Serving Here and Now

I always thought I would marry a man who has a heart for the same people group as I do--immigrants, refugees, abuelitas. That we would go traipsing off to Guatemala or Mexico or inner-city somewhere to "really make a difference" for the marginalized.Today at church the pastor called us to serve, to be ministers, to usher in the Kingdom of Heaven, RIGHT WHERE WE ARE. Even if we're not where we want to be. Even if we're not in our dream job or ideal living situation or working with our "target population" just yet.People--the people right in front of us--matter most. I was convicted.You see, I'm in grad school on my way to (hopefully) landing a job where I can work with refugees. But I'm not there yet. Right now I'm working with mostly well-off international college students from countries like Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. I'm writing lesson plans for hypothetical classes in my teacher training classes and grading hundreds of essays for students who just want to tick off a GE requirement.In the midst of studying and paper writing and correcting grammar mistakes, I've lost sight that this place matters. This interim, this training ground, this place that I am currently in, matters.And not just as a means to end. A means to transforming the lives of refugees. My time at SDSU, right now, can be a destination in itself. A place to see God work. A place to serve and grow and plant deep roots. To usher in the Kingdom of Heaven here on Earth.My Kuwaiti students who talk back and the tedious hours I spend planning curriculum--ALL MATTER.Right Now.And that's the area where my future husband blows me out of the water. He may not be called to a particular people group or have the same international justice outlook as I do, but he is so faithful in the here and now. To the people right in front of him.He treats everyone with respect and kindness. He's generous to all.As much as I theorize about poverty and social justice, he works diligently, humbly to serve those right in front of him.Of course I still think it's important to look outward. To be challenged. To reach beyond the comfort of our own friends and neighborhoods. To see the unseen and offer a listening ear to the unheard. To make a conscious effort to go where God is calling us, even if it's uncomfortable. To daily ask for the scales and blinders to drop from our eyelids.I'm that much more excited to ask these questions and to seek my/our calling with a man who daily teaches me how to be faithful in the smalls things, how to love when no one is watching, and how to live like all places--all people--matter.

The Year of Dessert First

All my friends have been posting photos of their year from Facebook. I've always been more of a words person, so here is my year in words.I didn't write much this year. I started out 2014 unemployed and depressed, scared that I may never want to write again. While at first this terrified me, I found God whispering something new to me, in the midst of my own silence.Live My love story. I started this blog a few years back specifically to "Write My Love Story," to share the story of God's audacious love in my life. I didn't know how to experience God apart from writing. Writing is prayer. Writing is life. For me, at least.But I'd lost writing. And, consequently, it felt like I lost God.In this year of silence. Of words not typed out on pages or scribbled across receipts. I lost my writing, but I found I didn't lose me.I don't have to write for my life to be real. For my prayers to be real. I don't have to write at all to be a person. To be loved. To have worth.The life can just be mine. The thoughts just mine.If I had to pick a title for my year, I would call it "The Year of Dessert First." Not that I skipped all the healthy things or the hard work, but it's been a year of grace, where first accepting the dessert, the gifts, the grace, leads to health and wholeness, recovery. I could list all of my accomplishments of 2014: starting a graduate program in Linguistics, teaching a university level course, securing myself a boyfriend. But those are just the outside trappings. I stand back almost bewildered that this is my life now. I did nothing to deserve this. To earn this. And that's the beauty of it.When I look back on my year, the moments I cherish most, the feats I'm most proud of have nothing to do with a college acceptance letter or my relationship status.I'm proud that I persevered. That I continued with counseling even when it seemed nothing was improving. That I started a grad program even though I had no idea if I would have enough energy to even get out of bed in the morning, let alone do homework or attend classes. I'm proud that I had the privilege to invest in the lives of Alzheimer's patients as a caregiver in a last ditch employment attempt. I'm proud that I traveled to Israel and Palestine and let everyday peacemakers teach me something about grace. I'm proud of the moments I let my friends in, let them cry with me, sit with me, mourn with me and hope with me.With my boyfriend, I'm not boastful in my relationship status, but deeply moved by what he's taught me about grace and self-acceptance. I'm thankful for every moment he makes me feel that I am enough. Just as I am.I feel resurrected.This woman of words is at a loss to express the healing that's taken place. The peace I know.That phrase from the song, In Christ Alone, seems to say it best:What heights of love, what depths of peace,            when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!There's a contentment within me that I never imagined possible. Not because I worked my ass off for self-love and self-acceptance as I have in the past. In fact, I didn't try at all. And I think that's the best medicine a recovering perfectionist can encounter. And I don't mean this as a formula. Not a how-to-get-over-depression-and-love-yourself DIY manual. But as my story of God's undeniable grace in my life this year.

grace from the disgrace

beauty from the ashes.

stillness to dancing.

And so I enter 2015, happily dancing and enjoying dessert.

Losing Work and Finding Grace: Lessons from Marginal Employment

I haven't been writing much lately.  I haven't followed through on my goal to share about my peacemaking trip to Israel/Palestine once a week. The words haven't flowed; I haven't really tried.And surprisingly. I'm okay with it.Since I left my job as a writer at Plant With Purpose  nearly two years ago, I've been plagued with the constant guilt that I'm not writing enough, not producing enough, not saving the world enough.But after months and months of thrashing and crying and giving up, I  think I'm beginning to learn the lesson that God has been trying to teach me all along. (And that I thought that I already knew.)I may have lost my words, but I am gaining a new life in Him. An open-handed life.  A life of holding loosely to the labels and identities I used to clutch with greedy palms.In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, burnout and depression, I've discovered God is with me in the waiting. I'm being transformed by the knowledge that I can choose to trust Him in the waiting, in the in-between. (Not that I always do.)Sue Monk Kidd writes in her beautiful memoir, When the Heart Waits, "Hope lies in braving the chaos and waiting calmly, with trust in the God who loves us. For if we wait, we may find that God delivers us somewhere amazing--into a place vibrant with color and startling encounters of the soul."I've tried to wait, but it's not often been calmly and it definitely hasn't been eagerly. Maybe if I type it here--commit it to words, and the action will come easier. I will wait with you, Lord.  Open-handed. Open-hearted.  I will trust that you are delivering me in to something new, something good, something holy. I know it.I taste it already. In the sweet moments in my new caregiving job. In my new excitement for grad school. In the friends who've spoken the words and spilled the grace into me that I've needed to hear so badly.I can taste the sweet. And I can choose the sweet.I can bounce back from job rejection. From disappointment. Even from depression. I look around and I see color. I echo ee cummings in saying,

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings;and of the gay
great happening ilimitably earth)"

I am grateful for the wonder. For the gifts of this day. And I'm trying my best to hold it all oh-so-loosely. Palms unclenched. Open-hearted.