The Gifts of Imperfection

That's the title of the book I've just started reading by Brene Brown, which has come at the perfect time (no pun intended). Lately, I have been very aware of my imperfections - my shortcomings at work, my failures as a friend, my inability to keep my house clean.

I'm not usually a self-critical person, but I've been noticing even stupid things like my hair growing out and the zit on my forehead, and I feel this frustration building up inside of me - of not being who I want to be, of not measuring up; in short, not being perfect.

It's funny, because I don't expect anyone else in my life to be perfect - not my friends, not my family, not the people I work with - because I know that we as human beings are not perfect; that's part of the human condition. However, I inexplicably seem to hold myself up to a different standard - an impossibly high one.

Even though I, too, am merely human, I expect myself to never mess up, to never make mistakes, to be successful in every part of my life - to immerse myself in my work and not leave the office until everything is done and done right; to be present with my friends, checking in regularly, listening and being supportive through all of life's joys and sorrows; to keep up with my housecleaning, laundry and cooking so that my home is a neat and hospitable place.

These seem like pretty basic "life" things to be able to do, so on the face of it it does not seem like an impossible standard. Which is why I feel like a failure when there are not enough hours in the work-day to complete everything on my to-do list; when weeks go by without catching up with friends who are really important to me; when my dishes pile up, I'm scrounging around for clean clothes and can't figure out what to cook for dinner. What should be simple and easy at times feels impossibly hard to accomplish...and I wonder if I will ever "succeed" at this thing called life. 

It's hard for me to accept that I'm not perfect - that it's not a matter of trying harder, being more organized, pushing through. I'm not perfect, and it's ok. I am human, and I will make mistakes; I will fall short, I will not be "enough". Yet, I will not be defined by my successes or my failures.

I think there's this myth that we can "have it all" - excel in our career, have a robust social life, stay on top of everything at home - and perhaps some people can. But there are trade-offs - if I pour more time and energy into one area of my life, the other areas are going to suffer.

I can always tell when it's been an intense week at work, because I come home with little energy for seeing people, and instead hibernate - watching Netflix before passing out, after eating what may or may not be a nutritious dinner. My dishes pile up and the laundry goes unfolded.

Now don't get me wrong, I love what I do and I am so grateful to have found a job that aligns so well with my passions and allows me to use my skills towards the greater good. There's no place I'd rather be, and nothing else I'd rather be doing. But when those intense weeks become the norm, I realize that there is a cost.

I was talking about this with a friend of mine recently, saying that if I had a significant other or even a roommate, I would probably not work as much as I do - because that person would feel the impact. But since it's just me, I said that by working late I'm not giving up anything on the other end. But she reminded me that I am - that I'm giving up my "me" time, my ability to spend time with friends and to care for my home and myself.

So part of my imperfection is that my life has been lopsided - and I haven't realized what it's been costing me. This realization comes at a good time, though, just as work will be returning to a more normal pace. I won't have the same pressures that have been present the past number of months, and I am looking forward to hitting the "reset" button to find a better balance.

I'm looking forward to intentionally spending more time with friends, and nurturing the relationships with those closest to me. The people who ground me, who support me, who challenge me, who love me and who make me laugh - they are my life-blood, and it's no wonder I've felt anemic without them.

I'm looking forward to taking more time to care for my home - because I feel so much better when my space is clean and organized, and can be a welcoming place for others. I can't wait to bring some order to the chaos, and get back into better rhythms for keeping it that way.

The beauty of this is that it's not a zero-sum game - all of these different pieces of my life are interconnected, so if I spend more time with friends I will feel more inspired at work - and when I am inspired at work I will have more energy to spend time with friends (or clean my house)! Each should flow into one another, not sap energy from the rest.

So this is my intent - yet I don't want to set up, again, impossible standards for myself and then beat myself up when I fall short. So I will try to hold these intentions with open hands - to seek them without striving too hard. I will try to see each step forward as a gift - and each step back as a reminder of my own, imperfect humanity.

Being Present

Being present was one of those things that I didn't realize that I was missing until I found it again. I knew that I was hurried, busy, stressed and tired - which I tried to compensate for by turning on Netflix, scrolling through Facebook and trying to withdraw from the hurried pace of my life for a few hours at night before starting all over again the next day.

But binge-watching Netflix and mindlessly "liking" the never-ending news feed are not ways of being present - in fact, they're the exact opposite. In my attempt to disengage from that which was stressful, I went to the extreme of disengaging from that which was life-giving as well.

Without being present, it is impossible for me to know what it is I truly need - because I am not present even to myself. What I discovered, though, is that to truly be present to myself I must be present to those around me - those who love me, care for me and can remind me of what I need when I have forgotten.

This weekend came as a welcome reminder, as I got to spend time with many of those closest to me in celebrating my birthday. In the process, I received several gentle reminders - a "self-care package" from a thoughtful friend, and some pointed questions from another friend about how I was going to care for myself this week.

I was also finally able to be present at church this morning. Between blizzards, baptisms and staying in bed, it had been a full month since being at New Hope - and I felt a longing to return, to be present with these people and practice community together. From singing together and hearing a friend bring the sermon, to discussing budgetary challenges and catching up with people, community encompasses all of it - and I was so grateful to be back.

And I was reminded that being present to myself and being present to people go hand-in-hand. Spending time with close friends and church family brings me back to more of who I am. I cannot be my best and truest self by myself - it is in community, in sharing life with people, that I return to who I am and I continue to be molded into who I will be.

Part of being present is understanding how to simply BE. So many of my waking hours are focused on what I can DO - and what I must do, in order to accomplish the long list of tasks that greet me from my Outlook toolbar at the start of each work day. I produce, I accomplish, I direct, I lead - lots of action verbs keep me running throughout my days. So the temptation, then, when I finally get home is to convert to the passive - I consume, I veg, I lounge, I zonk out.

But isn't there something in between these two extremes - something to counterbalance the frantic, hectic pace of work and life, and the exhausted crash at the end of the day? I am reminded today that there is - it is simply BEING. In being present to myself, I can hear what it is that I really need - and allow that to direct how I spend my downtime.

This afternoon, I needed to sleep - so I took a 3-hour nap. My shoulders were in knots and my hip was sore, so I needed to do yoga. I needed to create an oasis before the week started - so I lit a scented candle, turned on some relaxing music and ate my dinner in contemplation. This contemplation led me to start writing this blog - so here I am.

Being present - to others and to myself - brings me back to my truest self, to the things that are most life-giving to me. Writing is one of those things - taking the time to connect the thoughts swirling around in my head in some coherent form so that I can share them.

I don't have it all figured out, but for today - for this moment - I am grateful for the people in my life who are present to me, and who remind me how to be present to myself.

Some of the contents of my "self-care package" - thank you, Megan! :)

Life Together

Perhaps it's the nip in the air, the sudden need for extra layers or the hot beverage in hand - but the brisk entry of fall this week has brought me back to this time two years ago, when I first felt the nudge to visit New Hope. I remember it being a chilly evening in October, but immediately feeling warmed and welcomed by the people I found there. Not one to make snap decisions, I nonetheless found myself being pulled quickly and completely into this community - and whole-heartedly embracing the life together that New Hope practices.

I remember that first Sunday feeling like, finally, I was being filled - that this was a place where God was present, and was pouring into me. As I deepened my relationships there, more and more I felt that I was being poured into by the people - the Body of Christ. And what is the difference, really? God works in and through God's people, the Church, and I have felt that in very real ways. These are people who know me deeply; who encourage and cheer me on when I am taking new steps; who support and pray for me when I'm having a rough time; who welcome me to their dinner tables and into their families; who laugh with me, cry with me, drink with me...who share life with me in all of the ups and downs. I am so grateful to be part of this life together at New Hope.

And I am grateful to experience community with people in different parts of my life. My Derry Street "crew" - although not all living on Derry Street anymore - makes me laugh more than anyone else in the world, and are like family to me - loving me, quirks and all. My closest friend, who I can text when I'm having a bad day and who will take a lunch break to let me vent - and make me feel better by the end of it. My longtime roommate who I don't see as often anymore, but with whom I can still pick up right where we left off. My boss and co-workers who keep me sane, and who I could not get through the hard days at work without. My community partners who have also become friends, as we share our passions and ideas and work to eliminate racism together.

I am grateful for all of you - for the ways that you hold me up when I am falling, and cheer me on when I am striving. My people, my community is what makes my life full and meaningful. And really, isn't that what God desires for us? Isn't that what communion symbolizes? Jesus did not break the bread and pour the cup as a ritual divorced from the people around him - he shared this practice at a dinner table with those closest to him. This act symbolized how in his life, and soon in his death, he continually poured himself out for them; for us. And we are to do the same for one another. We practice communion not merely by replicating this ritual, but by practicing life together.

"And this is communion: Here, with friends, the food feeds our bodies - and the people who break the bread and share life, who pour the cup and pray with us, feed our spirits." Amen.

Photo courtesy of Jennifer Schmidt @beautyandbedlam.

No Peace Apart from Justice

Today is widely recognized in faith communities as Peace Sunday, and I had the privilege of delivering the sermon with a good friend of mine this morning at Slate Hill Mennonite Church. It's funny, because although as a Mennonite "peace" has always been a core value of mine, I don't often think of myself as a "peacemaker". In fact, I believe many times - in both our churches and our broader society - the pursuit of "peace" apart from justice makes us complicit in preserving unjust systems and allowing oppression to continue. 

We saw this during the Civil Rights Movement, when there were those who sought to preserve a fragile “peace” without addressing the gross injustices that were causing people to take to the streets, and at times, resort to violence. We see it today across the country, where people lament the “rioting” that has occurred in Ferguson, Baltimore and elsewhere – yet refuse to acknowledge the deep-seated injustices imbedded in our criminal justice system, and the ways that communities of color are systemically marginalized. We cannot hope for peace – nor should we – unless we first acknowledge the realities of systemic racism in our society, and take intentional, ongoing action to dismantle this system of oppression.

For many of us who are white, these are uncomfortable truths to hear. Yet these are the realities that the #BlackLivesMatter movement is calling attention to. Many white people question the name #BlackLivesMatter, asking don’t #AllLivesMatter? And of course, they do – but the purpose in adopting the #BlackLivesMatter slogan is to point out that although all lives should be equally valued, it is clear that black lives are not. There is a consistent pattern of unarmed black people being killed, which can no longer be ignored. This idea that “black” equals “dangerous” or “criminal” is so deeply ingrained in the psyche of our society and our criminal justice system that it has deadly results. #BlackLivesMatter does not exclude white lives - rather, it invites us to really listen to the hurt, anger and frustration that communities of color are expressing, and join together to call for racial justice.

We saw this during the Civil Rights Movement, when white people marched side-by-side with people of color. I would venture to say that the Civil Rights Movement was the original #BlackLivesMatter movement – advocating for black people to be equally valued under the law and by white Americans. When Dr. King led the sanitation workers on strike, they wore signs that said “I Am a Man” – directly challenging the status quo, in which a black man was not recognized as equal to a white man; where the basic humanity of people of color was denied.

Listening to the voices of #BlackLivesMatter, what many would say is today’s civil rights movement, can be challenging because it forces white people to acknowledge our own privilege. I often think about how I have the privilege of turning "off" when I leave the office. I don't have to think about racism once I’m off the clock - I don’t have to be aware of my race when I walk down the street. My whiteness will never have the same kind of negative impact on me that blackness or brownness has on people of color. Because of that, I must continually challenge myself to keep my awareness turned "on" - to critically observe, listen and engage even when I don't have to, or I don't want to.

As a white person, I must choose to be an ally every single day. It is not a word that I use lightly - and as my friends at the Women of Color Network recently reminded me, being an ally is not a state of being but something that I must continually aspire to. I must turn in my ally "card" each night, and earn it all over the again the next day. Racial justice work is a constant process of examining myself for those unconscious attitudes and behaviors that contribute to racism; educating myself by reading, talking with and listening to others; and taking opportunities to speak up and take action.

One of the most powerful articles I have read recently is "I, Racist" by John Metta. Published shortly after the Charleston massacre, the author writes about why it is difficult for him - as a black man - to talk with white people about race. Please read it. He closes the article with this challenge: “All the Black voices in the world speaking about racism all the time do not move White people to think about it – but one White John Stewart talking about Charleston has a whole lot of White people talking about it. That’s the world we live in. Black people can't change it while White people are silent and deaf to our words.... White people are in a position of power in this country because of racism. The question is: Are they brave enough to use that power to speak against the system that gave it to them?"

That is our challenge, my challenge. To speak up even when it is uncomfortable, unpopular or risky. To use my voice even when I am unsure of what to say or how to say it. To interrupt someone who is using their position of power to perpetuate racism. To challenge the ways that racism is imbedded in the institutions and systems that I am a part of. To not let my desire for preserving "peace" supercede my charge to eliminate racism.

The Fight to Eliminate Racism

It's been three years since I started working at the YWCA Greater Harrisburg, tasked with creating and implementing programs to "eliminate racism". Ever since, I have felt humbled - and at times overwhelmed - by the enormity of this task. And I'm sure many people have wondered how this young white woman ended up in a career working for racial justice. For me, there are many moments during my life that I can point to as the stepping stones which led me to embrace this passion for eliminating racism. My passion is rooted in a deep desire for justice - and an anger that rises in the core of who I am when confronted with injustice.

I recall one of those first turning points when I was on a youth group trip at age 16. We were at the airport about to the board the plane, and I remember one of the guys in my group - who was black - got pulled aside for an extra search. He came back really upset, and although I didn't completely understand what was happening, looking back that was one of the first moments when I realized that people are treated differently because of our race.

Fast forward to Messiah College, freshman year. I was taking Intro to Sociology and Intro to Social Work, and for the first time was reading statistics in our textbooks that painted a picture of vast racial disparities in the U.S. I had known that, individually, people weren't always treated equally, but being confronted with this hard data made it clear to me how systemic the inequality is, and the profound impact it has on communities of color in particular.

Fast forward again to my junior year, when I was at Temple for a semester at Messiah's Philly Campus. Two of the best classes I ever took were at Temple that semester - Institutional Racism and Urban Sociology. Through these classes, I learned about the history of racism in this country, how insidiously it is imbedded in our institutions and systems, and the current phenomenon of "color-blind" racism. But perhaps most impactful for me, I learned about how racism has played out in urban communities, through redlining, divestment and a long history of housing discrimination; as well as the stark realities of systematically under resourced schools which inevitably lead to vast educational inequalities.

It was a documentary on educational inequalities that pushed me to my tipping point, though. I remember seeing not just statistics, but the faces and stories of children who were smart, worked hard and excelled at school, but were trapped in a system set up to fail them. I remember leaving class that day with this deep anger burning inside of me, and felt like I had to do something. So, I ran. Now anyone who knows me knows that I am not a runner - not even a little, not even close. I hate running as a rule, but that day I put on my sneakers and took off around the neighborhood - pounding the pavement with all of this energy that felt like it was going to explode inside of me. Running did nothing to change the realities of unequal education, but it was an important outlet for me nonetheless. Since that time, I can count on one hand the number of times I've gone running, but I can still mark when I feel truly outraged about injustice because that is when this desire rises within me.

I had another moment like this last week. Again, it was not statistics but someone's story of injustice that profoundly impacted me. A story of how painful, racist words were used as they never should be, and how those using them were not brought to justice. I couldn't go running this time, so instead I found myself yelling inside my car as I drove. "Damn! This is why...this is why!" This is why I have a job with the task of "eliminating racism" - and this is why, no matter how hard it is sometimes, I won't walk away. There is so much work that must be done, and there are so many people being hurt daily by racism. I must continue to be an ally, and I must challenge myself to speak up - even and especially when it is hard. Because I will never experience the impact of racism that people of color do every single day.

I often think about how I have the option - the privilege - of "turning off" when I leave the office. I don't have to think about race and racism once I am off the clock - I do not have to be aware of my whiteness when I walk down the street, when I greet my neighbors, when I watch TV or run errands. My whiteness will never have the same kind of negative impact on my experience in these mundane situations that blackness or brownness has on people of color. So I must continually challenge myself to keep my awareness turned "on" - to critically observe, listen and engage even when I don't have to, or I don't want to. And to not let myself become paralyzed when I feel overwhelmed or exhausted.

The song that has been reverberating in my head ever since it came out is "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. I love this song because after a long day, after a long week when I feel like all of the energy has been sucked out of me and "eliminating racism" is a pipe dream so far removed from reality, I can go back to these lyrics:

Like a small boat

On the ocean

Sending big waves

Into motion

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

And all those things I didn't say

Wrecking balls inside my brain

I will scream them loud tonight

Can you hear my voice this time?

This is my fight song

Take back my life song

Prove I'm alright song

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

No I've still got a lot of fight left in me.

At the YWCA USA conference in June.

Why I Need Feminism

I walked out of the Midtown Cinema on a lovely Tuesday evening in August feeling energized and empowered. The YWCA and NOW had just screened an inspiring documentary, "She's Beautiful When She's Angry," which highlighted the dedicated and brilliant leaders of the women's movement from 1966 to 1971. Galvanized by this glimpse of the passionate and fearless feminists who had come before me, and exhilarated by the company of those working for change in Harrisburg today, I felt like I could do anything. Yet as I rounded the corner of the parking lot to go to my car, that familiar clench of fear returned as I checked the alley and reached for my keys. The many reasons why we need feminism were still spinning in my head, but in that moment I was reminded of why I need feminism.

I need feminism because I want to live in a world where being afraid is not synonymous with being a woman. Although sexism manifests itself in many ways - both subtle and overt - the most ever-present and jarring part for me is the fear. Fear of being harassed, attacked, raped, killed. Fear of both physical and sexual violence. For a long time I thought that it was just me - that I was just being anxious, and needed to get over it. But the more I have talked with other women and read articles like 34 Things Women Do to Stay Safe Show the Burden of 'Being Careful', the more I recognize that this is not a personal problem.

The second wave feminism of the 1960's and 70's was built upon the idea of "collective consciousness": that as we share the stories of our lives with one another, we realize that we are not alone; and what may have seemed like personal problems are recognized as societal problems that impact us all. Having named them as such, we are able to rise together to challenge the powers that be. The personal becomes the political.

Feminism has taught me that I am not alone in being afraid to walk by myself at night, not stopping to get gas after dark, checking around me before getting out of the car, and double-checking my locks before I go to bed. I am one woman, among many, living in a society where violence against women is the norm. I am one woman, among many, walking through rape culture everyday and trying not to become a statistic - all the while knowing how flawed the notion is that avoiding victimization is my responsibility to begin with.

Because statistics are not just numbers in a report - they are lives, women's lives that are forever altered after experiencing violence. They are the lives of my sisters, my friends, my co-workers - and these "statistics" invade even the most innocuous environments. This summer on a girls' getaway three of us had road tripped to visit a fourth girlfriend and her 18-month-old daughter, and we were all hanging out at the beach. Between playing in the waves and reapplying sunscreen, I had to wonder: Which one of us will be the 1 in 4 women to experience intimate partner violence? Which one of us will be the 1 in 5 women to be raped in our lifetime? And what kind of a world will this sweet, innocent little girl be growing up in?

So my message to all the women out there is: you are not alone, and you are not to blame. My message to all the men out there: you have to be part of creating a culture where violence against women is not the norm for your mothers, your daughters, your wives, your friends. We know that #NotAllMen are sexist, but #YesAllWomen experience sexism. This is the reality that we, as women, live with every single day.

I recognize, though, that women experience violence and the fear of violence differently depending on how our gender intersects with our other identities. I hold privileges as a white, cisgender woman that affords me a level of protection not available to women of color and trans women. So I am cognizant of the fact that although we all experience this, we do not all experience it the same.

If we are going to make change like our sisters before us did, we must be allies for one another. Women must support other women, intentionally reaching across lines of race, class, sexuality and gender identity to create a stronger force for change that recognizes all of our experiences. And men must support women, standing side-by-side with us. Because a world free of violence against women is a better world for everyone.

I imagine sometimes what this world would look like; what it would feel like. I imagine walking outside with confidence, and not encountering the invasive looks, words and actions of men who feel entitled to me. I imagine reading PennLive or my Facebook feed and not seeing reports of girls and women who have been molested, raped, attacked, killed. I imagine seeing trailers for new blockbusters or reruns of CSI that do not feature women being victimized. That, for me, is what a world without violence against women would look like.

Often, that world seems so far removed from our current realities that it is tempting to give up hope. However, I go back to the metaphor at the end of "She's Beautiful When She's Angry" - that of social change always being on the horizon. As we know, the horizon is a point in the distance that recedes as you move towards it – so our challenge as feminists is to keep moving forward, keep pushing for progress, and claim the opportunity that each generation has to create a better world for the next.

The sun setting over the Susquehanna River.

Dear Church: Be a Place that Embraces

I entered Elizabethtown Mennonite Church with trepidation, unsure of how this process would unfold or how comfortable I would feel speaking to the question of whether Lancaster Mennonite Conference should leave Mennonite Church USA over the "issue" of homosexuality. Looking around the packed sanctuary to see a sea of white faces, gray hair and a smattering of coverings, I definitely felt out of my element.

As we began, however, I was surprised and impressed with the process for the listening session - the care taken to split several hundred people into small groups for discussion, and the sincere desire to get feedback from each person in attendance. I was the only woman in my group and definitely the youngest, and yet I was again surprised by the diversity of opinions shared. There were things that I agreed with and things that I did not, but it was an honest and respectful conversation, which I had not anticipated.

As each group leader went up to the mic to report on what was said, I was struck by a number of things. There was not at all a clear consensus - in fact, it seemed almost evenly split between those who wanted to leave and those who wanted to stay. However, I heard nearly everyone echo a commitment to Biblical values - code for defining "homosexuality" as a sin - which was the underlying assumption of those gathered. So it was not this most fundamental question that was being addressed, but rather the question of what Lancaster Conference should do to best uphold this particular Biblical understanding.

Listening to all of this, what it seemed to come down to was that those wanting to leave saw this "issue" in black and white, and felt a moral imperative to separate themselves from what they saw as a slippery slope leading them to accepting "sin". Whereas those who wanted to stay, while having this same Biblical understanding, also recognized that we will never agree on everything and in fact diversity and differences of opinion are a positive thing. They were willing to live in the tensions, and felt that there is value in holding onto unity amidst differences - focusing on what brings us together rather than what separates us.

On the question at hand - to leave or not to leave - I would fall in the latter category...as you might imagine, I am all about living in the tensions and seeing shades of gray. And as Pastor Tom has articulated so well in past sermons, harmony in the midst of differences is truly a powerful thing for a church to embody. However, to be honest I don't know what the best direction for Lancaster Conference is, because I take issue with the fundamental assumption that everyone in that room was operating on.

My vision for Church - not just Lancaster Conference or MC USA, but the Body of Christ - is to be a place that is openly accepting and affirming of LGBTQ people; that rejects a reading of Scripture which labels the identities people are born with as "sin," and instead holds to a Biblical understanding which embraces people of all sexual orientations and gender identities as created by God and equal in every way. 

I would venture to say that all of us long to be seen and embraced for who we are. If there is any place where that should be true, it is Church. Pastor Tom often says that "confession" is naming who we are and what we bring. None of us want to be defined solely by any one of our identities - we want to be seen as whole people. Yet neither do we want to feel that we must hide any piece of ourselves out of fear that we might be rejected. So please, Church, be the place where we can bring our whole selves - and be loved and embraced for all of who we are.

My "Love One Another" t-shirt from the Human Rights Campaign.

Singled Out

I get the same incredulous look when I have the audacity to make either of the following statements: "I'm going on vacation by myself," and "I am single." To respond to the disbelief and assert that I LIKE both of these arrangements - well, let's just say the vacation is an easier sell. Is it truly so hard to believe that not only do I prefer to go to the beach to enjoy some relaxation in solitude, but that I also choose to happily live my life without a significant other? I've found that this is indeed quite a stretch for most people I've encountered.

Which is why I found a kindred spirit in Dr. Bella DePaulo, another happily single woman who has dedicated her professional career to studying and writing about single people. Her book, "Singled Out: How Singles are Stereotyped, Stigmatized, Ignored, and Still Live Happily Ever After" was a breath of fresh air, using both personal anecdotes and a load of scientific research to debunk all of the myths that are being daily perpetuated about single people.

Through those pages, I saw myself and my life reflected. From identifying with (and at times laughing out loud to!) the frustrating micro-aggressions that are all too common, to hearing the stories of other women and men whose lives are full of meaningful work, relationships and pursuits sans marriage partner, I felt affirmed and valued. Sometimes I feel a bit akin to an alien that has been dropped into this world of "matrimania" (Dr. DePaulo's word) and forced to adapt...but in these pages, I found my "mothership".

Let me be quick to say that I am not knocking partnership or marriage - even just this weekend, I have celebrated both marriages and engagements, and do not wish to detract anything from those who choose to make this commitment to one another. What I object to, however, is the societal notion that this is the only logical pursuit - and the only supremely valued relationship.

At another wedding recently, someone asked me: "So, do you have any special people back in Harrisburg?" I replied, with a smile: "I have many special people back in Harrisburg!" Which is absolutely true. I have friends who are like family to me, with whom I share backyard space, kitchen ingredients, meals, laughter and love. I have a job that aligns with my passions for eliminating racism and empowering women, which I pour myself into and find much fulfilment in. I am part of a neighborhood, a city and a church community which I deeply value, and which values me. I love my life, and I love being single; that is not something I should have to explain or justify. It is a badge that I wear with honor - something that I refuse to be ashamed of.

Enjoying sun, sand and solitude at the beach :)

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

Enough

I had a moment of panic tonight - in fact, I can still feel my heart racing. After waiting all day for my student loan payments to auto-debit, I login to my account - and see numbers screaming at me that are DOUBLE what I thought I owed! Money's been tight lately, but I had these payments all planned out - so how could this be?! I felt like bursting into tears...but I tried to stay calm. Upon further investigation, the monthly payment was what I thought it should be - but since the auto debit was still "pending" according to my bank (due to snow? who knows...) it was past the due date and so my "minimum payment due" was listing the amount for both months combined.

Whew. What a relief to discover that I did not in fact owe more money than I had! But it gave me a moment of insight into the stress caused by poverty. If this one scare caused me such panic and distress, I cannot imagine what it must feel like to carry that constant weight of not knowing if you'll have enough - or knowing for a fact that you won't have enough, and trying to do whatever you can to somehow make ends meet. In the academic world "social stress theory" demonstrates how the extreme and constant stress experienced simply by living in poverty has significant and lasting impacts on people's physical, mental and emotional health - and every aspect of their life. Poverty literally makes you sicker - and decreases your quality of life in so many ways.

I have had the privilege to grow up and live most of my 26 years without having to worry about how I'm going to pay my bills. I have always had enough, and most of the time more than enough. It is only recently that this has become something that I must be more conscious of - and ironically, even as I have been worrying about making my student loan payments, I have also been convicted of all of the "excess" that I have. I have multiple coats, scarves and gloves to choose from when going out in the cold - even though the farthest I have to go is from my house to my car. I have a car, making transportation something I don't have to think about, rather than an impossible barrier. I can afford to turn my heat on, even if I keep it low. I can't truthfully say "there's no food in the house" - even if I've run out of leftovers, my cupboards and freezer still have plenty. I have extra medicine, shampoo, umbrellas, you name it - and extra clothes that I have to periodically get rid of! And perhaps most importantly, I have the social supports available to help me when I do come up short, rather than being at the mercy of creditors.

In short, I really have no idea what it feels like to live in poverty - I have a privileged life, which I am grateful for, but which also gives me greater responsibility. Somewhere Jesus talks about how if you have two cloaks and your brother has none, you are stealing from him. I feel like this is Jesus' challenge to me as well. As I become more conscious of the limits of my material resources, the temptation is to hold onto them. Yet in recognizing all that I have been given, I want to be just as willing to give it away - trusting that God will continue to provide me with enough, and knowing that my "excess" can be someone else's "enough".

A posture of giving...
Courtesy of Catholic Lane