SheLoves Magazine

How to Run Away. Or: What I Learned from the Wizard of Oz

“It was okay that I desired to run away; I just needed to figure out what exactly I was running away to.”

By Ashley Mandanici | Twitter: @ashleymandanici

Last weekend I ran away. I am not saying that figuratively; I actually ran away. I purchased a plane ticket, packed my cute little purple suitcase and ran as far as my feet could carry me. Apparently, my feet could only carry me as far as Winnipeg, Manitoba.

I’ll be honest; it had been a hard week. No, “hard week” sounds too mild … Last week sucker-punched me in the heart. Yeah, that’s more like it. I was forced to confront some issues at home and at work that I wasn’t really that eager to deal with—and of course, if things are going to happen, they’re all going to happen at the same time.

I felt like a failure. I felt frustrated. And I felt fed up. And when you feel like that many “F” words, you know you need to do something.

I began to identify with Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I had this insatiable urge to throw all my belongings into a wicker basket, hop onto a bicycle and try and outrun the twister.

However, I couldn’t deny the nagging suspicion that by running away, I was behaving like a complete and utter coward.

“You are under the unfortunate impression that just because you run away you have no courage.”- The Wizard of Oz

On the night of my runaway, a rather wise friend called me up for a chat. As we were talking about our week (sucker punches and all) he made an off-the-cuff remark about how I had “run away” from my problems for the weekend, which followed with me confessing that that was exactly my intention.  This took us along a whole rabbit trail (or yellow brick road if you will) of thoughts ranging from Moses running away from Egypt, to Elijah feeling overwhelmed by leadership, to me trying to explain the entire story of the Wizard of Oz in less than a minute.

Meanwhile, my friend summed up our whole discussion with these simple words :

“Ashley, I guess it’s not about what you are running away from, but rather what you are running away to.”

Off to See the Wizard

I couldn’t help but think about Dorothy again and her quest to see the Wizard. I imagined her happily (and somewhat ignorantly) skipping down the yellow brick road towards the Emerald city. I thought about the characters she found along the way and how they all needed something—a brain, a heart, some courage … a home. I thought about how Dorothy’s problems still managed to find her—the only difference was that this time she was heading somewhere.

The more I thought about it, the more the whole “running away” idea began to appeal to me. It was okay that I desired to run away; I just needed to figure out what exactly I was running away to. I needed to figure out who exactly my Wizard was going to be. You know, just like the fictional movie character I had decided to base my life around.

Just click your heals three times …

The ending of the Wizard of Oz always got me a little angry for a couple different reasons. One, because Dorothy went through all that drama to be told that she had the power to get what she wanted the whole time, and because the movie ends as a dream sequence and I hate when movies end in a dream sequence.

I suppose my weekend ended pretty similarly though, well, apart from the dream sequence thing. (That didn’t happen.) However I needed to run away so I could begin to see “home” more clearly. My runaway put the colour back into my world when I was stuck seeing everything in black and white. My runaway gave my brain a much-needed rest, my heart some much-needed healing, and it also helped me grow a little courage. I was reunited with friends, drove around a new city and got lost a bunch of times. And I smiled so much my face started hurting.

I needed to run away to remind myself where I was going. I needed to run away to remind myself that God wasn’t some Wizard I could only find with the help of a magic formula. God had been with me the whole way. No heal clicking necessary.

And just like my friend Dorothy, I needed to run away to realize I already had everything I needed.

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My dear SheLoves friends:

• If you could run away to anything or anyone right now, what would you run away to?
• What do you need to find?
• Any other comments or thoughts?

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

Senior Moments That Matter: Thank you, Connie

“I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father.”

By Daniela Schwartz | Twitter: @dannyschwartz
Today I want to tell you about Connie. Every month I lead a group of faithful moms on a visit to our local seniors home. We bring our young children and babies and the seniors love our little visits.

From our very first visit, I connected with the lovely Connie. She reminded me of my grandmother who passed away at a very tender time in my life.

Tender Years

My parents had just separated. I had moved away from my mother to follow my twin sister who felt obligated to take care of our father. My father was falling into a deep pit of alcoholism and drug addiction. It was a very lonely time in my life. We had moved to live with my aunt and her family. My grandma was the only maternal person in my life.

I was 10 years old. My body was changing; I was changing.

I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father. Not the big kind, but the kind you put on the back of a pick-up truck. My grandma and my sister felt like all I had left in the world.

Every night I sat with her in the living room. She told stories, tried to teach me French and had the most beautiful, pure white hair. She had brown freckles everywhere which she told me were liver spots. And she smelled like Oil of Olay.

She made me toast and coffee for breakfast every morning and filled my maternal void. She loved me and I loved her.

One morning I was up, getting ready for school when I heard her call out in fear. I ran to her room, but was brushed aside by my aunt. I peered in from the door. Something was wrong. My Grandma was crying, saying she couldn’t walk. She had had a stroke in her sleep that night.

About a month later my Grandma passed away. She was the first person I loved who died.

I felt shattered and misplaced.

At that point, I’d experienced more than one person should have to go through in a lifetime. Following her death, one of the most difficult things I had to do, was open my heart again. I had guarded my heart for years and it’s been quite the journey with God who continuously presents me with opportunities to love.

I didn’t expect our seniors visits to be one of those opportunities.

When I first met her, Connie seemed too sharp-minded to be in the home. She read widely and I even brought her books from home to add to her library. But as time went on, I could see the disease attacking her mind, started to win.

Connie started to fill a soft space in my heart, a place that stilled echoed with the loss of my beloved grandma. It was a place I had abandoned as a heartbroken ten-year-old, unable to cope with the amount of loss life had doled out.

This past Christmas we had our second Christmas visit with our seniors. We dressed in our best and brought special gifts for the kids to hand out. I had it on my list to pick up a book as a special gift for Connie. At my last visit, when saying goodbye, she mentioned how it had been a rough year for her healthwise and I wanted to do something special for her. Although I did not get around to picking up that book, I thought I could just pop in after our visit one day and drop it off.

On my arrival, the Recreation Coordinator quickly pulled me to the side. She knew I’d be looking for Connie and told me the news: Connie had passed away.

I tried to absorb the shock. Over the next hour, I bit back the flood of tears. I concentrated on decorating cookies, singing carols and looking intently into the faces of the seniors I had come to know … Suddenly I wanted to stop time.

When we came to the end of our visit, I pushed through the exit doors and let go of all the tears I’d been holding in. I cried off and on for the rest of that day. The grief was unexpected, but important.

I had been so afraid to open my heart again; to love and expose myself to the possibility of deep loss. But Connie awakened a part of me that was dormant and hurting, making me aware that maybe the things I instinctively avoid, may hold a key to unlocking the biggest miracles.

I now understand it is better to have loved and lost.

Visiting these seniors also opened my eyes to the treasure our elders are. I think maybe because of the loss of my grandmother, I used to resent old age and what it represented, but today, when I see a senior struggling with a bag or a door, I jump to help, not because they are helpless, but because it’s my honor to serve these treasures in our society.

For that I have to thank Connie.

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About Daniela:
Daniela is stepping into the role of 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.

What I Learned from Fasting the Internet for 31 Days

SEEKING EVE MONDAY

Sometimes seeking + finding requires stepping out of the game.

By Christina Crook

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We are little gods on the internet.

Crafting and controlling our image on the world wide web. My sister and I joke that we should start a site called realmom.com where we do weekly photo challenges like: “Go take a picture of your toilet seat. RIGHT NOW.”

It wouldn’t be pretty.

And much of life isn’t. But it is real.

And, like our friend Pam Hogeweide recently reminded us, as followers of Jesus, we should be the most human humans of all.

In an attempt to put things in perspective I felt prompted to take myself out of the online game.

For 31 days I fasted the interwebs in all its forms. No google mapping. No email. No blogging, online news or Facebook. Each day I type-wrote a letter to my friend, Marisa, chronicling the journey.

I was seeking to …

• enliven my real relationships and filter out the extra
• open my ears to God’s voice and my eyes wide to the world around me, while the hum of my online life fell quiet
• remove my go-to time-fillers: contextless information via newsfeeds, Facebook and Google Reader
• challenge me to engage with new ideas, books, conversations, I’d tend to miss otherwise

Here’s what I learned in 31 days off-line:

There is something about the immediacy, the therapeutic clickity-clack of the typewriter that allows for a different kind of writing. The kind that spills from the heart rather than the head. The kind that’s intended for a single, known reader than a large, unknown audience.

Stepping off-line for 31 days got my hands moving, disciplined me to write every single day with or without a four-month-old and a two-year-old clambering about my knees. It was a luxury I could afford, being home with the kids and not bound to online work through an out-of-house job. But it was a sacrifice.

I had to say goodbye to my online comforts.

It made me feel small. It showed me I am small.

It taught me how to trust, that the world keeps on turning without my words, without my likes and dislikes.

It revealed the beauty of unplanned moments, reminding me that chance encounters beat out an online connection any day.

I learned that the smartphone check-ins I make multiple times a day are not actual time-savers but time-suckers. That if I, as a mama-of-two, want to engage with new ideas, read books, study, create — then I have to save up all of those two-minute, one-minute, ten-minute windows and bank them for things I really want to do. Like write poetry. Phone my Grandma. Skype my sister. Read The New Yorker.

I remembered that my children are watching and practicing every move I make. Word and deed. For better or worse.

I discovered the peace, the quietness of mind, I had been hungering for.

And I learned that snail mail gets people’s attention.

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ShePonders: Black and Beautiful

“In the shade of the trees on that sunny afternoon, all we could do was cry and pray that our children would be spared the hurt of prejudice and the injustice of discrimination because of their dark skin.”

By Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha | Twitter: @kelljnik

The most intriguing and intoxicating woman of the Bible, for me, has always been the Shulamite woman we find in The Song of Songs.

“Yes, I am black and radiant!

O city women watching me –

As black as Kedar’s goat hair tents

Or Solomon’s fine tapestries.

 

Will you disrobe me with your stares?

The eyes of many morning suns

Have pierced my skin and now I shine

Black as the light before dawn.”  (Song of Songs 1:5-6, translated by Marcia Falk)

Such a bold introduction as she declares with pride that she is black and beautiful! She announces her dark complexion as a definitive beauty mark before the crowd of watchful city women; she stands against any words to the contrary. This ravishing beauty has confidence laced with moxy–maybe part of the reason I find her so compelling!

The Hebrew poetry here is a tour de force. She is black and radiant. She is black as the renowned tents that the Kedarites weave with only the wool of black goats. She is black as the mysterious curtains or tapestries in Solomon’s temple. She is like the shining blackness, pregnant with light, the moment before dawn breaks. These are all images of blackness as a deeply mysterious and luxurious kind of beauty. And as such, she embraces her full compliment of dark, sun-kissed, beauty.  She is the IT girl for the ancient “Black is Beautiful” campaign.

But the Hebrew poetry is always a bit elusive, never conforming to only one reading. And so we also have this translation for verse six:

“Do not see me only as dark:

The sun has stared at me.”  (translated by Ariel & Chana Bloch)

Hearing the Hebrew words in this manner, brings the Shulamite woman closer to my heart this week.  She carries an awareness not only of her stunning beauty, but also of how her dark skin can sometimes be all that people see. Even for this woman, dark skin holds connotations of a lower social class.  She knows that not everyone sees beyond her blackness–we can be thankful that Solomon possessed greater wisdom.

How Others See

Flashback to The Justice Conference in Portland this past February where I sat between Idelette and Tina. I heard that black young men are more likely (to a staggering degree) to be arrested, accused, convicted and incarcerated for crimes they did not commit. I heard that black young women are more likely to be victims of sex trafficking. Something in me broke. A geyser of tears pushed from deep in my belly, exploding on the floor of the event center.  My uncontrolled tears matched the realization that I could not control how others see my son and daughter.

My son is highly intelligent and inquisitive, he has a depth of emotion and such physical velocity that I sometimes struggle to parent him well. My daughter is affectionate, cheerful, unflappable and so fearless that it both inspires and frightens me!  They are my children. That is how I see them. But on that rainy afternoon I slammed into the reality that others see only their black skin. They could be at peril in this precarious world so permeated with injustice. And there is nothing I can do …

Packing Skittles

Fast forward to recent weeks where a tragic story broke in Florida. A teenage boy was shot. He was wearing a hoodie and packing Skittles and an iced tea. He was black. His blackness made him suspicious. This is, we are learning, a complicated case. But there is little doubt that race played into the chain of events. I avoided the story at first–turned the channel or walked out of the room to fold some laundry or put away dishes in the kitchen. I did not want to go there; I did not want to feel that uncontrollable hurt and fear again.

But my son is black. He wears a hoodie to school on cold mornings and he likes Skittles. It could be him walking home some day. I feel that chock of pain vibrate through my body again. He is at greater risk because he is black. What do I, as a mother, do with that?

I am a white woman, raised with every advantage and every privilege–what do I know of living with blackness? But now I have been entrusted with two stunning black babies and I am to be their guardian and guide in this world–it feels a bit ironic. And as I consider what it is to be black in this world, I feel heaviness and heartbreak have moved in to my maternal psyche.

Discrimination

This week I sat in the park with my friend as our children played together. I cried about how the world sees my black babies, who I adore. She cried too – because as an Arab woman she knows the world sees her lovely boys as future terrorists. In the shade of the trees on that sunny afternoon, all we could do was cry and pray that our children would be spared the hurt of prejudice and injustice of discrimination because of their dark skin.

I feel like I am “obeying the sadness of our times,” as Frederick Buechnersays. I am sitting with this raw sadness now, not trying to escape it. I am coming face to face with this reality that not everyone has the wisdom of Solomon to see that black is beautiful and the ability to embrace those with dark complexion and bright countenance. Sometimes you have to feel the pain before you can transform it, and that is where I am right now.

Today I am keeping company with the Shulamite woman. But it is not because she fascinates me with her confidence or display of gender equality or even her robust expression of affection, but because I need to be with someone who understands me. She and I agree: black is beautiful. My daughter is like her–dark and radiant, absolutely glowing with that just-before-dawn-beauty. The Shulamite woman understands that kind of gorgeous.  But she also knows the world will misunderstand it. She knows, better than I, that some people can never see beyond skin color. But we hold hands and hope things will get better.  We commit to do our part to break the prejudice in our world.  But for today, we sit together and say, “do not see them only as dark … “

This is one Mama’s prayer.

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

• What “sadness of our times” are you carrying?
• What’s your greatest fear or pain for your children?
• Any other comments?

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Audio: ShePonders: Black and Beautiful

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.

Living with Open Windows

[FROM OUR ARCHIVES]

“What I experience as interruptions—outages of my expectations—my fellow Chennaites often take in stride.”

By Stacy Wiebe

People in my adoptive city of Chennai, India live with their windows open. Neighbor kids dart in and out of each other’s houses. On the roads, drivers tap-tap-tap their horns to let you know they’re behind you. In church services and at weddings, children run up and down the aisles (and no one’s too distracted).

Our doorbell rings 10 times more often than it did in the US: the water delivery guy, the ironing lady, the landlord escorting a barefoot electrician in to change our lightbulbs—all within half an hour.

The 10 million people of this city are largely unruffled by the constant hum of human activity.

I’ve got a lot to learn from them.

North Americans, quite often, are planners. We like to be proactive, set goals. And when our goals get blocked and our plans get changed, we are not happy. The infrastructure and choices that frame life in North America give us at least the illusion that we’re in control. Life and time and people are things that our books tell us must be managed.

Indians tend to be fantastic adapters and improvisers. They may set goals, but they accept obstacles as well, and are ready to make adjustments. Life and time and people are often simply enjoyed in present tense.

Adapting

In our city, the electricity goes out daily for 1-4 hour intervals. When it went off in the grocery store today, there were no gasps; the shoppers just carried on, squinting at the shelves in the dark.

What I experience as interruptions—outages of my expectations—my fellow Chennaites often take in stride.

The last three years in India have been forming me into a more whole person as I see both the values and the blindspots in myself through the eyes of another culture.

Dance

It’s a dance, balancing goal-orientation with people-orientation, responding gracefully to interruptions, especially when they come in human form. Jesus is the only one who’s gotten it exactly right. When the unsightly, the broken and the desperate clamored for His time and touch, He turned towards them and gave them His full attention. He was never in a hurry. He made plans, but changed them as easily. When He suggested the disciples go away with Him for some prayer and downtime, and a huge crowd ran ahead to meet them, His heart was moved to speak with them and give all 5,000 of them dinner. Only after that did He resume His pursuit of solitude.

Another time, Jesus was on His way to Jairus’ house to heal his sick daughter, and He stopped to bring healing to the woman who touched His robe. Meanwhile, Jairus’ daughter died. But the delay provided an opportunity to draw out Jairus’ faith and demonstrate His power in speaking her back to life.

So, with Jesus as my teacher and India as my classroom, I’m learning. I can view people as goal-blockers or as people to love. I can choose to be present. To keep going in the dark. To spot opportunities in the detours. To allow delays to remind me that God’s in charge. To keep the windows of my soul open wide.

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Your thoughts?

• No matter what culture or continent we’re from, our personalities may tend towards task-orientation or people-orientation. How do you balance these in your life?
• What interruptions can you welcome in Jesus’ name?

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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.

Down We Go: Practicing Equality

“The beautiful, wild body of Christ is supposed to be the one place where the playing field is leveled and all are equal.”

By Kathy Escobar | Twitter: @kathyescobar

“There is no more beautiful art than to see a person, a man, a woman, a child, crafted in God’s image and living as fully into that image of God that only they can fill. It not only makes them more beautiful, it makes God more beautiful.” -  Christa Romig-Leavitt

Part of a life centered on downward mobility means becoming people who practice equality in the relationships and systems we are in. Equality and power are intimately entwined. Like diffusion of power, equality means that everyone has an important voice that needs to be heard; it’s ensuring that everyone is welcome at the table.

Many of you reading haven’t felt equal in the systems you have been in.

- Your gifts have been undervalued.

- Your gender has been a barrier.

- You have not been treated equally.

It hurts.

And sometimes dreaming about really practicing equality feels scary.

It is, indeed, risky. But like so many of the ways of Jesus, we must try. Changing the world won’t come by staying stuck and unempowered.  It will come through brave men and women stepping up and into this important Kingdom principle: practicing equality.

Jesus broke down barriers of inequality. Now we need to play our part in it as well.

Equality crosses more than just gender.  Gender is sometimes the most obvious piece of equality to focus on, but gender equality dovetails into other divides such socio-economics, race, education and life circumstances. The beautiful, wild body of Christ is supposed to be the one place where the playing field is leveled and all are equal. The Apostle Paul reminds us, “There is no longer Jew or gentile, slave or free, male and female. All are one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28)

Many of us have heard this passage many times.

But many of us have not seen this passage practiced much.

So many things separate us and keep us from living out our full dignity as a child of God.

Equality means freedom from labels, distinctions, assumptions and preferences that look exactly like us. It begins with seeing the other as God sees them, as human beings created with a distinct and unique image. When one is put underneath another in a consistent up-down position, it means that one party’s power is always diminished. Equality is mutual submission, the kind that often gets overlooked: “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.”  (Ephesians 5:21)

For me, women being regarded as less than men damages the foundation of the value of human beings in a way that affects not only women but also the under-represented, voiceless, powerless and marginalized. If the two primary groups in humanity—men and women—aren’t treated equally, then it is a much greater stretch to expect other forms of equality.  In living out Jesus’ ways and creating equality-infused communities and little pockets of love, some critical questions need to be asked:

• Where am I experiencing inequality in relationships, organizations and systems?
• How can I begin to see myself as equal and others as equal?
• How do power and equality mix together?
• How can we work to make equality normal?

The best way to make equality normal is to just do it instead of talk about it. We have practiced making equality normal at The Refuge from the beginning.  We don’t talk much about women in leadership or why we have an open floor where anyone can share or elevate certain roles or titles above another.  We try to just practice it with actions not words.

However, practicing gender equality, like every other Kingdom principle, is not an easy task. There’s sometimes resistance to it.  We’ve had people leave our community because of our inclusion of homosexuals and our openness to a wide range of theological ideas. To them, this kind of radical equality is too scary. To us, it embodies the kind of healing space Jesus created.

“There are a lot of forces working against equality because of our natural human propensity to divide, judge, and power-up on each other.”

It will take brave men and women who are willing to go against the grain of the systems and cultures they live in to take a stand on behalf of a better way.

- It means we will have to make room for others at our tables.

- It means we will have to sit at tables we’re not used to sitting at.

- It means we will have to push through criticism and people throwing Bible-verses at us that tell us that we are in sin by seeing ourselves or others as equally qualified to lead.

- It means we will have to be brave.

- It means we will have to be humble.

- It means we will have to work to make equality normal.

God, help us be brave, humble, and willing to practice equality.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts on practicing equality:

1. How are you practicing equality?
2. What are you learning?

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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.

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.

Little Pockets of Love

So many of us have been at the Justice Conference in Portland these past few days. While we are still digesting + thinking through what we learned, this post by Kathy Escobar speaks to the Love and community we know is crucial to seeing Justice flow on the earth. -idelette xo
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Celebrating those places where the beauty, strength and goodness that is within each person has a chance to come out.

By Kathy Escobar | Twitter: @kathyescobar

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“What the world needs now is love, sweet love.  It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of…”

 - Paul Anka

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This song might sound corny 30 years after it was originally recorded, but it’s true.

Love is compelling.

Love is transforming.

Love is possible.

Love is hard.

Love is what the world needs.

Jesus embodied love. His message, his ministry, his death, his resurrection all point toward challenging his followers to emulate love. I always say the world does not need more division, death, or “knowledge.” It needs more love.

And we can be active participants in creating it. Not later, not once we gain more skills or training, not once our kids are out of the house, not once we get that next promotion, not once we have more time, not once we are less afraid.

I think we are called to participate in cultivating the Kingdom of God in the here and now by nurturing what I call “little pockets of love.”

To me, Christians are called to create a space of love for one another in a wide variety of contexts.  Eye-to-eye, face-to-face, heart-to-heart and life-to-life. People knit together on the journey, somehow committed to living, growing, learning, eating, trying and loving together.

My working definition of church is:  “People gathered together in some way, shape, or form to learn and practice the ways of Jesus and pass on love, hope, mercy, justice, and healing in a broken, weird world.”  

I love that there are many different expressions of “church” and deeply hope we can all play our part in small and big ways to reclaim this beautiful word that has been stripped of its original meaning and come to mean sitting in a room listening to someone talk and singing some songs.

I believe people are the church and we can live out our faith in diverse ways. It supersedes language and isn’t limited by our definitions nor by the type of gathering, experience, or context.  When I am with another person cultivating little pockets of love, it is “church.”

Throughout the years I have been transformed through little pockets of love. Very little happened for me in big venues or places where everyone was just like me or where I could easily hide. The places where people called out what was deep within me, stuck with me even when I wanted to run away, pointed me toward God’s real heart for me, and challenged me to pass it on—-those are the places where I seemed to learn the most.

There are many different expressions of pockets of love beyond the ones I’ve been part of at my little faith community, The Refuge, or in other small, intimate and challenging groups.  They are in houses, pubs, the streets, AA meetings, homeless shelters, prisons, schools, traditional churches, workplaces, social clubs, neighborhood gatherings, and a score of other places around the world.

Pockets of love are places where the gospel can be lived out through hearts in action, where Christ’s light can shine into the darkest of places, truth can be spoken, hope can be borrowed, and food can be shared.

Self-hatred, self-doubt, insecurity, depression, disconnectedness and loneliness plague so many, yet we often haven’t created spaces that help shift these damaging patterns. At the heart of God’s mission is the restoration of people. But unless we actually create a space where people can emerge from their wounds, doubts, fears and failures, it is doubtful they will ever discover that love.

If we look at the life of Jesus, it’s hard to imagine the church would be anything other than a diverse scattering of little pockets of love—places where the beauty, strength, and goodness that is within each person has a chance to come out. Where God and man somehow intersect in mysterious, supernatural ways. Where Jesus-in-the-flesh is alive and well, calling out hope, forgiveness, purpose, passion and love.

Little pockets of love don’t happen magically.

It requires much intention, grace and endurance to nurture little pockets of love.

My guess that many of you reading are doing this in all kinds of beautiful ways–cultivating “with” relationships, gathering people together in different creative ways and creating containers for love.  You may not even realize it. You may minimize what you are doing, thinking it’s not organized enough, successful enough, big enough or good enough.

Don’t minimize it. A little love goes a long way. Little pockets of love–safe spaces for people to feel and experience the love of God– are transforming because Jesus is being reflected there through people.

God, help us bravely cultivate little pockets of love in all kinds of shapes and sizes.

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We’d love to hear your thoughts:

• Where have you recently experienced a “little pocket of love?”

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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 just released a new 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.

Image credit: Compassion International, by Kevin Rohr

Mercy: A Daily Practice of Digging for Truth

A daily practice + shedding lies + seeing God’s unconditional Love = Journey to Freedom. 

By Musu Taylor-Lewis | Twitter: @mercycanada

Her voice is strong today, almost matter-of-fact as she explains where her journey started, trying to earn God’s love. A downward spiral that led to self-harm, despair and eventually an attempted suicide.

“I was nine years old when I was molested … It was around this time that I began to lose sight of God’s love for me. I began to feel like I was falling apart from the inside out. I began to believe the lies that there was something inherently wrong with me, something broken that could never be fixed and that no one cared.”

Who could blame her?  When it comes to deep and baffling pain, or even the tentacles of shame, any of us could lose sight of God’s unconditional love. Let alone a nine-year-old girl. We see the reflex to withdraw already in the Garden of Eden when the first pair of humans realized they had made a wrong choice.

“Losing sight of God’s love.” It’s a common theme we find with the young women who come through the doors of Mercy Ministries. Whatever the trigger–abuse, school pressure, a harsh word from a parent or even misunderstanding God’s love–the light of God’s love is dimmed each time a seemingly-logical lie gets repeated, whether in the privacy of the mind or out loud.

Thoughts like:

-“God wasn’t there when I was hurting.”

- “Nobody cares.”

- “If I do more, maybe He would love me.”

- “I’m too bad for God’s reach.”

That is why I’ve fallen in love with one particular daily exercise carried out by the residents at Mercy. I’ve watched how this exercise helps restore the ability to see God’s love. I’ve learned this: Seeing, grasping, knowing and understanding God’s love gives hope and strength to cooperate with what God wants to do in our lives. Seeing God’s love keeps us from being dragged down by hurt and failure, events that are inevitable in our world.

A Simple Ritual

Every day the residents get out their truth statements; statements they create based on their reading of scripture. Each girl reads her own statements in private, to counter the lies that have accumulated, trap her in self-destructive patterns and block her ability to see God’s love.

So, instead of “God wasn’t there when I was hurting” she states:

“God is near the broken-hearted.”

When she’s tempted to believe, “No one cares,” she is reminded:

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

When she wants to try and earn God’s love, her heart is stilled by the words:

“It is by grace you have been saved.”

When she thinks, “I’m too bad for God’s reach” that thought is counteracted by:

“Nothing can separate us from the love of God.”

Slowly but surely, over time, these truths bring God’s Love back into view. Eventually it becomes clear that God never left … not ever … not even for one moment. His love has been there all along, in every moment of despair and destruction. I have seen how this simple and powerful truth can transform a life lived with blurred vision from the age of nine.

Now I hear her tell the other side of the story:

“Mercy Ministries was God’s rescue mission. I have never felt so loved. God in His infinite, inexhaustible mercy delivered me from death. I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is good, that He never abandoned me or let go of me once. He pursued me relentlessly, because I am of great value in His eyes, because He loves me, because He wants me. I am beautiful, inside and out, because He made me. I can stop striving for perfection because I already carry the seal of His approval–His Holy Spirit–within me.

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Dear SheLoves friends,

• What practices–daily or otherwise–have you discovered that help you on your journey to Freedom?
• Is there a lie that keeps repeating itself in your life?
• What are some of your favourite Truth statements?

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About Musu:

My life is lived out of the calling “to advance Christ-centred work.” I am currently Director of Marketing and Development at Mercy Ministries, working to get the word out about the life-transforming work that takes place here. Prior to my work at Mercy, I directed a Crisis Pregnancy Centre, studied Christianity and Culture at Regent College and co-led women’s programs at my local church. I have four great children and am married to Steven, a gift to me from the Creator.

Wednesday Wellness: My Green Valentine

“The real love affair should have always been with my health—celebrating God’s creation by enjoying it in its natural unadulterated state.”

By Ali Valdez

I am on day 32 of a 40-Day Challenge I developed at our yoga studio this year. The challenge is designed to radically change your body and awaken every participant to a new way of being.

I intentionally planned the challenge to end on Valentine’s Day. My idea was there would be some food elimination and quarantining of habits and on that final day, participants would want to go back home to their sweeties, eager for bear hugs, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and maybe another type of indulgence or two … (nudge-nudge, wink-wink.)

Instead they wanted to extend the program.

The original 40-day challenge was developed by Power Yoga guru, Baron Baptiste. Although I appreciate this movement,  I felt the original program gives a boost but lacks a sense of destiny. So I did it differently and yielded some interesting insights.

Now, as I approach the big V-Day, my idea of what a love affair can be, has already been transformed.

Disconnected

After my daughter was born, my eating habits created a “toxic” relationship with my body and I have known for a while this needed to end. The disconnect seemed so innocent at first— a quick run through the drive-through, that extra square of brownie at the baby shower, seconds at Thanksgiving. I later apologized profusely and promised myself never to do it again: no more Pringles, Frosties on a hot day or whipped cream on the hot chocolate.

The real love affair should have always been with my health—celebrating God’s creation by enjoying it in its natural unadulterated state. That means a profound reconnection with the vitality required of my body to pursue my life purpose.

No more sodas. No more poisons to pollute my system. These foods were the apple in the Garden, banishing me from my best possible health.

The more I allowed random, thoughtless consumption to turn my body into a living breathing trash compactor, the more I realized I was not able to be as capable, healthy and strong as I need to be. That’s where the co-dependence to snacking came into play.

The juicing stopped; the compost bin went dry.

Looking back, I’ve lost some weight–whatever–and the unction to eat meat. But more importantly: what have I gained? New insights.

I will celebrate this Valentines’ Day in the green: healthy financially, physically and emotionally. I have re-embraced sacred time for self-care. Bath salts and dry-brushing, the weekly massage.

Awakening

This morning, I awoke to sunshine, its dusty slivers peeking through my windows and settling against my skin. I observed my body after weeks of not visiting my reflection in a mirror (one of our suggestions on this 40-day challenge). I awoke to a new-found appreciation for the journey we , corpus and humanis, have taken together.

I smiled. The only culprit to blame for anything I see critically in that mirror is my state of mind. But to be entirely truthful: anything I see about my body that I do not like is a derivative of my old eating habits– “low-fat” cookies and pre-made meals. If my focus was to shift to the quality of the food, the time I spend preparing and eating it, as well as  the quantity, not only would I look better, I would probably live longer and feel better.

The sacred vehicle of mine–no, not the Volvo V50–but my blubber and bones, the thick muscles on my shoulders and back, my still skinny ankles have been invigorated by my rekindled love affair with the crudité, the salad and the unsung hero, the braised green.

Anyone who owns a car knows not to pull up to the gas station and pump fruit punch into the gas tank. When my car is in distress I get it serviced, its oil changed … not pump more junk into it.

Truth

For the past few years, I got into thinking that I had the choice to indulge my senses, without consequences. The 40-Day challenge has helped me once again realize how my body is the vehicle to my soul.  I started thinking hard about what I was putting into my body,  for what reasons and when. Then I calculated what I actually needed and when. My teacher always says in regard to mindful eating that Hunger is the Truth; Appetite the Lie.

Today I am taking a two-hour lunch, savoring my food and eating it slowly. I avoid drinking anything with my meal so the food can digest and I am chewing thoroughly. I am having an organic greens salad with a walnut vinaigrette, a marinated portabello mushroom sandwich with sweet onion marmalade and a quinoa green onion side salad with some chopped arugula. I am full, I am happy, the tastebuds are zipping. The food is delicious!

Now as I make my way to the gym to swim, teach one hot yoga class and then a Yin, I know I have the energy I need to teach excellent classes.

Here’s what I’ve learned: it’s great to love my body on the outside, but it’s best to love it from the inside.

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

• Has the new year inspired you to make any heath and wellness changes?
• How is it going for you?
• When you take care of your body, do you also feel like it also affects your spiritual wellness?

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