I've been thinking and reflecting for a while now on how to "close" this blog. My year in Nashville is over. I spent my five-ish weeks in Erie. And now I'm settling into the graduate school chapter of my life in Decatur, Georgia.
Last weekend, I was out in Ghost Ranch, New Mexico for the YAV Re-entry retreat. I'm still processing how I felt about that experience, but it certainly has helped me to understand some of the emptiness I'm carrying around with me. The emptiness of leaving behind a place, people, and life to move onto something completely new.
My year in Nashville was exhilarating. Full of the completely unexpected. Challenging. Eye-opening. Frustrating. Beautiful. Life-changing.
I will never be the same. I left part of my spirit there; with the people I grew to love, the places I frequented, the dreams and fears that I faced there. In some ways, Nashville will always fall under my list of "homes" or places where my heart feels it belongs. Malawi is also on that list, just like Guatemala, Jamaica, Westminster, and Columbia Seminary will probably soon be on that list. Each of those places has changed me. Forced me to see the world differently. To embrace that which I thought I would never experience.
And like all those other places, my Nashville memories will fade. The places will become foreign. I'll lose touch with the people there. But it will forever remain a part of me. I'll never be the same Bethany who moved to Nashville in August of 2009.
As I've officially moved into the next year of my life, I continue to move onto new adventures. The changes are the constants in my life, and I'm embracing that. So, I guess this isn't as much of a closing as it is a realization that my life continues to move forward. I'll be forever thankful that I took that risk to move away from all that I knew and do my best to embrace the unknown. It was, and continues to be, a year of my life full of blessings and prayers in Nashville.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Memories
On August 1, 2010, I drove out of Nashville. I said my good byes, packed up my belongs (so much for simple living!) and prepared for five weeks in Erie. Now, a little over a month later, I'm still debriefing and processing my YAV Nashville experience. It was a year that will be hard to forget, that's for sure. I experienced the unexpected, found my voice and learned to use it, grieved deeply, discovered deep joy in who I am, among countless other things. I took time to meet and engage new people. I fought battles with myself; struggling to discover who it was (and is) that I was to become.
It wasn't always easy. It wasn't always pretty.
But I'd do it all over again if I could.
Even now I have a million memories, thoughts, feelings, and experiences streaming through my mind: the rafting trip, Fall break in Memphis, Guatemala, two hour conversations, preaching, Sweet CeCe's, las marcas, Ugly Mugz, Common lunches, Family nights, Honky Tonks. . . . Most of these things might not mean anything to others, but they will forever be a part of my Nashville memories. Memories I will hold onto as long as possible.
My Young Adult Volunteer year certainly was "A year of service for a lifetime of change." Thanks be to God!
It wasn't always easy. It wasn't always pretty.
But I'd do it all over again if I could.
Even now I have a million memories, thoughts, feelings, and experiences streaming through my mind: the rafting trip, Fall break in Memphis, Guatemala, two hour conversations, preaching, Sweet CeCe's, las marcas, Ugly Mugz, Common lunches, Family nights, Honky Tonks. . . . Most of these things might not mean anything to others, but they will forever be a part of my Nashville memories. Memories I will hold onto as long as possible.
My Young Adult Volunteer year certainly was "A year of service for a lifetime of change." Thanks be to God!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
change
It’s hard to believe that my time as a YAV is nearly complete. My year commitment is in its final two weeks, and I’m left wondering (as I think we all do at times of transition): “Have I made a difference?”
When people ask what I’ve learned and experienced this year, I typically say something about lots of personal growth, change and struggle. Sometimes I mention that I’ve lived this year in intentional Christian community, spent time each week in discernment, and have served through the lens of social justice. I’ve told people that I worked with the Presbyterian Campus Ministry on the campuses of Belmont and Vanderbilt Universities, and often took students to coffee shops to hear their stories. And while all of that is true, it doesn’t tell the whole story of what this year means to my life. When I reflect upon my “year of service for a lifetime of change” (which is the YAV motto) I think of many powerful moments:
The fall break trip was a social justice trip to Memphis. A week before the trip, a senior student asked if there were scholarships available so she might be able to go on the trip. We were able to give her a full scholarship and she joined us. On the second night of the trip, we helped serve a dinner for the homeless community. A beautiful thing happened during that meal. The student sat down and spent most of the evening talking with the folks at one of the tables. I later learned that was the first time she had ever interacted with anyone who was homeless.
After a long night (and early morning) helping students host Room in the Inn, I invited two students to join me for a coffee at Starbucks. I wasn’t thinking about anything beyond my personal need for some caffeine. But those students had a lot on their minds and hearts that they needed to talk about. We spent two hours talking that morning. We talked about life, about God, about what it means to be a Christian, about the life-changing impacts of our spring break trip to Guatemala and what it looks like to bring one’s faith into everyday life. Two hours of authentic, Spirit-filled conversation.
Walking into Downtown Presbyterian Church one sunny Sunday morning, I smiled at a group of men gathered on the stairs. It was a group of men who would have frightened me at the beginning of my time at Downtown. On this particular morning, I took my sunglasses off before entering the narthex and said “hello” with a smile. One of the men looked up at me, and thanked me. He thanked me for noticing him and for sharing a smile.
For several years, people have told me that I needed to pursue a theological education. I’ve always tried to run from such a calling. In March my supervisor at Presbyterian Campus Ministry asked me to preach and for whatever reason I said yes. In the midst of my sermon, I knew with confidence and joy that I was doing what God had created me to do. I couldn’t run anymore. I knew in that moment that I was going to seminary.
When I first read the YAV motto, I did not really think that my life would change after a year of service. I knew lives would change and that growth would transpire. I assumed that I would be an agent in changing the lives around me.
Beyond anything else, I have changed this year. I’ve been forced to embrace who it is that I am. I’ve learned what it means to grieve, to face conflict, to be assertive. I have learned the power in walking with others, of being present, and the power in listening. While I’m sure it’s been happening for a while, I am becoming the person I have always hoped to become. I’ve finally accepted my calling to go to seminary. I’ll venture to another new place, Columbia Theological Seminary, and start another chapter of my life there in September.
This year of service in Nashville brought about a deep change within me. Thank you for being some of the people who have encouraged me this year. Thank you for welcoming me into your community as a stranger and for letting me venture on knowing that I have a place in Nashville to return to. I took a risk in coming to Nashville as a Young Adult Volunteer. I took the risk the song “The Summons” offers: ‘will you go where you don’t know and never be the same?’ I took that risk . . . and I will never be the same.
When people ask what I’ve learned and experienced this year, I typically say something about lots of personal growth, change and struggle. Sometimes I mention that I’ve lived this year in intentional Christian community, spent time each week in discernment, and have served through the lens of social justice. I’ve told people that I worked with the Presbyterian Campus Ministry on the campuses of Belmont and Vanderbilt Universities, and often took students to coffee shops to hear their stories. And while all of that is true, it doesn’t tell the whole story of what this year means to my life. When I reflect upon my “year of service for a lifetime of change” (which is the YAV motto) I think of many powerful moments:
The fall break trip was a social justice trip to Memphis. A week before the trip, a senior student asked if there were scholarships available so she might be able to go on the trip. We were able to give her a full scholarship and she joined us. On the second night of the trip, we helped serve a dinner for the homeless community. A beautiful thing happened during that meal. The student sat down and spent most of the evening talking with the folks at one of the tables. I later learned that was the first time she had ever interacted with anyone who was homeless.
After a long night (and early morning) helping students host Room in the Inn, I invited two students to join me for a coffee at Starbucks. I wasn’t thinking about anything beyond my personal need for some caffeine. But those students had a lot on their minds and hearts that they needed to talk about. We spent two hours talking that morning. We talked about life, about God, about what it means to be a Christian, about the life-changing impacts of our spring break trip to Guatemala and what it looks like to bring one’s faith into everyday life. Two hours of authentic, Spirit-filled conversation.
Walking into Downtown Presbyterian Church one sunny Sunday morning, I smiled at a group of men gathered on the stairs. It was a group of men who would have frightened me at the beginning of my time at Downtown. On this particular morning, I took my sunglasses off before entering the narthex and said “hello” with a smile. One of the men looked up at me, and thanked me. He thanked me for noticing him and for sharing a smile.
For several years, people have told me that I needed to pursue a theological education. I’ve always tried to run from such a calling. In March my supervisor at Presbyterian Campus Ministry asked me to preach and for whatever reason I said yes. In the midst of my sermon, I knew with confidence and joy that I was doing what God had created me to do. I couldn’t run anymore. I knew in that moment that I was going to seminary.
When I first read the YAV motto, I did not really think that my life would change after a year of service. I knew lives would change and that growth would transpire. I assumed that I would be an agent in changing the lives around me.
Beyond anything else, I have changed this year. I’ve been forced to embrace who it is that I am. I’ve learned what it means to grieve, to face conflict, to be assertive. I have learned the power in walking with others, of being present, and the power in listening. While I’m sure it’s been happening for a while, I am becoming the person I have always hoped to become. I’ve finally accepted my calling to go to seminary. I’ll venture to another new place, Columbia Theological Seminary, and start another chapter of my life there in September.
This year of service in Nashville brought about a deep change within me. Thank you for being some of the people who have encouraged me this year. Thank you for welcoming me into your community as a stranger and for letting me venture on knowing that I have a place in Nashville to return to. I took a risk in coming to Nashville as a Young Adult Volunteer. I took the risk the song “The Summons” offers: ‘will you go where you don’t know and never be the same?’ I took that risk . . . and I will never be the same.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
One Month
It's July 1.
I am done being a YAV on July 31.
I have one month left of service. One month left.
On August 1, I hope to be in Pennsylvania.
Where has the time gone?
Some days, I'm eager to finish up this year and move on.
I'm excited for a single apartment; exploring a new state; starting school.
But also sad, esepcially when I hear about the plans for PSF next year.
For the friends I'll be leaving behind.
Sad for the community I've worked so hard to build.
On August 1, I hope to be in Pennsylvania.
I have one month left of service. One month left.
I am done being a YAV on July 31.
It's July 1.
One month left.
I am done being a YAV on July 31.
I have one month left of service. One month left.
On August 1, I hope to be in Pennsylvania.
Where has the time gone?
Some days, I'm eager to finish up this year and move on.
I'm excited for a single apartment; exploring a new state; starting school.
But also sad, esepcially when I hear about the plans for PSF next year.
For the friends I'll be leaving behind.
Sad for the community I've worked so hard to build.
On August 1, I hope to be in Pennsylvania.
I have one month left of service. One month left.
I am done being a YAV on July 31.
It's July 1.
One month left.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Montreat
I often describe myself as a "Proud Presbyterian." I love our traditions, our way of doing things (although committees can be overrated at times!), and the work we engage. But besides the National offices in Louisville, I didn't have a place too deeply associate with being Presbyterian. That is until now! I have come back from my two weeks as a small group leader in love with Montreat.
Montreat is a beautiful community nestled within North Carolina's Black Mountains. And for the last two weeks, I have been there helping with two weeks of Montreat's youth conferences. Both weeks I had a group of nearly 30 high schoolers who gathered together for three hours a day to talk about life, keynote addresses, and have fun together. The small group time was more of what I've learned to love in this YAV year: community building, deep conversations, new relationships, and serving God.
The leadership and those who spoke in Keynotes and preached in Worship were the same both weeks. It was powerful to hear each of their messages twice, as I heard different things each time. The Spirit revealed new things to me, encouraging me, and I hopefully encouraged and challenged the youth I worked with. I was told several times that the little things I said in a passing moment or the "hard question" I asked meant a lot. That's all the Spirit. I'm just thankful in that moment I was willing/open to being a vessel.
Before heading to Montreat, I prayed that I would have relationships form that would last. As I've learned over and over again this year, God is good. Not only did I meet several new friends, but two of them will be starting Hebrew with me in September at Columbia Seminary. I met several pastors (most graduates of Columbia) whose stories touched my story. I made new connections, networked a little, and experienced an amazing community. One of my new friends was even suppose to be an intern at PSF this year; it's sad we just met and became friends. And two of my friends from PSF work there, and it's always wonderful to be in their company.
My time at Montreat was a lot of things: exhausting, exciting, passion-filled, a learning experience. . . . It's a place where the concepts of the Biblical church are lived out, where community and God matters. As the President of Montreat says: it's a thin place, where heaven and earth met and you aren't sure which is which.
p.s.-Last weekend, in between my two weeks at Montreat, I flew home to Erie to be presented to the Presbytery of Lake Erie as an Inquirer candidate. Following a brief introduction, answering a few questions, a vote was taken and I am an official Inquirer for Ordination of the Word and Sacrament. Five months ago, I never would have thought this to be the path I would take. But God is good. Thanks for your prayers as I continue to discern God's path.
Montreat is a beautiful community nestled within North Carolina's Black Mountains. And for the last two weeks, I have been there helping with two weeks of Montreat's youth conferences. Both weeks I had a group of nearly 30 high schoolers who gathered together for three hours a day to talk about life, keynote addresses, and have fun together. The small group time was more of what I've learned to love in this YAV year: community building, deep conversations, new relationships, and serving God.
The leadership and those who spoke in Keynotes and preached in Worship were the same both weeks. It was powerful to hear each of their messages twice, as I heard different things each time. The Spirit revealed new things to me, encouraging me, and I hopefully encouraged and challenged the youth I worked with. I was told several times that the little things I said in a passing moment or the "hard question" I asked meant a lot. That's all the Spirit. I'm just thankful in that moment I was willing/open to being a vessel.
Before heading to Montreat, I prayed that I would have relationships form that would last. As I've learned over and over again this year, God is good. Not only did I meet several new friends, but two of them will be starting Hebrew with me in September at Columbia Seminary. I met several pastors (most graduates of Columbia) whose stories touched my story. I made new connections, networked a little, and experienced an amazing community. One of my new friends was even suppose to be an intern at PSF this year; it's sad we just met and became friends. And two of my friends from PSF work there, and it's always wonderful to be in their company.
My time at Montreat was a lot of things: exhausting, exciting, passion-filled, a learning experience. . . . It's a place where the concepts of the Biblical church are lived out, where community and God matters. As the President of Montreat says: it's a thin place, where heaven and earth met and you aren't sure which is which.
p.s.-Last weekend, in between my two weeks at Montreat, I flew home to Erie to be presented to the Presbytery of Lake Erie as an Inquirer candidate. Following a brief introduction, answering a few questions, a vote was taken and I am an official Inquirer for Ordination of the Word and Sacrament. Five months ago, I never would have thought this to be the path I would take. But God is good. Thanks for your prayers as I continue to discern God's path.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
quick update
Why hello, hot and humid month of June!
Hard to believe there are only two months left of my eleven month YAV commitment. I'm excited to move onto the next chapter of my life (minus driving in Atlanta and taking Hebrew), but am sad to think that my time in Nashville is almost up. Luckily, my list of things to do and see in Nashvegas only has about six things left, which is doable in few weeks I have left.
On Saturday, I leave Nashville for two weeks. I'll be serving as a small group leader for the first two weeks of the Montreat Youth Conference. I'm really excited! Small groups, especially leading them, has always been a life-giving activity for me. There's something wonderful about helping others come closer to God in all they do. And the idea of being in the Black Mountains of North Carolina should be pretty great too. Is it silly that part of me wants to see Billy Graham while I'm there? Probably.
In between my two Montreat weeks, I'll be heading to PA for a Lake Erie Presbytery meeting. If all goes well, I should be officially taken under care by the Presbytery and become an Inquirer. This is a huge step, and I'm so thankful that all the people back home have been so willing and flexible to help make this happen for me.
It's crazy to stop and think about everything that has happened this year. I'm so blessed. There have been many blessings and many prayers here in Nashville. I had no idea a year ago what a great name I had picked for this blog.
Hard to believe there are only two months left of my eleven month YAV commitment. I'm excited to move onto the next chapter of my life (minus driving in Atlanta and taking Hebrew), but am sad to think that my time in Nashville is almost up. Luckily, my list of things to do and see in Nashvegas only has about six things left, which is doable in few weeks I have left.
On Saturday, I leave Nashville for two weeks. I'll be serving as a small group leader for the first two weeks of the Montreat Youth Conference. I'm really excited! Small groups, especially leading them, has always been a life-giving activity for me. There's something wonderful about helping others come closer to God in all they do. And the idea of being in the Black Mountains of North Carolina should be pretty great too. Is it silly that part of me wants to see Billy Graham while I'm there? Probably.
In between my two Montreat weeks, I'll be heading to PA for a Lake Erie Presbytery meeting. If all goes well, I should be officially taken under care by the Presbytery and become an Inquirer. This is a huge step, and I'm so thankful that all the people back home have been so willing and flexible to help make this happen for me.
It's crazy to stop and think about everything that has happened this year. I'm so blessed. There have been many blessings and many prayers here in Nashville. I had no idea a year ago what a great name I had picked for this blog.
Monday, May 24, 2010
PSF reflections
It's pretty quiet here in Vandyland. Graduation was on the 14th, and since then the campus feels deserted. I'm sadder than I thought I would be without the students around. I feel like my purpose for being in Nashville left with them all. They were, after all, the focus of most of my days and the majority of my non-YAV community.
The silence that engulfs the campus though calls me to reflect upon my time with the PSF community. I came in September unsure of what I was doing; not knowing how to build community, and lacking in confidence that I could handle the task at hand. As the year evolved, I discovered that I loved the planning, the execution, and the behind the scenes work that so much of the Vanderbilt PSF work demanded. Being a part of the planning that made "life-changing moments" is pretty incredible. I discovered a passion in authentic conversation (especially with a tea or chai in hand) and the joy of fostering relationships of meaning. I was reminded of my love for proclaiming the Word, my fears of entering hospitals, and how sometimes the most important thing is just to be present with someone as they move through trials. I had my share of failures and anxieties. But I made incredible memories of triumph, and joy, and plenty of new relationships. I helped make two mission trips realities, learned to ask hard questions, and discovered that there is something, indescribably profound in the moments one feels God's presence.
My life has certainly been enriched with the work I did with PSF Nashville. I also miss the busy-ness that was my life; although the time for rest is nice. But there is something to be said for the pace of life on a college/university campus. I still haven't found anywhere else that compares.
The silence that engulfs the campus though calls me to reflect upon my time with the PSF community. I came in September unsure of what I was doing; not knowing how to build community, and lacking in confidence that I could handle the task at hand. As the year evolved, I discovered that I loved the planning, the execution, and the behind the scenes work that so much of the Vanderbilt PSF work demanded. Being a part of the planning that made "life-changing moments" is pretty incredible. I discovered a passion in authentic conversation (especially with a tea or chai in hand) and the joy of fostering relationships of meaning. I was reminded of my love for proclaiming the Word, my fears of entering hospitals, and how sometimes the most important thing is just to be present with someone as they move through trials. I had my share of failures and anxieties. But I made incredible memories of triumph, and joy, and plenty of new relationships. I helped make two mission trips realities, learned to ask hard questions, and discovered that there is something, indescribably profound in the moments one feels God's presence.
My life has certainly been enriched with the work I did with PSF Nashville. I also miss the busy-ness that was my life; although the time for rest is nice. But there is something to be said for the pace of life on a college/university campus. I still haven't found anywhere else that compares.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
traveling home
On Mother's Day, I flew out of Nashville and arrived in Erie. It was a exciting couple of days in Erie. I surprised both Grandmothers (one much more than the other!) and attended two very important meetings to help start off my time at Columbia Seminary.
The first meeting was a gathering of my home church's Session, for me to discuss why I've decided to go to seminary and pursue ordination. It was a wonderful meeting. . . it felt so good to be home and around people who know more than this year of my story. It was incredibly affirming to share with them all, and to hear their thoughts and feelings when I was done talking.
On Monday I went to the Lake Erie Presbytery office to attend the Committee on Preparation for Ministry meeting. This CPM meeting was the next hoop to jump through in hopes that they would endorse me and then present me to the Presbytery meeting in June. This meeting was also very affirming and very positive. I really enjoyed my time with them all; even if I did do most of the talking!
I left Erie sad on Tuesday morning. It doesn't get easier to leave home, especially not when I've had such a great time with the people who know me. And the idea of being about four more hours away from Erie (Columbia is just outside of Atlanta) for three years makes me sad too. But I also know that I can't deny the notion of being called to Columbia, to seminary, and to ordination. So, I'll venture further away to pursue what I need to. And maybe someday, I'll move closer to Erie and the people who know so much of my story. Until then, I'll keep building community in new places and venturing forth.
The first meeting was a gathering of my home church's Session, for me to discuss why I've decided to go to seminary and pursue ordination. It was a wonderful meeting. . . it felt so good to be home and around people who know more than this year of my story. It was incredibly affirming to share with them all, and to hear their thoughts and feelings when I was done talking.
On Monday I went to the Lake Erie Presbytery office to attend the Committee on Preparation for Ministry meeting. This CPM meeting was the next hoop to jump through in hopes that they would endorse me and then present me to the Presbytery meeting in June. This meeting was also very affirming and very positive. I really enjoyed my time with them all; even if I did do most of the talking!
I left Erie sad on Tuesday morning. It doesn't get easier to leave home, especially not when I've had such a great time with the people who know me. And the idea of being about four more hours away from Erie (Columbia is just outside of Atlanta) for three years makes me sad too. But I also know that I can't deny the notion of being called to Columbia, to seminary, and to ordination. So, I'll venture further away to pursue what I need to. And maybe someday, I'll move closer to Erie and the people who know so much of my story. Until then, I'll keep building community in new places and venturing forth.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
flood
When I asked my parents to ship my work boots down to Music City in March, I never suspected that I would end up using them more in Nashville than in Guatemala. (I actually didn't even take them with me to Guatemala).
The last three days (and again tomorrow) I've headed out into suburbia Nashville to help with flood recovery. It's a mess. Lives have been lost, tangible memories are soggy or destroyed, and my heart aches for all of it.
I've helped a co-worker save pictures from his flooded basement, torn up a hardwood floor at a stranger's house. Today I choked back tears as I helped an 85 year old woman salvage cards and pictures that her husband hadn't even signed before he died three years ago. I ripped out soggy drywall and tossed it into a heaping pile at another house.
Someone asked me today if this is what I ever expected to do during my YAV year. I laughed at the time, and answered that no, this was not on my list of expectations. Now I say no with a lump in my throat as I allow my thoughts and feelings to settle. It certainly has been a year full of the unexpected. And this flood and consequential devastation, as well as recovery work in my own city, was (and continues to be)on the top of my "totally unexpected" list.
I wish I could better articulate what I've been seeing and feeling. I don't know if it is a limited vocabulary or an overwhelming sense of emotion on my part. All I know for certain is that this city that I love is suffering.
The last three days (and again tomorrow) I've headed out into suburbia Nashville to help with flood recovery. It's a mess. Lives have been lost, tangible memories are soggy or destroyed, and my heart aches for all of it.
I've helped a co-worker save pictures from his flooded basement, torn up a hardwood floor at a stranger's house. Today I choked back tears as I helped an 85 year old woman salvage cards and pictures that her husband hadn't even signed before he died three years ago. I ripped out soggy drywall and tossed it into a heaping pile at another house.
Someone asked me today if this is what I ever expected to do during my YAV year. I laughed at the time, and answered that no, this was not on my list of expectations. Now I say no with a lump in my throat as I allow my thoughts and feelings to settle. It certainly has been a year full of the unexpected. And this flood and consequential devastation, as well as recovery work in my own city, was (and continues to be)on the top of my "totally unexpected" list.
I wish I could better articulate what I've been seeing and feeling. I don't know if it is a limited vocabulary or an overwhelming sense of emotion on my part. All I know for certain is that this city that I love is suffering.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
focus on the present
Much of my YAV has been spent looking into the future. I think that's the nature of one year programs, lots of focus into whats coming next. And that's great. I really wouldn't be ready for seminary if it wasn't the vocational discernment and other such "forward looking" experiences I've had through this year.
But this morning at church I was reminded of "old" life lessons. Worship opened with Holy, Holy, Holy. It's a great hymn, one that with a brief look to the next stanza, I can sing from memory. But today, I focused on the words. The words are so familiar that typically my imagination shuts down and the words are simply black letters on a page. The words only occasionally strike me, make me think, cause me to think about anything beyond what's next in the bulletin.
Today, I went back (mentally) to my Confirmation class in 8th grade when Mr. Skinner came into the class and we talked about hymns. Holy, Holy, Holy was one of the ones we discussed. We talked about the saints casting down their crowns and what that meant. I remember saying at that time I that suspected that that reference meant that "the saints" were acknowledging Jesus as Lord and king; and that their earthly positions of glory were nothing in comparison to Jesus.
I thought about my time at FootSteps and "This Little Light of Mine" in reference to the darkness in verse two. I thought about the times of darkness in my life, when I let the darkness slip in and I wallowed there for a while.
In the midst of trying to stay in the present (not the future), I was reminded of a lot of great moments and lessons from my past. All those things and moments and experiences that have shaped me and gotten me to this place so I can look into the future and be comfortable in the present.
But this morning at church I was reminded of "old" life lessons. Worship opened with Holy, Holy, Holy. It's a great hymn, one that with a brief look to the next stanza, I can sing from memory. But today, I focused on the words. The words are so familiar that typically my imagination shuts down and the words are simply black letters on a page. The words only occasionally strike me, make me think, cause me to think about anything beyond what's next in the bulletin.
Today, I went back (mentally) to my Confirmation class in 8th grade when Mr. Skinner came into the class and we talked about hymns. Holy, Holy, Holy was one of the ones we discussed. We talked about the saints casting down their crowns and what that meant. I remember saying at that time I that suspected that that reference meant that "the saints" were acknowledging Jesus as Lord and king; and that their earthly positions of glory were nothing in comparison to Jesus.
I thought about my time at FootSteps and "This Little Light of Mine" in reference to the darkness in verse two. I thought about the times of darkness in my life, when I let the darkness slip in and I wallowed there for a while.
In the midst of trying to stay in the present (not the future), I was reminded of a lot of great moments and lessons from my past. All those things and moments and experiences that have shaped me and gotten me to this place so I can look into the future and be comfortable in the present.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
staying put
It's been hard to "stay" in Nashville. In one sense, yes, I'm eager to get some more traveling and exploration in. But mostly it's been hard to stay in Nashville mentally and emotionally. With my Columbia Seminary acceptance letter and scholarship, I've mentally moved on. PSF had it's last worship on Tuesday night, and in two weeks the majority of students will be home for their summers. My role on Vandy's campus will change; my walks won't include seeing the community I've built there. And the general charm about living in community with four other Young Adult Volunteers has worn off. Living out "intentional Christian community" definitely has it's highs and lows.
A year ago when I said that I was ready to be broken and grow in new ways, I never expected all that has come my way. I'm tired--it's not been easy. But there is a lot of it that has been good. Fabulous life experiences: keynoting a youth retreat, leading a Guatemala trip, meeting and working with lots of great PC(USA) pastors, learning how to articulate my own faith and theology, discovering my passion for community building . . . the list goes on. I am confident that if it wasn't for this year of growth and challenges, I would not be so excited to venture off to seminary, nor would I be ready to venture off. It's been a good year, and I mean that. And now, with around three months left, I need to hold onto that mentality and see what else comes my way.
A year ago when I said that I was ready to be broken and grow in new ways, I never expected all that has come my way. I'm tired--it's not been easy. But there is a lot of it that has been good. Fabulous life experiences: keynoting a youth retreat, leading a Guatemala trip, meeting and working with lots of great PC(USA) pastors, learning how to articulate my own faith and theology, discovering my passion for community building . . . the list goes on. I am confident that if it wasn't for this year of growth and challenges, I would not be so excited to venture off to seminary, nor would I be ready to venture off. It's been a good year, and I mean that. And now, with around three months left, I need to hold onto that mentality and see what else comes my way.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
thoughts and ramblings
Easter is come and gone. I'm back to eating some meat (I gave meat up for Lent). My family is back in PA after a great visit. I got my acceptance letter to Columbia Seminary for the fall, so pending some financial aid, that's where I'll be come September. I'm seriously considering pursuing the Ordination track, which is new for me. Spring has sprung; and for the first time I really get the concept of spring marking Easter's themes of life and death so well--which is hard to do in Erie, when there's typically still snow. We're beginning the end of things on campus. I've got a little less than a month left with the students. I'm leading a class through April on art and spirituality. I'm tired with community living, and craving my own space. I'm sad that I only have about four months left in Nashville. I got about four, maybe five?, inches of my hair cut off. I'm addicted to Goodwill shopping. I'm eating fish/seafood regularly. I'm still terrible at returning phone calls and personal emails. I've been to the Nashville zoo with Sarah, experienced Chipotle with Kayla, and am planning for a few more visitors before this YAV experience is over. I'm trying to squeeze a trip to visit the Denver YAVs and the Compassion Buddha Retreat House before I no longer have friends out there. I can't believe I was in Guatemala a month ago. I've learned how important it is to know people's stories before you judge or assume that you understand who they are. I've learned that sharing my own story with people isn't as scary as I've always thought. I've been learning a lot--somethings have changed and somethings never will. Welcome to my year full of growth. Welcome to my year of service for a lifetime of change. Welcome to my life.
Monday, March 29, 2010
privileged shiftings
I've been fighting the urge to not share these thoughts. They are hard to articulate, difficult to understand, full of different layers and issues, and maybe even a little embarrassing. But, as is with most things I don't want to address, it won't go away. I apologize now if this is a lot to read. I apparently have a lot I need to say.
I've talked about this with several people, journal-ed, reflected, prayed, and cried. For a while, I could not even articulate what was wrong. It was simply a feeling that something wasn't right; that something had internally shifted and wasn't the same.
From time to time, things like that are easy for me to ignore. I stay busy. I avoid sharing my more personal thoughts with people. I still live and serve, but I don't always process what I've experienced; I've found that it's just easier that way. When you can't explain yourself eloquently, don't waste someone else's time. If you are going to cry for apparently no reason at all, just don't go there. Keep it all nice and neat. Don't show your brokenness, don't let your shit hit the fan. It's easier that way.
I've lived with that mind set for most of my life. Yes, occasionally the Spirit or just pure exhaustion (or both) would overwhelm me, and I would break, letting down my guard temporarily. But then I would apologize, and quickly rebuild my wall. That's been the cycle for as long as I can remember.
And then Gramps' got sick and died. Now, I recognize that I attribute a lot of my growth this year to his death. But that's my reality. My Gramps' suffering and death has marked an unexpected change in me. I still hurt over it; most days I'm still angry. And I couldn't hide that. I shouldn't hide that. I can't hide that.
I still get heartsick when I see the painted clouds on the ceiling at Downtown Pres and think that there should be stars. I see a butterfly and I choke. The sunsets, the stars, rainbows, a certain kind of hat. . . all pull me back to the pain I hold. The pain of not being there, the pain of being away from home when they needed me, and when I needed them. Even now, my eyes are full of tears.
I never expected this to happen this year. I never expected to lose Gramps, to have that as my constant struggle for this year of service. I expected struggles financially (you can only get so far with a few hundred dollars a month), community struggles, works struggles. . . all of which have only been compounded by this death.
I was expecting Guatemala to cause me to see poverty in a new light, instead, I've seen life and death differently. I've begun to see my life of privilege. I've always thought that people who had more than I did were the privileged ones. The nicer cars, the bigger houses, the better clothes. But Guatemala brought to mind my Malawi trip, which brought to my heart that sense of discomfort I described at the beginning of this post. And now, three weeks after being back in the States, I get it. I am privileged. By my experiences, my education, the communities that support me, the gifts I have, the love I share. I am privileged. Even as a middle class, white female, I am privileged. I am privileged to be serving this year in Nashville, to be discovering new passions, to be making new friends and connections, with the support and blessing of those who matter most to me. I am privileged to be growing and changing, to be experiencing God through new ways and through my own gifts. And I'm privileged, as hard as it is to say, to be able to say that I'm broken, that I'm angry, that I still miss my Gramps terribly. And I'm privileged to say that pain associated with losing Gramps has been the threshold for all this other growth and maturing that so many are saying they see in me and I'm starting to feel via that shifting. I am so privileged.
I've talked about this with several people, journal-ed, reflected, prayed, and cried. For a while, I could not even articulate what was wrong. It was simply a feeling that something wasn't right; that something had internally shifted and wasn't the same.
From time to time, things like that are easy for me to ignore. I stay busy. I avoid sharing my more personal thoughts with people. I still live and serve, but I don't always process what I've experienced; I've found that it's just easier that way. When you can't explain yourself eloquently, don't waste someone else's time. If you are going to cry for apparently no reason at all, just don't go there. Keep it all nice and neat. Don't show your brokenness, don't let your shit hit the fan. It's easier that way.
I've lived with that mind set for most of my life. Yes, occasionally the Spirit or just pure exhaustion (or both) would overwhelm me, and I would break, letting down my guard temporarily. But then I would apologize, and quickly rebuild my wall. That's been the cycle for as long as I can remember.
And then Gramps' got sick and died. Now, I recognize that I attribute a lot of my growth this year to his death. But that's my reality. My Gramps' suffering and death has marked an unexpected change in me. I still hurt over it; most days I'm still angry. And I couldn't hide that. I shouldn't hide that. I can't hide that.
I still get heartsick when I see the painted clouds on the ceiling at Downtown Pres and think that there should be stars. I see a butterfly and I choke. The sunsets, the stars, rainbows, a certain kind of hat. . . all pull me back to the pain I hold. The pain of not being there, the pain of being away from home when they needed me, and when I needed them. Even now, my eyes are full of tears.
I never expected this to happen this year. I never expected to lose Gramps, to have that as my constant struggle for this year of service. I expected struggles financially (you can only get so far with a few hundred dollars a month), community struggles, works struggles. . . all of which have only been compounded by this death.
I was expecting Guatemala to cause me to see poverty in a new light, instead, I've seen life and death differently. I've begun to see my life of privilege. I've always thought that people who had more than I did were the privileged ones. The nicer cars, the bigger houses, the better clothes. But Guatemala brought to mind my Malawi trip, which brought to my heart that sense of discomfort I described at the beginning of this post. And now, three weeks after being back in the States, I get it. I am privileged. By my experiences, my education, the communities that support me, the gifts I have, the love I share. I am privileged. Even as a middle class, white female, I am privileged. I am privileged to be serving this year in Nashville, to be discovering new passions, to be making new friends and connections, with the support and blessing of those who matter most to me. I am privileged to be growing and changing, to be experiencing God through new ways and through my own gifts. And I'm privileged, as hard as it is to say, to be able to say that I'm broken, that I'm angry, that I still miss my Gramps terribly. And I'm privileged to say that pain associated with losing Gramps has been the threshold for all this other growth and maturing that so many are saying they see in me and I'm starting to feel via that shifting. I am so privileged.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
lists and loves
I have a list I've been carrying around with me lately. It's not a to do list, so to say, instead I'm calling it my "one bite at a time" list. The nine items on the list are things I need to have done by a specific date: books to read, devotionals to write, scholarship essays, and a sermon.
That said sermon is now crossed off, as I preached it last night. I had prepared the liturgy (another crossed off list item) and was ready to serve God with my words. . . whatever words came out. And I loved it. Really, truly, loved it. I preached on a text I read in my God, Moses, and Torah class two springs ago that really spoke to me. The text was Exodus 18.13-26, where Moses gets his ideas realigned on how to serve his community.
I loved getting into the text, reading it with new eyes. I loved how the creative energies flowed as I thought about the text and the lessons I saw there. I loved getting up and sharing that inspired knowledge, speaking loudly and boldly; praying the entire time that one word, one sentence would allow the Spirit to move in someone in a new way.
And I loved that so many from my larger Nashville community were there. It was great to have the PSF regulars there, don't get me wrong. But it really meant a lot to have my housemates and YAV community members, friends from Downtown Pres and 2nd Pres there too. Earlier yesterday morning, I shared with someone that it was going to be hard to preach without my family there. She asked what difference my family would make, and I told her that I've always known that even if I totally flopped and failed, my parents, sisters, and grandparents would have told me that I did a fabulous job. They would have smiled, hugged, and supported me through it all. Even without my family there though, people who love me were there and they smiled, hugged, and supported me. Yes, I still missed my family terribly; but that hole they would have filled wasn't entirely empty due to the wonderful people I have in my life here. I'm so blessed.
Before I put together this "one bite at a time" list, I had forgotten how much I enjoy reading, writing, and proclaiming how God works in and through my life. It was exciting to be affirmed by the gathered community last night, but there was also a deep sense of affirmation in me. The kind of affirmation that can only come, I've found, when I stumble upon a portion of God's plan for my life.
That said sermon is now crossed off, as I preached it last night. I had prepared the liturgy (another crossed off list item) and was ready to serve God with my words. . . whatever words came out. And I loved it. Really, truly, loved it. I preached on a text I read in my God, Moses, and Torah class two springs ago that really spoke to me. The text was Exodus 18.13-26, where Moses gets his ideas realigned on how to serve his community.
I loved getting into the text, reading it with new eyes. I loved how the creative energies flowed as I thought about the text and the lessons I saw there. I loved getting up and sharing that inspired knowledge, speaking loudly and boldly; praying the entire time that one word, one sentence would allow the Spirit to move in someone in a new way.
And I loved that so many from my larger Nashville community were there. It was great to have the PSF regulars there, don't get me wrong. But it really meant a lot to have my housemates and YAV community members, friends from Downtown Pres and 2nd Pres there too. Earlier yesterday morning, I shared with someone that it was going to be hard to preach without my family there. She asked what difference my family would make, and I told her that I've always known that even if I totally flopped and failed, my parents, sisters, and grandparents would have told me that I did a fabulous job. They would have smiled, hugged, and supported me through it all. Even without my family there though, people who love me were there and they smiled, hugged, and supported me. Yes, I still missed my family terribly; but that hole they would have filled wasn't entirely empty due to the wonderful people I have in my life here. I'm so blessed.
Before I put together this "one bite at a time" list, I had forgotten how much I enjoy reading, writing, and proclaiming how God works in and through my life. It was exciting to be affirmed by the gathered community last night, but there was also a deep sense of affirmation in me. The kind of affirmation that can only come, I've found, when I stumble upon a portion of God's plan for my life.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Monday Conversation
Mondays are usually my favorite day of the week. Mondays in my life with PSF have a set structure: I have a meeting at 10am, lunch with students at 12, and then some "free" time to study, catch up with students, before staff meeting and house night. Today was extra special though.
Last night PSF hosted the homeless ministry of Room In the Inn (RITI). RITI partners with different churches to provide warm meals and a warm place to sleep. Tweleve men spent the night last night with several PSF students and myself at St. Augustine's, the chapel on campus. I really love the interactions with the men--they are jovial, friendly, and are always ready to exchange a little sarcasm/BS with me, which is another one of those Olson family qualities that I possess.
The only real negative that RITI has is that I don't get to enjoy much sleep on the nights PSF hosts it. We went to bed around 10:30pm to wake up around 4:15am to start breakfast. After the kitchen was cleaned, and all my belongings packed up, it was only 6:40. I didn't have another commitment until noon. Now, I certainly could have spent the time working on my sermon for tomorrow night's worship, but that wasn't my immediate thought. Instead, I offered two of the students who had spent the night (and both journeyed to Guatemala) some coffee at Starbucks and some conversation. They indulged me.
What I expected to be an hour long, light conversation ended up being about three hours of a deep and wide conversation. It started with me asking some questions, as Jennifer has shown me, and before I knew it we were in the midst of a conversation about values, morals, personal beliefs, faith, and life. We talked about what we learned in Guatemala, about being vulnerable in a community, about simple living and shared a lot about the issues of life in America and how sometimes those issues cause us to be more gray than black-and-white.
This conversation in and of itself was an enriching experience. It brought a smile to my face as I reflected on a conversation I had last week, when someone asked me if I have an agenda when I met with students over coffee. I was somewhat shocked at that suggestion, and responded saying: "No, I do not enter into a conversation with an agenda. It's the student's space and time and we talk about whatever they need or want to." And that's exactly what happened this morning. Had I had an agenda, I don't know that I would have asked the questions I did. . . questions that brought up issues that the majority of the time I don't even know where I stand. But this morning, early this morning, two students and I gave each other the space and freedom to say whatever needed to be said in a space with no agenda and certainly no pressure to have an answer.
Last night PSF hosted the homeless ministry of Room In the Inn (RITI). RITI partners with different churches to provide warm meals and a warm place to sleep. Tweleve men spent the night last night with several PSF students and myself at St. Augustine's, the chapel on campus. I really love the interactions with the men--they are jovial, friendly, and are always ready to exchange a little sarcasm/BS with me, which is another one of those Olson family qualities that I possess.
The only real negative that RITI has is that I don't get to enjoy much sleep on the nights PSF hosts it. We went to bed around 10:30pm to wake up around 4:15am to start breakfast. After the kitchen was cleaned, and all my belongings packed up, it was only 6:40. I didn't have another commitment until noon. Now, I certainly could have spent the time working on my sermon for tomorrow night's worship, but that wasn't my immediate thought. Instead, I offered two of the students who had spent the night (and both journeyed to Guatemala) some coffee at Starbucks and some conversation. They indulged me.
What I expected to be an hour long, light conversation ended up being about three hours of a deep and wide conversation. It started with me asking some questions, as Jennifer has shown me, and before I knew it we were in the midst of a conversation about values, morals, personal beliefs, faith, and life. We talked about what we learned in Guatemala, about being vulnerable in a community, about simple living and shared a lot about the issues of life in America and how sometimes those issues cause us to be more gray than black-and-white.
This conversation in and of itself was an enriching experience. It brought a smile to my face as I reflected on a conversation I had last week, when someone asked me if I have an agenda when I met with students over coffee. I was somewhat shocked at that suggestion, and responded saying: "No, I do not enter into a conversation with an agenda. It's the student's space and time and we talk about whatever they need or want to." And that's exactly what happened this morning. Had I had an agenda, I don't know that I would have asked the questions I did. . . questions that brought up issues that the majority of the time I don't even know where I stand. But this morning, early this morning, two students and I gave each other the space and freedom to say whatever needed to be said in a space with no agenda and certainly no pressure to have an answer.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
trip reflections
I'm struggling to believe that just a week ago, I was still in Guatemala. It feels like I've been back in the States and at my regular routine for much longer than a week.
The PSF trip to Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala was a great trip. There were four staff and eleven students who ventured down to work on a hospital that was destroyed in the fall of 2005. When we got to the hospital, we discovered that our tasks would be digging two 15ft. deep holes and moving lots of buckets full of rocks, sand, and gravel. I spent a lot of my time dumping the buckets near two large water silos on the back part of the hospital property. It was a nice job to have (minus climbing up half the hill on every trip) because it gave me a lot of time for reflective thinking.
When we weren't working, we were spending time around Lake Atitlan, in different market and church settings, spending time in conversation, or experiencing Mayan culture. We saw several Catholic cathedrals, visited a school for students with disabilities, saw a local Mayan god, experienced a ride in the back of a pick-up truck, rode across the lake, and heard many people's stories. It was a very enriching experience, one of the best mission & cultural trips I've ever been on.
It's my prayer that seeds of change have been planted in all of us that traveled together. For me, this trip reminded me of how easy it is to share part of my life story with someone--even if I never learn if/how it touched their lives. One of the most powerful moments on this trip for me, was when the director of the school for students with disabilities shared her story for why she worked so hard to open the school. She shared with us, a group of total strangers who couldn't share even the same language with her, about her daughter who was born with water on the brain. Having a dear friend who was born with the same condition, really hit home for me. But beyond that, it was how vulnerable this school director was, to share her story with us. To let us into that deep part of who she is and how she feels called. In my own life, I tend to not share those deep, more intimate parts of myself. Her story was compelling to not be so fearful to share about myself. Who knows, part of my story may be exactly what someone else needs to hear.
This trip also reminded me of the many lessons I learned in Malawi, and how quickly I forgot about all of those. I wish I didn't always require trips out of the States to remember the importance of water, food, necessities, livelihood, etc. But I'm so thankful for all the opportunities I've had to be reminded of how blessed I am.
The PSF trip to Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala was a great trip. There were four staff and eleven students who ventured down to work on a hospital that was destroyed in the fall of 2005. When we got to the hospital, we discovered that our tasks would be digging two 15ft. deep holes and moving lots of buckets full of rocks, sand, and gravel. I spent a lot of my time dumping the buckets near two large water silos on the back part of the hospital property. It was a nice job to have (minus climbing up half the hill on every trip) because it gave me a lot of time for reflective thinking.
When we weren't working, we were spending time around Lake Atitlan, in different market and church settings, spending time in conversation, or experiencing Mayan culture. We saw several Catholic cathedrals, visited a school for students with disabilities, saw a local Mayan god, experienced a ride in the back of a pick-up truck, rode across the lake, and heard many people's stories. It was a very enriching experience, one of the best mission & cultural trips I've ever been on.
It's my prayer that seeds of change have been planted in all of us that traveled together. For me, this trip reminded me of how easy it is to share part of my life story with someone--even if I never learn if/how it touched their lives. One of the most powerful moments on this trip for me, was when the director of the school for students with disabilities shared her story for why she worked so hard to open the school. She shared with us, a group of total strangers who couldn't share even the same language with her, about her daughter who was born with water on the brain. Having a dear friend who was born with the same condition, really hit home for me. But beyond that, it was how vulnerable this school director was, to share her story with us. To let us into that deep part of who she is and how she feels called. In my own life, I tend to not share those deep, more intimate parts of myself. Her story was compelling to not be so fearful to share about myself. Who knows, part of my story may be exactly what someone else needs to hear.
This trip also reminded me of the many lessons I learned in Malawi, and how quickly I forgot about all of those. I wish I didn't always require trips out of the States to remember the importance of water, food, necessities, livelihood, etc. But I'm so thankful for all the opportunities I've had to be reminded of how blessed I am.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
March!
It's hard for me to believe that it's all ready March. I leave tomorrow afternoon for the PSF spring break trip to Guatemala. I've been eagerly awaiting this trip and now it's here!!! I'm a little nervous, a little overwhelmed, but really excited. There will be 11 students and four staff members on the trip and we will be gone for a week. We hope to work on completing a hospital which was destroyed in 2005 by Hurricane Stan. We don't know exactly what we'll be doing, but the trip promises to be fantastic.
My sister Kayla is currently in Guatemala, about six miles from where we'll be, and from her few messages, she's having an incredible time and promises that I will have the same experience.
Here's the volcano that separates where Kayla was and where I'll be:
If you are interested, I've listed a few websites that you can look at, to learn more about where we're going and what we hope to doing. Your prayers for a safe and life changing trip would be a blessing to us all.
Hospitalito Atitlan, where we'll be working
CEDEPCA, the agency we're going with
My sister Kayla is currently in Guatemala, about six miles from where we'll be, and from her few messages, she's having an incredible time and promises that I will have the same experience.
Here's the volcano that separates where Kayla was and where I'll be:
If you are interested, I've listed a few websites that you can look at, to learn more about where we're going and what we hope to doing. Your prayers for a safe and life changing trip would be a blessing to us all.
Hospitalito Atitlan, where we'll be working
CEDEPCA, the agency we're going with
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Faith Story
**I've been working on this post for a month now. For whatever reason, I couldn't find the words to convey what I had experienced or how to process it all. But I think I've finally figured out how to share this experience with you.**
Each year, PSF worship is thematic. This year the theme is: Stories We Live By. Jennifer's sermons have all been based on Biblical stories, and each worship a student or PSF community member has shared part of their faith story. For whatever reason, I agreed to tell my story on January 19th, the first worship of the spring semester.
While I knew the date for my story for a decent amount of time, I didn't really prepare for it. I wasn't sure what story to share, how personal and deep to get, or even what could be of interest in my life to the students gathered. Sure, I've had lots of incredible life experiences, overcome my share of personal, family, and life challenges, and wrestled with faith, forming opinions, what to do with my gifts and talents, etc. But I still wasn't sure what to share. Even an hour before worship, I hadn't given much thought to what I would share. Instead I busied myself with preparing for worship and greeting students I hadn't seen in a few weeks. As worship began, I prayed that Jennifer's sermon would be spirit filled and reveal to me that which God wanted the gathered community to hear from my heart and life.
What I heard in her sermon was trusting in God to use us in the ways and means God saw fit. To serve with and through love. To not let our shortcomings prevent us from serving the God who has foolishly loved and saved generations of sinful and broken people. And, as with all good things, God revealed the story I needed to share.
When it was the time for my story, I nervously stood and opened my mouth to whatever needed to come out. I told about the first time I truly trusted in God. I told the story of my rector weekend on FootSteps 41 (a Christian high school weekend retreat that I lead in March 2005). I told of the struggles with the adult board, the questioning of my being worthy to lead, the responsibility that fell on my shoulders. I told of preparing a worship service, of earnest prayers to be a vessel that God flowed through. And I told, with fear and trembling, how I stood in the middle of 50 of my high school peers and silently argued with God--and how God "won" that argument, which meant that I genuinely let God flow through me. And that movement of God through me meant that I began to sing, out loud, "This Little Light of Mine." I closed my story by saying that it was that song filled moment that serves as the foundation of my faith, of the Christian service I continue to find myself doing (and can't get away from), and the truth of loving others in and through my own brokenness and shortcomings.
Sharing my story reminded me of how much I enjoy public speaking, of sharing my faith and life with others, and how incredible it is when I step aside and allow God to move in and through me. In my eagerness to discover what my next steps are to be, I think I should remember this story and sharing it at PSF to remind me that sometimes I have to be vulnerable and willing to have God's greatness pour through me.
Each year, PSF worship is thematic. This year the theme is: Stories We Live By. Jennifer's sermons have all been based on Biblical stories, and each worship a student or PSF community member has shared part of their faith story. For whatever reason, I agreed to tell my story on January 19th, the first worship of the spring semester.
While I knew the date for my story for a decent amount of time, I didn't really prepare for it. I wasn't sure what story to share, how personal and deep to get, or even what could be of interest in my life to the students gathered. Sure, I've had lots of incredible life experiences, overcome my share of personal, family, and life challenges, and wrestled with faith, forming opinions, what to do with my gifts and talents, etc. But I still wasn't sure what to share. Even an hour before worship, I hadn't given much thought to what I would share. Instead I busied myself with preparing for worship and greeting students I hadn't seen in a few weeks. As worship began, I prayed that Jennifer's sermon would be spirit filled and reveal to me that which God wanted the gathered community to hear from my heart and life.
What I heard in her sermon was trusting in God to use us in the ways and means God saw fit. To serve with and through love. To not let our shortcomings prevent us from serving the God who has foolishly loved and saved generations of sinful and broken people. And, as with all good things, God revealed the story I needed to share.
When it was the time for my story, I nervously stood and opened my mouth to whatever needed to come out. I told about the first time I truly trusted in God. I told the story of my rector weekend on FootSteps 41 (a Christian high school weekend retreat that I lead in March 2005). I told of the struggles with the adult board, the questioning of my being worthy to lead, the responsibility that fell on my shoulders. I told of preparing a worship service, of earnest prayers to be a vessel that God flowed through. And I told, with fear and trembling, how I stood in the middle of 50 of my high school peers and silently argued with God--and how God "won" that argument, which meant that I genuinely let God flow through me. And that movement of God through me meant that I began to sing, out loud, "This Little Light of Mine." I closed my story by saying that it was that song filled moment that serves as the foundation of my faith, of the Christian service I continue to find myself doing (and can't get away from), and the truth of loving others in and through my own brokenness and shortcomings.
Sharing my story reminded me of how much I enjoy public speaking, of sharing my faith and life with others, and how incredible it is when I step aside and allow God to move in and through me. In my eagerness to discover what my next steps are to be, I think I should remember this story and sharing it at PSF to remind me that sometimes I have to be vulnerable and willing to have God's greatness pour through me.
Busy With Growth
More often than not, I experience something or someone and think: I need to blog about this. The problem is that 1. I'm not near a computer to immediately blog, or 2. I just don't take the time. It's the later that seems to be causing a lot of my "issues."
I'm just so busy trying to embrace all that I can during this year. In the last two weeks, I've had breakfast with a Presbyterian pastor who is also a Benedictine Nun who runs an intentional community in Wisconsin (something I yearn to do next summer), experienced the fabulous and Nashville famous Pancake Pantry, Hillsboro Village, Islamic Cultural Center, and the Farmer's Market. I've had coffee and great conversations with students, planned and lead an Ash Wednesday service, spent the night on campus helping with Room In the Inn (a non profit that works with the homeless), finalized the Guatemala trip details, and taught several InterFaith classes. I'm working on creating an Arts and Spirituality class, am part of a keynoting team for a youth conference in April, all while trying to take time to listen for the movement and guidance of God in what comes next.
It's been fulfilling, exhausting, overwhelming and incredibly joy-filled all at once. I'm working to pull back the layers of my life; slowly excepting that I don't have it all figured out. I am broken and sinful, full of messy stuff that God, for whatever reason, has decided is worth redeeming and glorifying. That's probably been the most exciting part of my personal growth these last few weeks: that once I declare (and really accepted) myself to be broken, there was an ease and a lightness in the path ahead. This new freedom keeps reminding me of what I heard at the Montreat College Conference: "It's a long way to the realm of God when you have to haul your crap with you."
I feel like I keep telling people that I'm loving my experience, have grown a lot, and am trying hard to listen for the gentle whisper or meaningful interaction that so often reveals God in my life. There is something unique and exciting about this year I've taken. . . a year some would say that I "took off" from the real world. But the thought that keeps coming back to me is this: Aren't these messy truths what the real world is all about? That's what Muhammad, a homeless man I spent some of my Room in the Inn time with, was saying: "Girl, wherever your journey takes you, remember that it ain't always pretty, but at least you're moving. So enjoy the ride and go great places."
That's the plan after all, to keep moving and discovering new things about this ministry, the people I'm around, the world, and myself.
I'm just so busy trying to embrace all that I can during this year. In the last two weeks, I've had breakfast with a Presbyterian pastor who is also a Benedictine Nun who runs an intentional community in Wisconsin (something I yearn to do next summer), experienced the fabulous and Nashville famous Pancake Pantry, Hillsboro Village, Islamic Cultural Center, and the Farmer's Market. I've had coffee and great conversations with students, planned and lead an Ash Wednesday service, spent the night on campus helping with Room In the Inn (a non profit that works with the homeless), finalized the Guatemala trip details, and taught several InterFaith classes. I'm working on creating an Arts and Spirituality class, am part of a keynoting team for a youth conference in April, all while trying to take time to listen for the movement and guidance of God in what comes next.
It's been fulfilling, exhausting, overwhelming and incredibly joy-filled all at once. I'm working to pull back the layers of my life; slowly excepting that I don't have it all figured out. I am broken and sinful, full of messy stuff that God, for whatever reason, has decided is worth redeeming and glorifying. That's probably been the most exciting part of my personal growth these last few weeks: that once I declare (and really accepted) myself to be broken, there was an ease and a lightness in the path ahead. This new freedom keeps reminding me of what I heard at the Montreat College Conference: "It's a long way to the realm of God when you have to haul your crap with you."
I feel like I keep telling people that I'm loving my experience, have grown a lot, and am trying hard to listen for the gentle whisper or meaningful interaction that so often reveals God in my life. There is something unique and exciting about this year I've taken. . . a year some would say that I "took off" from the real world. But the thought that keeps coming back to me is this: Aren't these messy truths what the real world is all about? That's what Muhammad, a homeless man I spent some of my Room in the Inn time with, was saying: "Girl, wherever your journey takes you, remember that it ain't always pretty, but at least you're moving. So enjoy the ride and go great places."
That's the plan after all, to keep moving and discovering new things about this ministry, the people I'm around, the world, and myself.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Downtown Church
I've been super blessed with all the opportunities and people I have met during my six months here in Nashville. And while the following link doesn't directly connect to my time here, I wanted to share it. Patty Griffith, a country singer, recorded her latest album in the sanctuary of Downtown Pres, the church I attend. It's an incredible album, and this youtube video not only highlights the song, but also shows you a lot of the church. The opening seconds, of the empty pews, shows you were I sit almost every week. It's a beautiful song, with beautiful lyrics that speak if you chose to listen with an open heart. I hope you open your heart to this song and really enjoy it. blessings.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Honor Life
My housemate, Diana, is serving her YAV year at a grass roots nonprofit. The agency is called Tennesseans for Alternatives to the Death Penalty (TADP). Today was the 4th annual student conference, in which she played a significant role in putting it all together. All of the Cabana girls decided it was important to support her in this role, so we all ventured to Middle Tennessee State University (about a 35 minute drive) this morning.
I went not knowing what to expect of the conference's information or my own feelings. I see a lot of the world in gray, not really having a strong pull to one side of an issue or the other. But the stories I heard and the information I learned hasn't yet settled within me.
I learned that although Lady Justice is suppose to be blindfolded, she seems to be able to see economic status, race, and geographical location. I heard testimonies of victim's family members who shared that they sought revenge whole heartily until they realized (through and for whatever reasons) that forgiveness was a better choice. I saw anguish, compassion, frustration, and a whole slew of emotions. I heard a man who had been on "the row" for 20+ years, and was the first exonerated man in the state of Tennessee. I heard the death penalty and abortion compared as equal murders.
Through it all, my thought was: "Yes, right now I choose life. . . but if it was my sister/mother/father etc. who was murdered? Could/would I still feel that way?" I don't have an answer. Yes, I agree that it is not a good system legally, and it is not my position, morally, to take a life in any means. And while I know I've set my stake in the camp that honors life, the camp that chooses mercy over vengeance, I still can't stop churning this issue over in my heart--thinking of all the people who had to pick a side of this issue for a reason much different than a morning student conference.
I went not knowing what to expect of the conference's information or my own feelings. I see a lot of the world in gray, not really having a strong pull to one side of an issue or the other. But the stories I heard and the information I learned hasn't yet settled within me.
I learned that although Lady Justice is suppose to be blindfolded, she seems to be able to see economic status, race, and geographical location. I heard testimonies of victim's family members who shared that they sought revenge whole heartily until they realized (through and for whatever reasons) that forgiveness was a better choice. I saw anguish, compassion, frustration, and a whole slew of emotions. I heard a man who had been on "the row" for 20+ years, and was the first exonerated man in the state of Tennessee. I heard the death penalty and abortion compared as equal murders.
Through it all, my thought was: "Yes, right now I choose life. . . but if it was my sister/mother/father etc. who was murdered? Could/would I still feel that way?" I don't have an answer. Yes, I agree that it is not a good system legally, and it is not my position, morally, to take a life in any means. And while I know I've set my stake in the camp that honors life, the camp that chooses mercy over vengeance, I still can't stop churning this issue over in my heart--thinking of all the people who had to pick a side of this issue for a reason much different than a morning student conference.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
YAV retreat
It's been nearly a week since the YAVs from Atlanta and Cincinnati joined those of us in Nashville for a weekend retreat to focus on listening to God. I wasn't exactly thrilled about heading away for the weekend, for whatever reason. But after venturing through the snow storm, and safely getting to Deer Run Camp, I was glad to be there.
The camp was beautiful. We stayed in new log cabins, the snow was glistening (when it wasn't pelting us in the face) and we shared in a lot of joyful conversation. On Friday, we did an activity called "Praying in Color." I took markers, crayons, and paper and spent two silent hours coloring my thoughts and prayers. I wrote the names of mentors and pastors who have shaped my life. I wrote the initials of all my immediate family members. I wrote things I love, things I appreciate about my life, the questions I have for God. There were bubbles with the words in them, surrounded by different colors. It was a tangled, beautiful, maze of prayers and art. I was exhausted afterwords, and spent most of the evening resting.
On Saturday, we did another art activity that pertained to our dreams. We searched through magazines to find the pictures of our deepest desires. There were particular pictures I was looking for: a husband and wife, a cute cottage, maybe something that pertained to the ministry. Instead I pasted down a picture of a woman surrounded by people who she loved and was loved by. I glued down a lot about Africa, a story about how a girl who ventured away from home yet always comes back and helps to make chocolate cake. I did find a great picture of a comfy cottage, travel pictures, and other things I kind of expected to find. It was a beautiful prayer and a glorious expression of how God's plan is revealed in unique and glorious ways.
I also shared in deep listening activities--a fabulous Spirit filled exchange. I was partnered with one of my housemates and a YAV from Cinci. We talked about being away from home and not being able to help those we love. We talked about feeling God's presence, meaningful worship, personal seminary debates.
When we finally left Deer Run on Sunday, I realized that I have no answers for what is coming next in my life. But there is no door that has been closed; no option that I couldn't take advantage of. Most of my artistic prayers consisted of ideas and concepts that I hadn't ever thought possible for my life (i.e.- Malawi trip; YAV year; my love of public speaking and where it could take me, etc.). Therefore I need to spend more time and energy listening for and to God. And I might just go get my crayons again. . . .
The camp was beautiful. We stayed in new log cabins, the snow was glistening (when it wasn't pelting us in the face) and we shared in a lot of joyful conversation. On Friday, we did an activity called "Praying in Color." I took markers, crayons, and paper and spent two silent hours coloring my thoughts and prayers. I wrote the names of mentors and pastors who have shaped my life. I wrote the initials of all my immediate family members. I wrote things I love, things I appreciate about my life, the questions I have for God. There were bubbles with the words in them, surrounded by different colors. It was a tangled, beautiful, maze of prayers and art. I was exhausted afterwords, and spent most of the evening resting.
On Saturday, we did another art activity that pertained to our dreams. We searched through magazines to find the pictures of our deepest desires. There were particular pictures I was looking for: a husband and wife, a cute cottage, maybe something that pertained to the ministry. Instead I pasted down a picture of a woman surrounded by people who she loved and was loved by. I glued down a lot about Africa, a story about how a girl who ventured away from home yet always comes back and helps to make chocolate cake. I did find a great picture of a comfy cottage, travel pictures, and other things I kind of expected to find. It was a beautiful prayer and a glorious expression of how God's plan is revealed in unique and glorious ways.
I also shared in deep listening activities--a fabulous Spirit filled exchange. I was partnered with one of my housemates and a YAV from Cinci. We talked about being away from home and not being able to help those we love. We talked about feeling God's presence, meaningful worship, personal seminary debates.
When we finally left Deer Run on Sunday, I realized that I have no answers for what is coming next in my life. But there is no door that has been closed; no option that I couldn't take advantage of. Most of my artistic prayers consisted of ideas and concepts that I hadn't ever thought possible for my life (i.e.- Malawi trip; YAV year; my love of public speaking and where it could take me, etc.). Therefore I need to spend more time and energy listening for and to God. And I might just go get my crayons again. . . .
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Four Pastors, One Day
Today I had four fabulous conversations with four fabulous PC(USA) pastors. My weekly meeting with Jennifer was insightful and thought provoking. . . as always. Whenever we sit and talk, I find myself talking about things that are important in my life that I've either not thought about before nor realized about myself. I "name" a lot of the issues I have within myself and strive to work on them. My conversations with her are the thresholds of a lot of my growth as a person.
My next pastoral conversation was with Ken. We shared terrible meatloaf at a meat and three downtown. Our conversation was different than the one I had with Jennifer, naturally. We talked about our struggles in ministry, what ministry can (and maybe should) look like. I listened to him talk about the challenges in ministry and heard him say that ministry is messy with an exhausted sigh. And yet there was a passion in his eyes, a spark that clearly comes from the challenges he faces and the love he shares with people. It was a spark and a passion that resonated within my own heart; it's a spark and passion that I hope to emulate in whatever God calls me to.
Next, I ventured around a PC(USA) conference and ran into Ellie Johns. Ellie is a pastor that shaped my youth and is from Erie as well. She's been a constant in pushing me to see a broader spectrum in the church and in the people of the church. She always introduces me to new people, new ideas, and compels me to consider new aspects of myself.
The last pastor of the day was my mentor from Westminster, Dr. [Mrs.] Cushman. She was in Nashville for the same conference Ellie was. It was so wonderful to spend time with her. I spent so many hours in her office in college, seeking her wisdom, her insight, and her compassionate spirit as I struggled through the issues of my college years. Today, we talked about the work I am doing, how I am finally taking care of myself and my needs, and about what the future holds. Dr. Cushman played a significant role in my discernment to become a YAV; and it was affirming to hear her say that she could tell this was the right decision for me. I continue to be grateful for her insight, and her hugs.
All three of my worlds collided today: Erie, Westminster, and YAV/Nashville through four wonderful conversations with four wonderful pastors. I'm feeling excited about these conversations, the growth I sense within myself and the growth that was affirmed in several different ways, and what possibilities lie ahead of me. Only God knows why I had these four conversations all in one day. Who knows, maybe I will join the ranks of these great pastors!?!
My next pastoral conversation was with Ken. We shared terrible meatloaf at a meat and three downtown. Our conversation was different than the one I had with Jennifer, naturally. We talked about our struggles in ministry, what ministry can (and maybe should) look like. I listened to him talk about the challenges in ministry and heard him say that ministry is messy with an exhausted sigh. And yet there was a passion in his eyes, a spark that clearly comes from the challenges he faces and the love he shares with people. It was a spark and a passion that resonated within my own heart; it's a spark and passion that I hope to emulate in whatever God calls me to.
Next, I ventured around a PC(USA) conference and ran into Ellie Johns. Ellie is a pastor that shaped my youth and is from Erie as well. She's been a constant in pushing me to see a broader spectrum in the church and in the people of the church. She always introduces me to new people, new ideas, and compels me to consider new aspects of myself.
The last pastor of the day was my mentor from Westminster, Dr. [Mrs.] Cushman. She was in Nashville for the same conference Ellie was. It was so wonderful to spend time with her. I spent so many hours in her office in college, seeking her wisdom, her insight, and her compassionate spirit as I struggled through the issues of my college years. Today, we talked about the work I am doing, how I am finally taking care of myself and my needs, and about what the future holds. Dr. Cushman played a significant role in my discernment to become a YAV; and it was affirming to hear her say that she could tell this was the right decision for me. I continue to be grateful for her insight, and her hugs.
All three of my worlds collided today: Erie, Westminster, and YAV/Nashville through four wonderful conversations with four wonderful pastors. I'm feeling excited about these conversations, the growth I sense within myself and the growth that was affirmed in several different ways, and what possibilities lie ahead of me. Only God knows why I had these four conversations all in one day. Who knows, maybe I will join the ranks of these great pastors!?!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Rebuilt Ruins
I've been feeling pretty worn down lately. I don't know what the root cause has been. Sometimes I think I'm still grieving the loss of my Gramps, maybe it's partial homesickness, being sick, and as usual, my innate inability to say no to things. It could be any or all of these factors. What I do know is that I've been struggling to stay focused and positive.
I'm also feeling tested in many ways: my physical health, financially, how to respond to the need that surrounds me in so many different forms, and even how to trust in the future that I know is out there but I don't know where it leads.
I've been reading my daily devotional, my daily Bible verse calendar, attending meaningful worships, sharing my feelings over coffee without much avail. Nothing was really calming the raging internal storm; there was no peace to all the friction I was feeling. That was until a few minutes ago.
I agreed to help Ken, the pastor at Downtown, plan and lead the Ash Wednesday service. He asked me to read the lectionary readings for that day so when we have lunch on Thursday we could talk about the direction for the service. I read the first reading without much interest and started in on the second reading in a similar fashion. But about eight verses in, the words started connecting with my spirit. I finished the reading and started reading it all again. The words suddenly became a balm to my weary and worn spirit.
I encourage you to read Isaiah 58 and see what truths God reveals to you. For, "if you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. . . . Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in." Amen.
I'm also feeling tested in many ways: my physical health, financially, how to respond to the need that surrounds me in so many different forms, and even how to trust in the future that I know is out there but I don't know where it leads.
I've been reading my daily devotional, my daily Bible verse calendar, attending meaningful worships, sharing my feelings over coffee without much avail. Nothing was really calming the raging internal storm; there was no peace to all the friction I was feeling. That was until a few minutes ago.
I agreed to help Ken, the pastor at Downtown, plan and lead the Ash Wednesday service. He asked me to read the lectionary readings for that day so when we have lunch on Thursday we could talk about the direction for the service. I read the first reading without much interest and started in on the second reading in a similar fashion. But about eight verses in, the words started connecting with my spirit. I finished the reading and started reading it all again. The words suddenly became a balm to my weary and worn spirit.
I encourage you to read Isaiah 58 and see what truths God reveals to you. For, "if you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. . . . Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in." Amen.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Where's Bethany?
That was the bolded title of the paragraph that told the members of Downtown Pres where I've been. That was the question my sister Kayla asked in regards to my blog. It’s been a popular question these last few days and weeks, and I’m finally settled long enough to answer.
I headed home to PA on December 19th, the day of that frightful snow storm that plagued most of the East coast. Thankfully, I was able to get into Erie without any delay or issue. Christmas was better than I had expected and my week and a few days with family was gone before I had time to really settle in.
On December 30th, I headed back down South with my good friend and former NEP YAV, Katie Mohr. It was great to catch up with her. Once I got to Nashville, the whirlwind began. I went to a birthday party, ate at Rose Pepper, attended the Guitar Drop on the 31st, and spent New Year’s Day with Katie and new friends Megan and Wes, to get pedicures, watch movies, and other important self-care things. Then it was time to pack up (again) and head out for a week of PSF/Vanderbilt activities.
Saturday the 2nd was the day I headed to my first experience in Montreat, NC. Montreat is a conference center run by the PC(USA). It was a beautiful place, with a glorious lake, grand stone buildings, and about 800 college students. I've heard for a long time that the PC(USA) is a small world, with people knowing about each other. I found this to be the truth as I ran into people from the Summer Youth Institute, a friend from Columbia Seminary, and met plenty of people who knew people I knew. The sermons, lessons, keynotes, and general conversations were enlightening and inspiring. Texts that I’ve been struggling to understand (i.e. - Matthew 15.21-28), suddenly made sense, and I found myself explaining the interpretation to the students I was with. My two workshops on being a YAV, and the process of how to become one went nicely. I enjoyed coffee and great conversation with Ellie Johns and the five other SYI alums that were there. And the late night discussion with our group about interfaith dialogue, and God was deep and wide; much like the conference itself. My favorite part was my phone conversation with my Gram, around the partially frozen Lake Susan with the two white swans swimming nearby—truly a time filled with God’s presence.
Jennifer, a freshman student, and I then ventured to Winterplace, West Virginia a ski resort for a three day ski trip. We met up with the students and PSF from Middle Tennessee State University (MTSU). Although it wasn’t quiet what I had expected, I enjoyed getting to know the MTSU students, reading, and walking in the glistening snow (I chose not to ski). We left Winterplace and headed back to the Montreat region, spending the night at Jennifer’s parents house. On Saturday, we stopped at a J.Crew outlet, and had a great drive through Eastern Tennessee. I got home around 6 (back in Central time) to finally live out of a closet instead of a suitcase.
Today, although slightly cold, is a beautiful day in Nashville. The sun is shining and church was fulfilling. It was great to be back in this community, to be greeted with open arms and smiling faces. I’ve all ready had several offers to share coffee, engage in more church responsibilities, and to build more relationships. With the Vanderbilt school year resuming soon, I’m excited to see what this semester will hold. I will be sharing part of my life story on January 19th, to go along with the PSF theme: Stories We Live By. Our Guatemala trip is coming together well, as we fund raise together and begin to learn about that culture and peoples. It’s an exciting new time in my life and ministry . . . as I hope you can tell.
I headed home to PA on December 19th, the day of that frightful snow storm that plagued most of the East coast. Thankfully, I was able to get into Erie without any delay or issue. Christmas was better than I had expected and my week and a few days with family was gone before I had time to really settle in.
On December 30th, I headed back down South with my good friend and former NEP YAV, Katie Mohr. It was great to catch up with her. Once I got to Nashville, the whirlwind began. I went to a birthday party, ate at Rose Pepper, attended the Guitar Drop on the 31st, and spent New Year’s Day with Katie and new friends Megan and Wes, to get pedicures, watch movies, and other important self-care things. Then it was time to pack up (again) and head out for a week of PSF/Vanderbilt activities.
Saturday the 2nd was the day I headed to my first experience in Montreat, NC. Montreat is a conference center run by the PC(USA). It was a beautiful place, with a glorious lake, grand stone buildings, and about 800 college students. I've heard for a long time that the PC(USA) is a small world, with people knowing about each other. I found this to be the truth as I ran into people from the Summer Youth Institute, a friend from Columbia Seminary, and met plenty of people who knew people I knew. The sermons, lessons, keynotes, and general conversations were enlightening and inspiring. Texts that I’ve been struggling to understand (i.e. - Matthew 15.21-28), suddenly made sense, and I found myself explaining the interpretation to the students I was with. My two workshops on being a YAV, and the process of how to become one went nicely. I enjoyed coffee and great conversation with Ellie Johns and the five other SYI alums that were there. And the late night discussion with our group about interfaith dialogue, and God was deep and wide; much like the conference itself. My favorite part was my phone conversation with my Gram, around the partially frozen Lake Susan with the two white swans swimming nearby—truly a time filled with God’s presence.
Jennifer, a freshman student, and I then ventured to Winterplace, West Virginia a ski resort for a three day ski trip. We met up with the students and PSF from Middle Tennessee State University (MTSU). Although it wasn’t quiet what I had expected, I enjoyed getting to know the MTSU students, reading, and walking in the glistening snow (I chose not to ski). We left Winterplace and headed back to the Montreat region, spending the night at Jennifer’s parents house. On Saturday, we stopped at a J.Crew outlet, and had a great drive through Eastern Tennessee. I got home around 6 (back in Central time) to finally live out of a closet instead of a suitcase.
Today, although slightly cold, is a beautiful day in Nashville. The sun is shining and church was fulfilling. It was great to be back in this community, to be greeted with open arms and smiling faces. I’ve all ready had several offers to share coffee, engage in more church responsibilities, and to build more relationships. With the Vanderbilt school year resuming soon, I’m excited to see what this semester will hold. I will be sharing part of my life story on January 19th, to go along with the PSF theme: Stories We Live By. Our Guatemala trip is coming together well, as we fund raise together and begin to learn about that culture and peoples. It’s an exciting new time in my life and ministry . . . as I hope you can tell.
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