Covenanting.

Today I took the step of "covenanting" with New Hope Community Church - making a formal commitment to share in life and ministry with this community that has already become so much a part of my life.

It was almost exactly a year ago, October 17th, when I e-mailed Lonna saying I'd like to come to New Hope. I had reached a point at Locust Lane where I felt like I wasn't being spiritually fed or challenged at all, and knew that I needed something more. Having visited New Hope a handful of times in the past, it came to mind as a place where I had felt embraced and challenged at the same time, and I had this inexplicably strong urge to go back.

I remember that first Sunday Pastor Tom spoke on the practice of foot-washing, and Lonna shared how doing dishes for someone is washing their feet; that's one of the many ways that we express love in community with one another. And I was hooked, because that's what I wanted, what I needed - a loving community of people of faith who cared about and for one another. And that is really what has drawn me deeper and deeper into New Hope - that I couldn't just come on Sunday mornings and then disappear - that community life is built into the core of church life, that we are involved in eachother's lives.

And community life is messy - we don't always agree and sometimes perspectives clash, but that is also part of the challenge of being the Body of Christ. One of my favorite sermons was on "harmony," and how we can't have harmony without differences - it is the coming together across those differences that creates harmony, and that is one of the things that I appreciate about New Hope, the willingness to recognize and engage our differences while still moving us forward as One Body.

I come as a life-long Mennonite, valuing peace, justice, simplicity and a concern for the poor; as a feminist, anti-racist and LGBT ally, believing that God is a God of love for ALL people, and that we are tasked with bringing the Kingdom by living out that love to those on the margins; and as someone deeply committed to community, the one that is being lived out here, in my neighborhood of Allison Hill and in the city of Harrisburg. I hope to join these values and commitments to the work of this church, and to continue to be embraced and challenged in living out my faith.

I am so grateful to each person who has brought me to this point - Lonna, Pastor Tom, the ladies of my small group and everyone who has welcomed me in and drawn me out as a member of this Body. I treasure the glimpses of the Kingdom that I have seen and continue to see at New Hope - crying together and laughing together; sharing our burdens and sharing our joys; tackling the complexities of how to read Scripture and follow Jesus; and letting our hearts be touched and our passions come alive.

This is not the end of my "quest," but really just the next step in an unfolding journey. Thank you to each of you for walking with me.

The candle that Lonna gave me at the covenanting ceremony, shining its light as the sun sets.

Rewriting the "Love Story" Script

I face this dilemma every few weeks. Wanting to watch a movie to chill out, but as I browse through the options I realize yet again that it's almost impossible to find anything that does not center around romance. I used to be a sucker for these films - "chick flicks" were a staple for me in college, and yes I wept when I first watched "The Notebook". Even after college I had my favorites - "Save the Last Dance," "13 Going on 30," etc. But during the past several years I've developed a lower and lower tolerance for these types of films.

Even some movies that remain among my favorites disappoint me with their adherence to the traditional Hollywood story-arche. "Eat, Pray, Love" I adore, but did her personal journey of self-discovery and healing have to end with falling in love? "Under the Tuscan Sun" did a beautiful job of showing a woman rebuilding her life and finding "family" in nontraditional ways - so why was it necessary for her to end up with a guy to be truly "happy"? Same with "Bridesmaids," also a favorite - her journey of letting go as her best friend gets married is powerful, and she didn't need to drive off with a cop at the end for it to be a good story.

All of these films disappoint me because they have so much potential to show the lives of strong, empowered women - yet without fail end up resorting to the same trite tactics; the search for romantic love and resolution with a "happily ever after". This only perpetuates the lie that women are not complete by themselves and cannot ever be happy without a man (which is also very heterosexist, by the way). It's also disappointing to me because I do not see myself in any of these movies or storylines. 

You see, this heightened critique of my movie choices has mirrored a stronger stance on my singleness as I have gotten older. In college or shortly thereafter, these movies didn't bother me as much because in many ways I was still buying into this fairy tale of meeting "The One" - so could more easily place myself into these films and imagine myself falling in love and living happily ever after.

Yet the more I observed real relationships develop around me, the more I recognized the complexities of "love" outside of Hollywood. I saw, yes, the happiness that significant others bring to eachother, the love and commitment they share, the beautiful ways that these things are symbolized at their weddings - and I celebrated those. But I also saw the differences of opinion that arise, the deep ways that people who love eachother can hurt eachother, and the huge amount of time and mental and emotional energy required to invest into that kind of relationship.

And so I decided that that's not what I want. I want to be single. I have no desire to enter the dating world (online or otherwise), subjecting myself to all of the angst and awkwardness that accompanies it; nor do I particularly want a significant other, the end-goal of that process. I have lots of significant others - friends who are like family to me, who know me and care for me deeply and who are part of my everyday life. I have a life that I love - work that is meaningful and which I feel is making a difference in my small part of the world; the opportunity to be a student again as I pursue my Master's degree; a church family where I feel connected and invested; a neighborhood and city that I'm committed to; a home this is both my sanctuary and a place of hospitality. What more could a girl want?

Hollywood's answer would be "someone to share it with" - but I am rewriting the script. I am whole and complete, not lacking anything, as my friend Brooke wrote. I am happy, I am FREE! I recall a conversation with friends several years ago about what makes us most free to love. For some, it is being in a committed, romantic relationship - and for those who are or are seeking that, more power to you! For me, it is being single - free to pour my energies into loving the people in my life and doing the things I am called to do. Write a movie about that, Hollywood!

A Faith that I Can Claim.

I have begun a “quest” – the term that my new church uses to describe its process for becoming a member. Our “guidebook” that we’re working through frames it like this: “Encountering the Holy does not leave us as we are. It doesn’t make all the pieces fit, doesn’t assume everything now suddenly makes perfect sense. But [it] may speak to your soul and call out of you a faith you can claim.”

A faith that I can claim. What is that now? My faith has gone through many metamorphoses over the years – and me with it – and it continues to take shape. From childhood beliefs borne out of Sunday School and my parents’ teachings, to adolescent growth through camp and youth group. To college, where those beliefs were challenged and I came into my own, realigning much of my theology and worldview. To now, my twenty-somethings, where I am much more certain about some things – and entirely uncertain about others.

The first topic in this quest is “confession” – but not like a confession booth or someone on their knees confessing their sins. No, here confession is framed as simply naming ourselves – our experiences, our beliefs, our lives; all of who we are, all of what we bring. And it poses the question, what do you believe?

What do I believe? What would my “confessions of faith” be if I were to write them down? What is my Nicene Creed? I believe in a God who is Love. I don’t understand how God allows so much suffering in the world and probably never will, but I do know that God cares for us and walks with us in the midst of it. I believe in a God who created a beautiful world, although I don’t believe that it took six literal days; I don’t need to know how it was created to know that it was good.

I believe in a God who created each of us in God’s own image, and each of us equal. I believe in a God who transcends our binary understanding of gender, is neither “he” nor “she” but both and so much more. I believe in a God who became incarnate in Jesus, reaching out to those who were on the margins of society and subverting the power structures of his day. I believe in a God who in Jesus called out racism and all of the artificial divisions that the religious institutions made, and instead called us to love – radically and whole-heartedly, at great risk to our own comfort and well-being.

I don’t have an atonement theory that perfectly explains the significance of Jesus’ death on the cross, and I don’t know if there is a literal “hell” you go to when you die – although I’m pretty certain that any heaven or hell that does exist is way different than what we imagine it to be. But if there is a heaven, then more and more I am convinced that our Muslim, Jewish and other brothers and sisters of faith will be there too – that our God is big enough to supersede even these boxes of “religion” that we try to fit God into.

I struggle with the violence of the Old Testament, and with the apparent misogyny and approval of slavery in Paul’s letters in the New Testament. But I believe that the Bible was written to a particular people in a particular place – it holds Truth, but must be understood in its proper context in order to ascertain what that Truth really is. I believe that the Bible has been misused and abused to perpetuate the oppression of women, people of color, the LGBT community and other marginalized groups – which is a tragedy, because I believe it holds a revolutionary message of freedom and hope.

I believe that there is nothing in the Bible, understood in context, that condemns members of the LGBT community – and there is everything in the Bible that speaks love and acceptance. I believe that even if we disagree on this or other questions, it is never our place to judge – it is always our place to love.

This is my confession – a faith that I can claim. I still have many questions, many things I want to learn more about and explore further, but I am certain of more than I thought. I don’t want to be too certain, though – I don’t want to judge those with whom I disagree, but rather be open to hearing their experiences and their beliefs – their confession. To have the opportunity to practice grace, and to seek harmony across differences.

But I don’t want to silence myself either – to stay quiet when I have something to say, to stifle something that’s burning inside of me. Sometimes it’s because I’m afraid of what people will think of me if I speak up; sometimes it’s because I don’t want to get into an argument or hurt someone’s feelings. Sometimes it’s because silence is easier, and because I don’t think that we can have a real conversation about our differences. 

But in staying silent, I am denying my own confession – I am hiding my own experiences and beliefs; my life. And I am denying the possibility that in confessing to one another we can build bridges in surprising places, we can find common ground that didn’t exist before and we can come to new understandings or perspectives. If I truly believe that I have a faith that I can claim, then I must challenge myself to own it, to speak it – and to open myself up to the confessions of others. Thus begins my quest…

Settled.

Today marks my 5-year anniversary of moving to Harrisburg. This milestone feels both hard to believe and also just right. I am no longer a 22-year-old coming to the city full of idealism. While the core of my idealism is still what sustains me, it has been tempered with a healthy dose of reality about the challenges inherent in committing to this place.

Yet what brought me here in 2009 as a freshly-minted Messiah College graduate are the same things that keep me here today. I distinctly recall an e-mail exchange with my prospective landlord at the time, who asked me why I wanted to live on Allison Hill. Fair question: it’s not usually a place people choose to move. I responded that it was because of “the problems and the hope”.

Through my time at the Agape Center at Messiah College, I saw the very real challenges of poverty, blight and crime facing the neighborhood, yet also the persistent efforts of a strong network of community organizations, leaders and ordinary people working hard to make it a better place. I never wanted to be removed from these struggles, and I wanted to join with those working for change.

Over the past five years that has taken different forms – from spontaneously joining my first neighborhood clean-up to getting involved with Weed & Seed to serving as Secretary of the Residents’ Association. Cultivating an intentional Christian community called “Our Place on Derry” with like-minded friends seeking to live out the call of being Jesus’ hands and feet in service to those on the margins. Attending neighborhood meetings and political debates – and helping to organize some through Harrisburg Hope. And now having found my niche at the YWCA Greater Harrisburg, where I get to develop programs and partnerships focused on “eliminating racism” in the Harrisburg area.

I recently remarked to a friend that I felt settled, stable, rooted. She asked, “What’s that like?” Feeling settled for me is… Owning my house, and anticipating still living at 1527 when my 15-year mortgage is paid off. Knowing all of the people on my block, and being greeted as “neighbor” at the corner store. Recognizing the “regulars” at community meetings, and being recognized as having something to offer there. Doing work that I love for an organization I whole-heartedly support – and wanting to get one of those “years of service” awards at the Staff In-Service Day!

And although there have been plenty of transitions over the past five years, the most important things have remained the same. Spending nearly every Thursday evening with friends whose 7-year-old was 6 months old when we first met. Having almost-weekly “roommate time” with a previous roommate who has shared much of my time at 1527. Taking regular “fro-yo” runs with neighbor-friends and celebrating holidays together.

As I have had time to grow into this place, it has grown into me. I may have fallen quickly and completely in love with Harrisburg, but time has seasoned it into a deeper commitment. The more I walk these streets, grow my relationships and defend my city from the naysayers, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I belong here. For some it is a hard place to live, but somehow despite the challenges, living here has come easily to me. Walking around the neighborhood does not incite anxiety, but rather brings me joy. And so I remain, with anticipation for what will come from being settled.

He leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.” (Psalm 23:2, emphasis mine). This verse has been resonating in my mind today as I’ve been meandering around the beautiful grounds of Conoy Creek Hideaway, a hidden treasure of a place where I’ve been taking a much-needed weekend retreat.

Usually I’m not much for hiking, but here I’ve surprised myself by wanting to explore the smattering of trails on the 33-acre property. And while every path is beautiful, I keep finding myself drawn to the creek, lulled by the gentle and constant rush of water against rocks and shore as it tumbles on its way downstream. I have always found moving water to be a source of comfort and peace – from the crashing rhythms of ocean waves to the steady motion of the Great Susquehanna, they still my soul.

That has remained true for me here. I have spent blissfully unmeasured time sitting by or walking along the Conoy Creek, allowing it to sooth my soul and awaken joy within me again. I can always tell when I am happy because songs bubble up inside of me, often worship songs, and it feels like my heart is singing. My heart has been singing today.

Usually the part in Psalm 23 about laying down in green pastures seems very figurative, but here – where there literally are green pastures – I have found myself dancing in them, doing cartwheels, practicing yoga, and yes, laying down with my arms spread wide and my face to the sun. This is what the Psalmist is speaking of; these are the things that restore my soul.

With my brief retreat coming to a close, I found myself asking God: “Why can’t every day be like this? Why can’t my life be just an extended retreat?” I don’t know if it was God or just my own thoughts responding, but the answer that came to mind was: “I still have work for you to do.” We retreat from our busy lives so that we can be restored, renewed, replenished; and so that we can return, to the work and to the people we have committed ourselves to. I don’t truly want to live in a hut in the woods forever – but as a break from all of the demands of the real world, it is tempting.

So my next question, then, is how can I take this experience of deep rest and restoration with me? How does Sabbath translate back in the real world? The book I’ve been reading – “The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath” – speaks to this, saying:

The lie the taskmasters want you to swallow is that you cannot rest until your work’s all done, and done better than you’re currently doing it. But the truth is, the work’s never done, and never done quite right. It’s always more than you can finish and less than you had hoped for.

The rest of God…it’s a sheer gift. It’s a stop-work order in the midst of work that’s never complete, never polished. Sabbath is not the break we’re allotted at the tail end of completing all our tasks and chores, the fulfillment of all our obligations. It’s the rest that we take smack-tab in the middle of them, without apology, without guilt, and for no better reason than God told us we could.

What an important truth, and what a difficult challenge for me – one who always works through lunch, stays late and carries around a running to-do list in my head. I have fallen into this lie, believing that only when the endless pile of work is done to my satisfaction, then I can rest. That never actually happens because there is always something else, always something more – and my rest comes only when I am so exhausted that I have no choice but to stop. Rest borne of exhaustion is clearly needed, and better than no rest at all – but what would it look like to build in pockets of rest throughout my days and weeks so that I would not have to reach that point?

Observing the rhythms I’ve fallen into just during my brief time here, I’ve been keeping a running list of the life-giving things that I want to incorporate more of into my daily life: dancing, yoga, taking walks, reading, napping, blogging, doing nothing.

This last one is interesting, because when I am at home I very rarely do nothing – if I’m not doing stuff around the house or writing a paper for class or a lesson for Sunday School, I’m watching an episode of something to try and chill out. “Doing nothing” feels like a waste of time when I am surrounded by an endless amount of things I could do; but here, removed from all of that, doing nothing is incredibly refreshing. Just letting my thoughts wander is a luxury I almost never have, except at the beach – someplace where I more easily give myself permission to “do nothing”.

In the movie “Eat, Pray, Love,” one of my absolute favorites, there’s a scene (which you can view here) in which Elizabeth Gilbert is taught in Italy the phrase “dolce far niente”; the sweetness of doing nothing. Her Italian comrades rail on Americans as knowing only entertainment and not pleasure: “You work too hard, you get burnt out, then you come home and spend the whole weekend in your pajamas in front of the TV!” That’s strikingly accurate – we know how to entertain ourselves to no end, but we do not know how to embrace the pleasure of doing nothing; we do not know how to rest.

This retreat has afforded me a rare opportunity to withdraw and practice Sabbath apart from the demands of my normal life. Now as I return home, I take with me the important challenge of practicing Sabbath in the midst of all those demands; of making space to do nothing when there are many things that need to be done. I am exceedingly grateful for my quiet hut in the woods, for the calming waters that have soothed my soul here. As I followed Conoy Creek to the Susquehanna on my drive home, it felt like an assurance – that this little creek feeds into the mighty river, and wherever I go there will always be calming waters for me to draw solace from, so long as I am attentively looking for the Source.

Quiet waters :)

Take this Sabbath Day...

"How are you?" "Busy!" How often do I say that? It becomes the standard response for many of us, and something that is glorified in our culture as a sign of hard work and productivity. Yet what is the toll? In Chinese, the symbol for "busyness" joins the characters for "heart" and "killing" - an accurate portrayal of what busyness exacts from us.

I believe there is a reason God directed us to remember the Sabbath; to take a day of rest. For Lent this year, I have been attempting to understand and practice Sabbath in my life - not limiting it to one day out of the week, but trying to integrate that ethos of rest throughout my days. To guide me in that, I've been reading a great book by Mark Buchanan called "The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath".

I've felt the need for this for many months now, as I've found myself almost constantly running from one thing to the next. At work there is an endless to-do list as I juggle multiple events, projects and committees - and despite working long hours it seems like I am always behind. Most days I am headed somewhere after work - dinner with friends, small group gathering, a work dinner. And even weekends seem to magically fill up, as I find myself again running from gatherings and events to church services and errands - writing papers and planning youth group lessons in between.

And while these are all good things - and things that I choose - there is little rest, little chance to pause and simply be; I must keep going to the next thing. As Buchanan puts it, "the whole experience of being alive begins to melt into one enormous obligation." That's exactly how it feels! The constant running, the constant obligations have robbed me of joy.

Buchanan talks about one of the markers of being too busy is "when we stop caring about the things we care about." When the things that used to energize and enliven us only add to our exhaustion. This has certainly been true for me. Most days, all I want to do when I get home is change into sweats, watch an episode of something and go to sleep - that's all I can seem to muster up energy for. The stack of thought-provoking books continues to sit, untouched, on my bedside table - my brain has no capacity to engage them. My yoga mat has been rolled up for weeks, because I can't make myself get up early enough to practice in the morning - and always opt for going straight to bed at night. The dishes sit in stacks in the kitchen, laundry piles up and yet I can't make myself do any of it until I absolutely have to.

What saddens me most is that my extreme busyness has left me with little to give to the people in my life who I care about. I come exhausted to dinner with friends or small group gatherings; I hibernate in my house rather than going out to talk with my neighbors; I am already in bed at 8:30pm when a friend calls to catch up. Me, the extrovert, who was always energized by people - I've become a hermit, longing for just a quiet night at home.

How can I build those quiet nights at home into my schedule; cultivate that "empty space" as a regular part of my life? How can I find a regular Sabbath rhythm that rejuvenates me and allows me to again find joy in all of these things, and to have the capacity to pour into relationships again?

I don't have all the answers yet, but I think part of it is having more days like today. I had been looking forward to today all week - the first Saturday in months when I had absolutely nothing planned; a free day, and I was going to relish it! I slept in late, enjoying the novelty of not setting an alarm. I spent time outside in the backyard, blessed by spontaneous conversations with neighbors I haven't talked to in a while. I did yoga, made myself brunch and read. I took a nap. I put on fun music to jam to while doing dishes and folding laundry. I popped over to the corner store in search of cranberry juice to make a Malibu Breeze, and got to talk to the owner who always calls me "neighbor". Everything felt good, everything felt right. 

The beauty of this Sabbath day is that I've no obligations - I could simply be, paying attention to and appreciating the simply joys around me, while also paying attention to myself. I've had the freedom of being without a schedule or plan for the day, instead slowly moving from one thing to the next by asking "What do I want or need right now?" That is Sabbath, and I am so grateful for the gift that today has been.

What Sabbath looks like :)

Safe Spaces

How do we create safe spaces in the Church for people to be who they are? This is something that's been on my mind a lot lately, specifically in relation to the LGBT community. Many denominations, including the Mennonites, have been in upheaval around the issue of whether and to what extent people who identify as lesbian, gay, bi-sexual or transgender are welcome in our church communities.

Sadly, neither of the two churches of which I am currently a part openly welcome the LGBT community. One church is certainly more progressive, with many people who believe strongly in embracing these sisters and brothers of ours. However, it is constrained by the dictates of Lancaster Mennonite Conference, and more importantly by a wide range of views on the issue within the congregation, including those who would oppose welcoming this community.

However, in this church there are safe spaces to talk about it, one of which came when a group of us went to Landisville Mennonite Church several weeks ago to see Ted & Company's presentation of "Learning to Play: A (Timely) Conversation about Sexuality & the Church." The genesis of this event was to create exactly such a space - to inject humor and heart into a topic that can be very divisive, and open up an opportunity for honest conversation. It was brilliantly performed, as we saw this "issue" through the eyes of a parent who wrestles with his son's coming out, and the mixed messages he receives from the Church. 

In the "talk-back" that followed in the packed sanctuary, people haltingly came to the mic to share their reflections - in bits and pieces giving us a glimpse of what an honest conversation could be. And in our own "talk-back" at a local restaurant afterwards, we asked "what does this mean for OUR church? How do we take this back?" Although united in the belief that as a church we should be welcoming ALL people and affirming their God-given identities, how do you start that conversation amidst other priorities, pending transitions and anticipated push-back? Would bringing this up create a rift that couldn't be bridged? Yet how can we remain silent?

Ironically, silence is exactly the strategy I have been using at the other church I belong to in order to create a safe space for these same conversations. Maybe that sounds contradictory, but in this much-more-conservative ex-Mennonite congregation, I have endured many-a-sermon railing against "homosexuals" as sinners who are going to hell, without feeling like I can say anything because those who remain in the church hold those beliefs and would not be moved. 

However, my silence on this topic with the larger congregation has enabled me to create a safe space with a smaller group within the congregation - and we have just finished several weeks of looking together at what the Bible really says (and doesn't say) about "homosexuality" and the LGBT community. The agitator in me is tempted to ignite this conversation with the rest of the church, and take whatever fall-out will come with it. But I know that breaking my silence with the larger church will also destroy the safe space that we have created - and that is too high a price to pay.

It hate that this is a choice I face at all - but even as I feel silenced, I know that it is nothing compared to all of the LGBT people in churches across the nation who must hide or deny who they are in order to remain accepted. Who must hear over and over again condemnation and hate directed towards them - and told that it is from God! Who must choose between their identity and their spirituality, with either choice causing a part of them to die inside.

What kind of a messed-up Body of Christ are we? We are supposed to be a place of refuge, of healing and hope, unconditional love and acceptance - and instead we are the ones inflicting such deep wounds onto our LGBT sisters and brothers, people created in the image of our God. We must repent and truly embody who God is calling us to be - a Church that will "do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God" (Micah 6:8). This is an opportunity to practice true "harmony," found not the absence of conflict, but in the coming together across differences - with a healthy dose of grace. Are we up to the task, Church? Do we have the humility and courage to do it?

For Additional Reflection & Exploration...

• Incredibly helpful and well-researched booklet entitled "What the Bible Says - and Doesn't Say - about Homosexuality" that examines each passage within its cultural and historical context. The $3 is well worth it!
• Insightful (although dated) documentary "For the Bible Tells Me So" powerfully illustrates the Church's negative impact on LGBT people by following several families as they respond to their children coming out, and examines what the Bible actually says on this issue. Can be rented on YouTube for $2.99.
• Video featured on the It Gets Better website of a lesbian woman sharing her story of growing up in the Church and being rejected for being gay, coming to reconcile her identity with her faith and ultimately becoming a pastor creating safe spaces for others in the Church.
• Music Video for "Same Love" by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, which powerfully speaks to this as an issue of equality, and calls out the Church for its role in oppression of the LGBT community.
• TED Talk called "50 Shades of Gay" that features an LGBT woman who uses her story and her photography to put thousands of human faces on what is often treated as an impersonal "issue".

V-Day

I've never been a huge fan of Valentine's Day - at least not since I was a kid. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with my mom when I was young and making loads of "Valentines" with red paper and doilies to send to friends far and near. It was exciting at that time - a way to send symbols of love across the miles. I also remember learning about its origins - how it was named after St. Valentine, a martyred Roman saint - a piece of history certainly not broadcast by Hallmark.

However, in 3rd grade I started to understand what Valentine's Day was really about. In my class we all exchanged "Valentines," as is the elementary school tradition, but there was talk flying around among the girls about who got the biggest Valentines from the boys. I was never one of the girls that boys paid a lot of attention to, so that was my first inkling that this was really what the holiday came down to.

And now, almost 20 years later, very little has changed. At work, there's a buzz among the women about who's getting flowers and chocolates delivered from their husbands or boyfriends. People compare plans for the evening - ordering a pizza and watching a movie at home, or getting all decked out for a nice dinner.

Although I have been secure in my singleness for quite a while now, this Valentine's Day made me ask the question that often comes up. What are the rest of us, chopped liver? For those who don't have a significant other, why is there an entire holiday that excludes us? Because that's how I felt, excluded.

Sure, people say that Valentine's Day is an opportunity to tell the people you care about that you love them no matter what your relationship status - and I usually try to do that in some manner or another. But really, the whole purpose is to exalt this idea of romantic love - and romantic love only. That is communicated very clearly in the commercials, advertising, cards - and certainly Hallmark et al are playing it up to make a huge profit, creating this expectation of doing something (and buying something) special for your "honey".

Let me be clear - I do not need flowers and chocolates and some fancy night out to feel loved, although I like those things as much as the next person. And my life is certainly full and complete without a significant other - but I take issue with a holiday that communicates to me the opposite. I dislike being told that I "need" some guy to give me these things in order to have a "good" Valentine's Day - the subtle implication that being single is not good enough; that my life by itself it not worth celebrating.

So the next time someone gets the bright idea to create a holiday in honor of a death saint to celebrate love, let's make an effort to celebrate ALL the kinds of love rather than just this one narrow definition. Let's make "love" something that truly reaches and encompasses everyone, rather than leaving some of us out in the cold.

Full

Friday I felt stretched to my limit - between an especially hectic day at work to end a hectic week, and the constant financial stress of figuring out how I was going to make it until my next paycheck, I was exhausted; absolutely spent, and felt like I could've burst into tears at any moment. And I had a two-hour drive ahead of me to Philly to spend the weekend with my family, which I didn't feel like I even had the energy for. To make matters worse, I had put in enough gas to get me there - or so I thought.

But stuck in traffic getting into the city, my gas light came on - and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. No gas stations in sight, and nowhere to go on the bumper-to-bumper expressway. I found myself half-praying, half trying to make deals with God: "If I can just make it off the highway...if I can just make it to the next gas station...if I can just make it home..." Regardless of the manner of my (somewhat desperate) requests, I made it to my parents' house - breathing a huge sigh of relief, and a very grateful "thank you" to God.

I had arrived on "E" in more ways than one, but the surprising thing was that this was exactly where I needed to be. I did not ask my parents to bail me out, nor even tried to explain my current situation. Yet they demonstrated an understanding that was very unexpected, and offered me just what I needed - a full tank of gas, groceries and other household things that I just haven't been able to buy, and perhaps most importantly, the peace of mind of being cared for and not having to worry for a little while.

Although family relationships have never been the easiest for me, I felt so grateful for these people who had given me life, and continue to provide for me in so many ways. It reminds me of the verse where Jesus talks about how even as a parent loves to give good gifts to their children, so much more does God love to give good gifts to us. God, through my parents, was caring for me. I had come empty, but was leaving full - a tank full of gas, a trunk full of groceries, and a heart full of love.

Full tank :) Courtesy of H3Daily.com