Month: July 2018

This adaptation of Psalm 46 is taped inside my locker at work. I usually need the reminder of Who is really in charge. It’s a physical reminder of my faith in God. It also helps to blend my spiritual life into my work life.

I usually read it but the other day I reached in and placed my hand over it.

I felt the cold metal of my locker and the rough texture of the tape. For a few seconds it felt real. This thing I call faith had a form, a shape, something I could touch. A prayer I could touch. I started to think about all of the other things that I touch through out the day and wondered if I could also think of them as a prayer or somehow show my faith in each touch.

A hug given to a friend fighting cancer. Holding my terrified terrier during a thunderstorm. A handshake meeting a new coworker. The food I prepare for our women’s ministry. The kiss I give my husband before he goes to work. The paper texture of the Host during communion.

What I came to realize was that faith and prayer take many forms. I just needed to be open to the possibilities of what that could bring.

My prayer today is that we find our faith in different places and stay open to the possibilities that will come.

The elephant in the room is that I went ax-throwing when I was in Chicago last weekend. It was my friend Stacy’s fault. She is always looking for new, fun, out of the box things to do, and she knows I am willing to try almost anything. When she suggested this I thought it was a joke, until I got the receipt she had bought the tickets. With our friend Carrie, the three of us giggled on the train as we made our way there, nervous, unsure but determined not to be the one who chickened out.

When we got to the event we were put on a team with a group of young Muslim women.  The opposing team was a tech company having a bonding experience. You could tell some of them had done it before because they were good. The worker, who was hysterical (funny), coached us in how to throw the ax with maximum efficiency, and then we played three games. One was simply which team got the most hits, then a game where you added up the score to exactly 31 and then it was an elimination game to end it. I have to say while I wasn’t that great, I did hit the target a number of times.

I am competitive, but I don’t consider myself violent. My friends and I are practitioners of nonviolence, so the whole throwing a weapon thing was like this guilty pleasure, we couldn’t stop laughing about it all evening. There was something physically quite satisfying about hitting the target. It felt powerful.

But much more fun was cheering for everyone, even the other team. Giving high 5s as the young women we were with explored being strong and powerful. Laughing when everyone inevitably did something humorous. I hit the floor several times. It was the bonding that really made the evening, the shared experience of doing something out of the ordinary and taking pictures of it.

What I realize in retrospect is that the power didn’t come from the ax. I don’t have the ax now, it was just a moment. It came from believing that we were strong, bold and daring. Those are the qualities that will get me through the next crisis in my life, not a weapon. Because of that moment, we were able to believe in ourselves a little more, gain some confidence, and possibly scare our children. That made it well worth it.

I was walking through the Target parking lot Tuesday after work for a quick pre-holiday run to the store. I had a project I wanted to get done-hanging a new shower curtain- and I most needed hangers. So I probably had a determined look on my face as I was fighting against the incredible heat of the day to get back to my car. I never park close because I want the steps for my daily total, but sometimes I regret the optimism of arrival.

So I am pushing the cart to the back of the lot when I pass a young black man. Like I said, maybe I looked mean in the heat of the moment, literally. But he was looking at me with a resigned, cautious look. I smiled, he smiled, and it was all OK. But I am haunted by that look.

I realize I have been distracted from racism in our community by the racism happening on our southern border. I am so heartbroken by children being taken from their parents that my energy for compassion overall is wounded.

But as I thought about it later, that young man was anxious about me. And he had every right to be. Not that I am bad or dangerous in any way. But the news reports almost daily white women calling the police about black men for ridiculous and arbitrary reasons. I would be wary about me too. It is so irrational that anything can seemingly set off alarms.

In the Gospel this week, we hear Jesus sending his disciples out to heal. And, by the way, it worked. Healing happened through them because of their belief in Jesus. They called upon God and God answered them. They healed people.

One of the YSU signs flashes something about peace beginning with a smile. Every time I have seen that I have thought, what a low bar. But it is true. Peace was given to that young man and I in that moment because of a smile. Maybe that can be the heart of our healing mission, that we treat all people with the smile of kindness and assurance and solidarity. We are sent out to heal. And that can happen even in the Target parking lot.

Sometimes I find my deepest faith in the darkest corners of an abandon space. Neglect and decay consume most people’s view, a bleak rotting wasteland, a forgotten place that is an unsightly eyesore. I understand this opinion, most people don’t like to live with ruins. It’s hard to look into these spaces and find beauty of any kind. It’s a challenge that is often met with closed eyes. Yet if we look beyond the surface we may just be surprised at what we will see.

I’ve been fortunate to witness new life in these spaces. A mother opossum with her babies clinging to her side scurrying away from me as I carefully weave my way through her territory. A hive of honey bees working hard to create and maintain their nest. Numerous pigeons cooing from the rafters eyeing me cautiously as I climb a ruined stairway. Sometimes is it just a vine or a sapling that catches my eye. This raw creation in the depths of decay has become a constant and I find myself aware of it on every adventure.

In these moments, I am reminded that God is constantly at work in the world. Forever challenging us to view the world with new eyes, with hope, with love. To look beyond what is on the surface and see the possibilities among the ruins.