divine Love: For Sarah

“Go ahead, try me … Give me a chance to show you how much I can love you when you have gone out of your way to be unlovable.”

By Shekinah Jacob

The first time I saw you in the flesh, your body was still attached to mine, breathing my oxygen, sharing the same sheath of skin.

The unbroken umbilical cord made us one body, and when they placed you on my belly I struggled to register that moment in history, my mind panting to grasp it through the haze of exhaustion and the memory of the abyss of pain I’d been lost in just seconds before that.

I held your bloody, slimy fingers and croaked, “Hi there.”

Your eyes, filmed over with mucous and afterbirth, gazed out at the world you’d only heard but never seen.

And then they severed the umbilical cord; you were returned to me bathed and wrapped up, your face emerging from the bundle of linen like a newly-bloomed rosebud, an oven-warm loaf of bread– fresh delivery from another world.

When you were on your way out of my body, I felt as if I was at the butcher’s, being torn apart in a neat vertical line separating my right pelvic joint from the left, as if I were cleaved in half, all the way up to my cranium in order to make a passage for your entry into the world.

Extreme pain is like being stuck in the vortex of a fire. And they say fire purifies; it burns out the dross and births gold. I know that is true, because the pain distilled my love for you: drop by sweaty drop. It collected in an eternal reservoir of unfathomable, immeasurable love that never runs dry.

Catching my Breath

Although you are now four, you are still too young to know that the sight of your small eager face gazing at mine makes me catch my breath. Every now and then, I pull you close and hold you for a few moments. Sometimes you toss your head like a perky horse and wriggle out of my grasp, and then I use some guile to keep you there–a redundant question, a whispered nonsense of a secret, a silly joke. And while I keep you this close, I drink in the smell of your nutbrown skin, nuzzle your twig of a neck, rub my nose in your wayward hair.

Sometimes you turn around with a giggle or a puzzled stare and I stare back at you with all my strength, willing my eyes to send you a message that says I love you for being you.

Because you are mine.

Because you have my eyes and because your chipped tooth is the cutest imperfection I’ll see in my lifetime. And I want you to know that I will always love you.

Go ahead, try me.

Get impossibly fat, fail at something big, hate me for no reason, take your anger at the world and direct it at me. Give me a chance to show you how much I can love you when you have gone out of your way to be unlovable.

I keep telling you that God loves you just the way I do.

I tell you that I know he loves me too. But the truth is that often I lose my way in the maze of my own rational thinking.

God Loves Me 

I build walls with my imperfections, so I can blot out a perfect being. Just to help Him out, you know, so He can have his morning cup of tea without having to take me in with the view. On these days when I can’t look at myself in the mirror, I have moments of lucidity when I feel God’s pain at being left on the other side of my wall.

I want to believe that He loves me the way I love you, but it’s real hard.

It’s as if I can see all that love, but my heart tells me it’s just a pretty mirage in this desert of my making, that if I walked over for a closer look at it, all I’d be left with is the shadow of myself in the sand.

Wild Hope 

You’d think it would be easier, that my crazy mother-love for you would give me some insight; would help me hold onto the fact that perhaps a God who illogically courted pain for me, who deliberately picked out the worst kind of death to prove his love, might enjoy loving me, no matter what … despite my “what if’s” and “but why’s,” despite the manic Mondays and frivolous Fridays, despite the endless nail-biting, self-hating hours spent running after love.

But it’s real hard because often my heart refuses to keep up with my mind.

So, give me one more chance to hold you close again, to hear myself speak the unintelligible language of love, to keep murmuring until I detect in it the faint echoes of the real thing. Until my wild hope turns into the quiet certainty that I’m keeping a similarly insane love waiting, for me, on the other side of my wall.

About Shekinah:

Shekinah is a drama queen who lives in Chennai, India, with her knight (not always in shining armour because it tends to get too hot to wear metal clothing) and their two toddlers who make her laugh, and love her on bad hair days. Her idea of heaven is coffee, a good conversation, and cupcakes with zero calories. She likes writing about her family because it’s a good way to preserve the memories, and more enjoyable than taking photographs.

Image credit: EXISTENCE © Sara Robinson | Dreamstime.com; S Olsen via Pinterest

ShePonders: Restitution

“… I want to see this kind of salvation come to my house.”
By Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha

Audio: ShePonders: Restitution

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.

The Six Degrees of Long-Distance Relationships (LDRs) and other Separations

“If I feel like God is far away—He’s not the one who moved.”

By Ashley Mandanici | Twitter: @ashleymandanici

Have you ever been in any kind of long-distance relationship? Not just the romantic kind.

I have, and I cannot say I “rock” at maintaining them, nor do I enjoy the distance.

Here’s a quick glance at how many long-distance relationships (romantic and otherwise) I have had in the past or am currently maintaining:

• My best friend has been in Indiana for several years completing her Master’s degree.
• I was in a rather serious relationship with a gentleman caller for about two years (on again, off again, courtesy of our long distance situation).
• I have just one family member who lives within a healthy proximity to me. Otherwise, my brother, sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins span from Kelowna to California to Ohio.
• Finally, as much as I enjoy the cultural diversity of my social group, I have dear friends scattered like dandelion seeds across countries and continents.

Needless to say, phone calls, text messages, e-mails, Skype dates, Facebook and Facetime have all become rather dear to me. But I find even with all of these modes of communication, I am still left with a devastating amount of space between us that, despite my best efforts, words cannot fill.

Six Degrees of (Long-Distance) Separation

I have noticed that whether it’s a boyfriend, a friend or a family member, the emotions that accompany a long-distance relationship are often similar. The following is a list of emotions I have experienced whilst engaged in a Long-Distance Relationship or “LDR”:

•  Anticipation/ Excitement: This emotion is typical when the times I have seen or heard from the person supersede the time we have been apart.

• Frustration: Frustration rears its ugly head after enough time has passed so I know the other person surely has a new story or anecdote to share, but I have yet to hear about it.

• Denial:  Possibly spurred on by things like Destiny’s Child songs about women and their independence, at this stage in the LDR a reassurance falls over me that I need no one!

• Hopelessness: When the times we have been apart supersedes the time in which we have been together, I begin doubting the validity of my relationship.

• Anger: Perhaps my LDR updated her Facebook status and didn’t as much as poke me. Or maybe he had a whole day off and did not make any effort to call. Whether my reasoning is justified or completely unwarranted, feelings of anger in a long-distance relationship are undeniable.

• Joy: The very sound of his voice brings a tidal wave of relief and all the emotions you once felt, are swept away with pure joy.

[ Lather, rinse, and repeat.]

Regardless of the different kinds of long distance relationships we may experience, I’m sure this truth remains: Being devoted to someone we cannot see, is hard.

Degrees of separation with God

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” ~Kahlil Gibran

As I looked at this list of LDR-related emotions, I began to draw some parallels between my human long-distance relationships and my relationship with God. I realized that just as I have felt all of the six (long distance) degrees of separation with my friends, family and romances; I have also felt these emotions towards God. The anticipation and excitement as I wait on His call, the denial in thinking I don’t need Him, the hopelessness I feel when I don’t hear His voice, the anger when everyone else gets a “poke” but me, and the sheer joy of finally hearing His voice.

But in all of the parallels I have drawn, I discovered one major contrast: With God, absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder; it makes my heart grow further.

“Draw near to me, and I will draw near to you.” James 4:8 (NIV)

God isn’t awkwardly fumbling around trying to maintain seven billion long-distance relationships—on the contrary, we are the ones who choose how close our relationship with God will be. Which reminds me that if I feel like God is far away—He’s not the one who moved.

“I will never leave you; I will never forget you.” Hebrews 13:5 (International Children’s Version)

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How about you:

• How many long-distance relationships are you maintaining?
• What feelings do you struggle with in LDRs with people?
• Have you ever felt distanced from God and why?
• Do you believe that closeness in our relationship with God can be influenced by our own initiative?

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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

Wellness Wednesday: Why Hide? My Journey of Hope, Faith and Overcoming

By Kerstin Knaack | Twitter: @KerstinKnaack

” If I don’t share my life and the difficult journey I have made, it will be harder for God to work through me.”

I am ten weeks pregnant. It takes courage for me to tell you that.

Why? This is my fourth pregnancy–my first three babies are in heaven.

I am from Germany. There, we don’t usually tell people we are pregnant until the fourth month of pregnancy. But several weeks ago, I went to Brazil and found out the women there announce their pregnancies as soon as they have a positive test in their hands. I asked why they do this, considering most miscarriages occur within the first three months. They said that in their culture, they celebrate and mourn together. If something happens to the baby, they come to the mother’s side, offering everything from a big hug to cooking for her or massaging her feet. Whatever she needs, they journey with her.

Loss

My first miscarriage was in 2009 in the eighth week; the second was in 2011 in the 33rd week and the third was at the end of 2011 in the 12th week. All these losses were difficult, but to give birth to a dead baby in the ninth month of pregnancy was definitely the most painful.

After the third miscarriage, I wasn’t able to pray or worship. My heart ached, but I had good friends who carried me through. When I was far from God, they spoke life and truth over me. My church gathered around and carried me. When I couldn’t pray, they prayed for me; when I couldn’t worship, they worshiped for me.

I knew that death doesn’t come from God — He is love and nothing bad comes from him—but He did allow this to happen.

Restoration

After several weeks, I reached a place where I was able to think about my situation in a different way. If God allowed this to happen, there must be something good within these situations. This was a turning point for me—I wanted to turn bad into good. It was a decision, not a feeling. I chose to no longer accept being bound by lies.

So many good things happened as a result of my miscarriages:

- my marriage to my husband Rainer became stronger and we decided to give 100 percent of our lives to God, stepping into His purpose for us

- the opportunity developed to do an internship at Relate Church, Canada, with Pastors John and Helen Burns

- my father returned to my life after 28 years of rejection

- friends put their lives into Jesus’ hands.

Overcoming

From now on, I will no longer hide. I have discovered that it is healthy for me to talk about how I feel and which thoughts and emotions have kept me away from God. If I don’t share my life and the difficult journey I have made, it will be harder for God to work through me. I want Him to use me to help other women and to fulfill His plan.

That’s why I am openly telling people that I am pregnant for the fourth time.

Is it easy for me to enjoy my pregnancy? Definitely not. Every day I am reminded of the past, the positive pregnancy tests; pictures of my big belly; the ultrasounds; the decorated nursery; the movements in my belly; memories of the day I was told our daughter had passed away; the pain of giving birth to a dead baby and the joy of having her in our arms;  Rainer’s love letter to our new daughter; the invoice from the funeral parlor.

Stepping Forward in Faith

How do I deal with these images and the daily fear of possibly having the same pain again? There is no magic solution–it’s a journey every day. I think back to those Brazilian women, who understand what sisterhood means and I know that if I fall, my sisterhood will carry me. And I talk about it. If I am overwhelmed by fear, I ask my husband or a friend to help me.

The opposite of fear is faith. God holds my life in His hands. I trust Him.

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 About Kerstin

Kerstin Knaack was born and raised in the city of Kirchheim, Germany. She and her husband Rainer are currently involved in an internship at Relate Church in Surrey, BC, where they are learning to be leaders and teachers in the area of  marriage, family and sexuality.  Their long-term vision is to teach on these topics and to raise a large family of their own.

Love Letter to Two Strangers

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, you might guess I’d write about warm fuzzy feelings for those nearest and dearest. Well, you’d be half right …

By Stefanie Thomas | Twitter: @stefanie_nicole

I consider myself to be a fairly observant person (I like to think I would make a good detective), but I find it’s all too easy to go through my day without really seeing the people I cross paths with. I mean, I see them, but I don’t often pay attention to them. I see the man in the car beside me, and though we have something in common (we’re stopped at the same red light), I don’t give much thought to who he is, where he’s going, what kind of day he’s having. It’s not that I don’t care about the man in the car beside me, it’s just that I’m usually too wrapped up in my own thoughts to really consider him.

The Woman

One morning a few years ago, on my drive to work, I noticed a woman walking slowly down the street. To say she was inching her way along the sidewalk wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Her legs were bowed under the weight of her body. Having seen several loved ones struggle with “bad knees,” I guessed that this woman was living with similar pain. My heart went out to her and I prayed for God to bring comfort and healing in her body. As I put my care and attention on this woman – a total stranger – I was surprised to feel my eyes welling up with tears. Over the following weeks, I’d often see her in the early mornings, lumbering along that same stretch of road. I imagined she, too, was on her way to work. She’d round the corner and wait to be fetched by a bus. I began to look for this woman as I approached that intersection, praying for her, whether I saw her or not.

On days when I felt a bit blah or worried if I’d make it to work on time, seeing this woman snapped me right out of it. Focusing on her helped me put things into perspective. I’m not sure if my prayers were answered, but I do know without a doubt that praying for this stranger fed my heart and spirit. Eventually I found a different route to work, but I still think of that woman from time to time. I hope she has been blessed, in ways big and small.

The Man

Several years ago, one of my sisters moved into a new apartment. A big family lived in the building and I often saw the father crossing the street to collect his kids from school. In fact, I rarely visited my sister without seeing this man coming or going. Over time, sightings of the man grew more frequent. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, in different parts of town and my sisters and I would nudge each other as if to say, “Look who it is!”

The man came to recognize us and would smile and wave hello. We ran into him (and mentioned him) so often we eventually dubbed him “The Man.” The stock response to seeing him became, “Of course!”

On my birthday that year, a situation led to my family dinner being cancelled at the last minute. It became a party of two–my younger sister and I–going for a chilly nighttime walk at the beach. I was disappointed that the birthday celebration had unraveled, but decided I would  be grateful for the beauty of nature and the company of my kid sis.

And then it started to rain.

And then it started to pour.

Neither of us had an umbrella or a raincoat, so we took shelter under a big tree. As we stood there shivering, I could either have burst into laughter or burst into tears. And then, like a beacon in the night, wearing a white T-shirt and shorts (in January!), who do we see emerging from the darkness? You guessed it–The Man–out for a walk with his son.

Of course.

When I saw The Man, all of my disappointment washed away.

“It felt like a wink from God, telling me I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

Not long after this, my sister and I were across town when we saw The Man heading our way. (Of course.) Our grins turned to surprised laughter when The Man spotted us and yelled, “I love you guys!” in his thick Eastern European accent before disappearing into a store.

Another God-wink.

Last summer, when my sister prepared to move out of her apartment, I realized that we probably wouldn’t see The Man anymore. It seemed ridiculous, but I was going to miss him. I’d grown accustomed to seeing his smile, to watching with a warm heart as he cared for his children. I never had a conversation with him, but The Man no longer felt like a stranger to me. His presence reminded me that we are all connected. Seeing him reminded me of God.

On moving day, I went to help my sister vacate her home. On one of my trips to the moving truck, I noticed The Man was also loading things into a big truck. I smiled at him and perhaps he could see the question in my expression, because he said to me: “We’re moving out today. We’re going to a new home across the bridge.”

Of course.

What perfect timing.

They would never know it, but these two strangers – this woman and this man – have touched my life. Yes, we live in a busy world and it would be impossible to pay attention to everyone we cross paths with. But once in a while, we might glance upon a stranger and pause for a beat. We might notice them, and wish for them to be loved and blessed.

Who knows, maybe we are the man who moves someone to remember God. Maybe we are the woman that someone else is praying for, right at this very moment.

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My dear SheLoves friends:

• Is there a stranger you hold up in your heart sometime?
• How does God remind you that you are in the right place at the right time?
• Any other comments?

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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.

Stale Cake? By Choice.

” … I am flavored with a conviction, perhaps unconventional, that never ceases to fuel my appetite for adventure, exploration and contemplation.”

By Ali Valdez

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

To Give a Hundred Thank You’s

How many Thank You’s do we have, written on our hearts?

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

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.