Around the House

When you rent an apartment (even when it feels like your rent is higher than 90% of the country's mortgage payments), there's a tendency to not really make it your own.  "We won't live here THAT long" or "It's not ours anyways" somehow become excuses for blank walls, boring spaces and general malaise toward decorating.

Let me be clear.  When it comes to our rented apartment, I = malaise.

But in an effort to make our rented apartment feel a little bit more like a home (we did move in back in July, after all) M finally framed and hung some of our favorite pictures of the Chicago's World Fair.

What you can't see in this picture are the high-hanging light bulbs that need to be replaced

And yesterday, after getting rid of four large trash bags of clothing from our closet, I 1) organized my clothing by color, 2) did two loads of laundry, and 3) marveled at how productive I was being.

And now, NOW, I can hear M upstairs cleaning the bathroom.  I would go up there, but I surely don't want to distract him.  I mean, I am probably more effective sitting here blogging than helping.  Because who likes help when they clean?  Certainly not me.  I prefer to do everything by myself, so that I can complain later that I had to do everything by myself.

Because the reality is that, whether you rent, own, squat or whatever, where you live is your home and should- at least I think- reflect in some ways the things you love.  We've chosen to decorate our home with paintings and pictures that we've gathered on our travels: a large painting of a cityscape from Croatia, another of pomegranates from Bosnia, two small paintings from Slovenia (though I'm not really sure the meaning behind the one where it looks like a housewife is being washed after talking to a devil...) and other art, gathered from around the world.  We have pictures of our families, books we love and mirrors picked up at the local flea market.  

So maybe we don't own it, and maybe we won't live here forever.  But we're working to make this little apartment in DC our home, by the things we put on the walls, the people we invite in and the love that we share with each other during this unique time in our lives.

Thankful

This time last year, Mason and I were unsure what exactly we would be doing a few months down the road.  And by "unsure" I mean "completely stressed out and emotional because we had no idea what was going on."

But then God- because that's who I believe was at work- ended up leading not one but both of us to jobs that could not have been better fitted to us and, AND the city that we love.  About a year away from that time of stress, we are both able to look back now and see the clear hand of God in this move back to Capitol City.

And it reminds me: sometimes when you're in those deep moments of despair, when you just can't seem to figure out what the hell, I mean HECK, is going on, it's good to remember these times when you have been provided for.  And not just provided for, but blessed the freaking socks off of.  

That's a technical term.

I'm weary of the "health and wealth Gospel," as if God wants all His children to be multi-millionaires who never get hurt or sick or laid off or always get exactly what they want or...whatever.  But I also know that God is ultimately good, and that He often times works the most in my heart when I am petrified stiff, scared or unsure of what in the world is going on.  

And I'm thankful for that.

Holding Our Arms

March has been quite a hard month.  While there was a wonderful week of vacation with my family in California and a couple of days of fun for me with friends in DC, the reality of the end of M's time here at the University of Chicago is sneaking up rather quickly. 

Most of our days have been spent applying to jobs, networking as much as possible and lamenting the current federal budget problems and general economic climate.  Now is not the easiest time to be looking for a job, to say the least.

And so we have prayed.  And cried, and prayed and cried.  We are asking God to continue His faithfulness to us, and to remind us of His goodness.  And yet even in this, we must know that His goodness does not mean that M will get a job that he loves or that he'll get a job at all.  Of course that is what we hope for, but God's goodness to us does not always manifest itself in the way that we would like it.  I know too many people who love the Lord with all their heart and yet have no job, no home or no family.  God's goodness is that we are allowed to be worshipers of Him, to know Him more and to be in His presence, not that we have a nice job and a big family.

Last week, I hit a wall.  Exhausted, overwhelmed and feeling discouraged, I asked friends to pray for me, even as I felt that I could no longer pray for myself.  And in that time, God reminded me of this passage:

Whenever Moses held up his hand, Israel prevailed; and whenever he lowered his hand, Amalek prevailed.  But Moses' hand grew weary; so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it.  Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side; so his hands were steady until the sun set.  And Joshua defeated Amalek and his people with the sword. (Exodus 17:11-13)

I am so thankful to those who have been holding up our arms, even as we are exhausted and feel like we can't do this anymore.  I'm so thankful for a stone to sit on and the arms that have taken the weight off my arms.  And I am so thankful that as the sun sets, we are assured victory, even as we do not know exactly what that victory will look like. 

The Coming Spring

On days like today, it's hard to not be discouraged by the continual gray of February.  Rain, sleet and snow seem to be nearly a daily companion, causing headache-inducing traffic, short tempers and angry mouths (or fingers).  I know that spring is around the corner, and yet sometimes I cannot see it for the dreariness that seems to surround the city.

And yet there is reason to hope.  New grass, a day of sunshine, temperatures that reach into the 50s.  Just little tastes of what is to come, a glimpse into the land of the living, a promise that the dead of winter is not a year-round reality.

We've had little glimpses of our own "spring" in the last few weeks.  A good meeting here, a positive conversation there, reconnection with old friends and the excitement of travel and relaxation soon.  All little encouragements of what is hopefully to come.

And so we will continue to watch and pray, looking for more positive signs of the coming spring.  And at the same time, I will continue to pray that I will treasure the winter for what it is good for- contemplation, reconnection, quiet.  Even in the dreariness of winter there is still purpose.  I don't want to miss what is here, now, because I can only think of what is to come.

There is purpose, even in winter.

2011: The Year of the Spreadsheet

I have a weird love for Excel spreadsheets.

Chalk it up to my three years in monitoring and evaluation (also known as that time in my life when I was surrounded by people much, much smarter than me). Or maybe it's the simplicity they afford, with all the magic formulas out of view.  Or maybe it's all the colors you can use to color code things.  Pink for economic analysis!  Green for financial!  If/then statements!  Pivot tables!

Even now, as a Volunteer Coordinator, my love for spreadsheets is pretty evident.  Good Lord, if you had seen my Christmas Store matrix.  4 tabs of spreadsheets, y'all!  What can I say, I love them.

But I have to be honest.  Beyond listing out info on schools M was going to apply for (two years ago now), I've never really used spreadsheets in my personal life.  They've always been relegated to that area also occupied by suits, 7am alarms and sack lunches.

Until now.

Just yesterday, I realized that spreadsheets are a great way to create a family budget.  And they're great for calculating a "desired salary" for the job M will hopefully be getting in the next few months.  (Sidenote: his desired salary is that amount at which we can live in a small apartment and pay bills.) And they're also great for planning meals, creating an easy shopping list (and remembering if you had stuffed peppers three days ago) and tracking what you're actually eating.  Yippee!  My love can now come home!

So hear ye, hear ye!  I now pronounce 2011 the year of the spreadsheet!

I'll be sending you a template with all the appropriate formulas later.

 

A Holy Disappointment

It's an odd phrase, that's for sure.

And yet I believe it is a "holy disappointment" that God is cultivating in me- a disappointment that I have no doubt Christ felt concerning His followers during His own life here on earth.  (And I dare say we have plenty of evidence to assume that God had a bit of that same feeling toward Israel.)  

It's a disappointment that we, the (American, middle/upper class) church, are so often more focused on our own personal development than on the spreading of the Gospel through love and good deeds.  A disappointment that we care more about talking about romantic relationships than talking about God's concern and command to love and serve others.  (God does care about romantic relationships and personal development.  I'm sure of it.  But from what I can tell from His Word, He's got a lot more He wants to do in us and through us than that.)  It's a holy disappointment that so many of us are missing out on the Spirit-filled life- one that produces great fruit- because we are too consumed by the rest of the stuff around us.  It's a disappointment that while many churches are doing the good works that give life to faith, so many more are not.

It's a disappointment that Satan sometimes uses to paralyze me, to make me cynical and sarcastic.  And yet it is a disappointment that- when I allow God to really use it- drags me to my knees as I beg God to make us- ME- better followers of Him.

And ultimately, it is a disappointment that reminds me of what's so great about the cross.  That God would allow His Son to die for people like you and me who- by ourselves- are pretty darn disappointing, even on our best days.  This disappointment reminds me that things are not as they should be- and yet there is a way that things can be made right.  There will be a day when things are made right.

And while I long for the day when there is no longer a need for holy disappointment, I will allow God to cultivate this holy disappointment in me today, that I- and we- might better serve Him.

 

Isaiah 58

I've been meditating on these verses for quite some time now.  I can't help but think this is what God is still saying to His people.

Shout it aloud, do not hold back.  Raise your voice like a trumpet.

Declare to my people their rebellion and the the house of Jacob their sins.

For day after day they seek me out; they seem eager to know my ways, as if they were a nation that does what is right and has not forsaken the commands of its God.

They ask me for just decisions and seem eager for God to come near them.

"Why have we fasted," they say, "and you have not seen it?  Why have we humbled ourselves and you have not noticed?" 

(can't you just hear the whining?)

Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please and exploit all your workers.

Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife, and in striking each other with wicked fists.

You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high.

Is this the kind of fast I have chosen, only a day for a man to humble himself?

Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?

Is that what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?

(you tell them, God!  And...err....me...)

Is not THIS the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--

when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear;

then your righteousness will go before you,

and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help and he will say: Here am I.

If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.

The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.

-Isaiah 58:1-11

It Was Bound to Happen

Tonight we had dinner with friends downtown.  Having driven directly from work, I pulled up on one of the many busy streets of Chicago, did my little pay for parking sticker thing and was on my merry way.  Until, of course, we returned to the car about 2 hours later and saw this.

Ah, yes.  Our first official "Welcome to the City now give us money" letter from the Mayor.  As someone who is quite proud of her sign-reading ability, I'm ashamed to admit that apparently in my rush to park, I had missed the sign (above the pay for parking sign) that told me I couldn't park on the street from 4pm-6pm.

DANG IT!!!!!!

Looking over the ticket, things didn't look good.    $60 price tag.  (Also, sidenote, I noticed that the states of license plates printed on the ticket are "other," which you write in, OR Illinois- duh, Iowa- nearby, Michigan- even closer, Indiana- practically the same place, Ohio- midwest, Wisconsin- cheese is a Chicago favorite, and....TEXAS???   Of all the 44 other states to choose from, you print TEXAS???  What does this say about Texas drivers?  Geez!)  

But then I looked a little bit closer.

Look at that blessed, blessed "other" box.

Do you see it?  Can you make out those letters?  C...A.  CA.  California.  I DO NOT HAVE CALIFORNIA TAGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  (There's no way to mistake that for a D and a C is there?  I mean I'm not going crazy, am I?  Unless the guy was dyslexic?  I know, I don't think so either.)

So as far as I'm concerned- and I am concerned- we're off the hook.  Sure, a tiny, itsy bitsy bit of my conscience thinks, "Well, I should probably still pay the ticket."  Granted, the other 99% is saying "HELL NO" much louder.  I mean, if we don't get a ticket in the mail, we can just chalk it up to "ticketing error" right?  I mean does the city of Chicago REALLY need our $60?  I'm pretty sure the producers of "Transformers III" are contributing enough to cover my little piece...

An Unexpected Joy

An unexpected phone call last Wednesday morning led M and I to turn around (we had both just arrived at work) get the oil changed in our car and head south.  Tuesday evening M lost his childhood best friend; we didn't yet know when the funeral would be but- even though they hadn't talked since high school- M knew we needed to be there.  So we just picked up and left.

We drove over 1,000 miles down to Florida, spending the night in Nashville, then again with Mason's parents in Alabama, finally arriving into Pensacola on Friday morning.  By some gracious gift of God (I really believe that's what it was) my immediate family and some of my extended family were on their annual trip to Destin and M and I were able to spend a few hours with them, before mentally and emotionally preparing ourselves for Saturday morning's funeral (the visitation on Friday was just too much to handle we decided).

But what we found at the funeral wasn't what had been expected.  In high school, M's friend had gotten involved with the wrong crowd, the wrong things.  And we didn't have much hope for a happy ending.  So when the crowds pushed in (and there really was a crowd) and the family walked in, my eyes began to tear up.

But then someone began to speak.  Rather than hearing a story of despair, fast lives and fast cars, we heard something else.  We heard about a life that had been transformed, some four years ago.  Through the funeral preacher- and the friend's notes in his Bible- we got to see inside the very private, spiritual musings of a young man whose life had changed.  We heard of a man who had discovered who he truly was and what he was made for; and who wanted to tell others about what he himself had realized.  We listened to the story of a man who found peace, with himself and with the world.

And at that point, my tears stopped.  Suddenly this wasn't just another "sad story" of a "good kid gone bad." It was yet another amazing story- an incredible reminder- of redemption.  Tragic, yes, and to be mourned, for sure.  And yet...there was something more there.  A peace that was so much bigger than the casket in front of us.  Almost as if, even in death, the friend was not defeated.  It was a simple reminder that lessened, even if just a little, the sting of death and loss.

And in that moment, there was an unexpected joy.

Michael W. Smith might just be right

M and I just returned from a (slightly extended, due to complete failure by Delta) trip back to DC for our friend Brittany's wedding.  It was a wonderful time to catch up with friends, spend some time relaxing and not, well, really do anything (minus the whole wedding coordinating part.  Minor detail.)

We are cute!  And bright!

And when we finally touched down last night, I thought to myself that- as much as I hate to admit it- Michael W. Smith might just be right.  Friends are friends forever, if the Lord's the Lord of them... (everybody now!)  The ladies and gentlemen we spent our weekend with are people that we haven't seen- in some cases- in nearly a year and, in other cases, in a few months.  And yet-- these are still mostly the people (outside of our families) who know us the best, who love us the most and who we hope to continue to foster friendships with for years and years to come.  

And then something else hit me: this group, this community, is truly a gift.  It's not just about having fun (though I think riding around with his friend in the cop car might have been one of the highlights of M's time in DC)...it's about rejoicing together, weeping together and ultimately sharing life together.

Of all the things I miss about DC, I can honestly say that this community I'm describing is what I miss the most.  Don't get me wrong, we have a fledgling little community here in Chicago- but man, oh man, I don't know if I ever realized how great I had it.  And yet, more than ever before, I also realize how important it is; to have people there when you're hurting, there when you're rejoicing, to spur you on towards love and good deeds and sometimes say those hard words to you.  At the heart of it, I believe this is what we were created for ("No man is an island" ring a bell?)  I believe that deep- and often suppressed- inside all of us is a desire to be a part of something bigger than ourselves, to be loved and encouraged, to mean something to others and to have others who mean something to you.   

I am so, so thankful for these friends and the others (college roommates, amazing Florida friends, pastors who love us) who are important actors in our lives and who- we hope- will continue to provide this important thing called community moving forward.  

This doesn't mean I'm now a Michael W. Smith fan.

Bright Lights, Big City

I've just this week realized something about Chicago.

It's a BIG CITY.

Don't get me wrong, I've known all along that it's bigger than DC, even bigger than Houston.  And certainly bigger than any other Midwest city- not that I really know or care about many of those.

But, gosh darn it, Chicago is a big city.  This week, as I've driven M downtown for his internship (side note: his office- an intern has an office??- has two large windows that look out over the Carbide and Carbon building and this cool, wavy new condo building) I've been struck by the number of people.  They're everywhere.  On the roads, on the trains, in the cars, in the taxis.  Maybe it's because East Garfield Park isn't exactly overflowing with people and Hyde Park is more college town (nerdy college town, but college town nonetheless) than downtown.  But I've just really been struck by the thousands and thousands of individuals walking to and from work, up and down Michigan Avenue and circling the city on the L.

While DC will probably always take the prize for "most fanny-packed tourists per capita" Chicago is overflowing with tourists all its own.  From places like Small Town, Iowa and Middle of Nowhere, Indiana, Chicago is- for so many people- the epitome of the Big City.  I don't know for sure what it represents, but I think it might be a bittersweet mix of industrial development, capitalism and Americana.  It's midwestern enough that these tourists don't feel too out of place and yet different enough that a trip here can feel like a trip to a somewhat foreign locale.  There is something familiar and yet so completely unknown that it's exciting and daunting all at the same time.

And it is finally now- in this now 10 month adventure in Chicago- that M and I realize how much we love the city.  Not necessarily the specific city of Chicago, but just the grander idea of the city.  In the city, you can't help but rub shoulders with people who are altogether different.  You can't beat the cultural and artistic opportunities it affords.  The city is always thriving and teaming with life; yes, sometimes quite heart-breaking and oftentimes depressing, but thriving nonetheless.  Deep inside of us there is a desire to continue to live out life in a place like this, where traffic will most likely drive me to the point of insanity and we will never be able to afford a house the size of the ones we grew up in.  Which we most likely don't need anyway.  

And yet under these bright lights and in a Big City, we will choose to live our life.  And just like the draw those fanny-packed tourists feel, this experience- so familiar and yet so unknown- will no doubt continue to be both exciting and daunting at the same time. 

My own little war zone

(Before I write ANYTHING I want to clarify that I am not actually comparing my story below to a real war zone. Also, I saw Vince Vaughn today at lunch and had to tell someone.)

After a weekend of not using the car at all (it was parked in Egypt because our famous neighbors were in town and our street was shut down) I got into the car this morning and realized that I was pretty much on empty. Not really wanting to fill up at the local BP that will run you $3.19 a gallon, I got about $5 worth of gas and then headed to work.

After lunch, I mentioned to my co-worker S (actually, that's confusing because there are 3 "S" names upstairs. Not kidding. Out of, like, 10) that I was going to go get some gas. She told me about a gas station in the neighborhood where I work that I had never seen before, where the gas is ridiculously cheap. She warned me "it's always crazy" but I didn't think much of it.

Then, I pulled into my own little war zone on the corner of California and Fulton. Never in my life have I seen so many cars going for so few pumps. Of course at a price of $2.81 (I think that was right), what do you expect? It was literally, crazy anarchy (this is why I think government/rule of law is a good thing!) I cringed MULTIPLE TIMES as cars came thisclose to hitting me. And then there was the dude with the thumping, loud music, and the lady who decided to take half an hour to figure out how to use the gas pump. (I'm thinking if you haven't learned by now, don't even try.)

I wanted to flick people off. I wanted to yell at these stupid people. And then I started thinking...it's funny the way people behave when going for what they consider to be "theirs," myself included. You could just see the tempers rising, and people starting to lose their cool. Maneuvering in and out was a mess and I am truly shocked, SHOCKED that someone didn't pull a gun by the time I left. Not that that's the way to fix a situation, but that's the way it rolls a lot of times in my hood.

And then I started thinking a lot about the violence in East Garfield Park. At one point this year, more people had died in Chicago due to violence than in Afghanistan and Iraq combined. What is it that makes us think it's ok to take life (whether by literal death or chewing out or demeaning, or destroying) for something? Is the gas, or your honor, or that piece of candy, or those extra profits really worth the value of a human life? What kind of culture do we live in when self, profit and property come before respect for one another? It's not a white thing or a black thing, or a poor thing or a rich thing, because it manifests itself across all racial, economic and social divides. It's a human condition thing. Why do you we feel so threatened by anyone taking what's "ours"?

And then I can't help but think of this guy I've studied. He said that when someone asks for a tunic, you give him the one off your back. When someone asks you to go one mile, you go two. The reality is that there's no room for selfishness in living out this call. There's no way you can think of yourself before your neighbors. Because, in fact, this Guy said there were two basic rules we were to live by: loving His Father and loving others.

What would our own little war zones look like if we truly lived like this?

Our Newest Challenge

We can't claim the name Hyde Park HEROES if we don't awesomely take on challenges, right? RIGHT! So our newest self-inflicted challenge? Living on a budget.

I know, I've written about budgets before. Multiple times, actually. But now we're taking it to a whole new level. Not just "track what you spend" but "take out only a certain amount of cash every 2 weeks and only use that." And yes, there's this stuff called "cash" and "coins" that are not made out of plastic, are considered legal tender and have pictures of dead white guys on them. It's the wave of the future, I tell ya! Who comes up with this stuff?!

So the plan now is to see how well we can do with this set amount of cash. It means actually thinking before plopping down a couple hundred for new clothes (actually, I can't remember the last time I did that) or having multiple dinners out. And we're not doing this because we're dangerously in debt or because we think credit cards are completely evil- though they're most definitely NOT your friends. We're doing it because, as I've said before, we believe that how we spend our money matters. Consciously choosing to take only a certain amount out and using only that means thinking more seriously about where it's going. It means building in, even if just for another second or two, a pause and a reflection. "Is this what I want to spend my money on? How does it reflect what I support and believe?"

It's most certainly not going to be easy. It's not a lot of money. And I do quite enjoy spending money on non-necessities (this is not to say we are cutting all non-necessities, but we will be spending less on them). It's a challenge that we believe will make us live more responsibly and will make us better stewards of what's entrusted to us. Let's see what happens.

Nine Months Later

June 5th will mark my 9 month anniversary at Breakthrough. And as I’ve written before, it’s hard to imagine that in this transition to Chicago, the Lord would make clear to me His plans to involve me in the work He is doing in urban America. I am more certain of this calling than ever before, though I can only dream of how it will manifest itself in the months and years to come.

At some point, if you’re a thinking, feeling human being, you get to the point where questions of inequality, faith, power, racial justice and mercy begin to haunt your waking and your sleeping. Why is it like this? And, maybe even more importantly, What am I called to do about it? Government programs or pulling one’s self up by one’s own boot straps or just trying harder or sending more money…God, how I wish the answers were that easy!

I can’t help but think that the Lord is deeply, deeply saddened by His children’s unwillingness- or maybe just oblivion- to His very clear calling to love our neighbors as ourselves. He has asked- commanded, really- us to love the “least of these,” not because they are a project to be fixed but because, in serving others, we reflect the grace and mercy of Christ and, in turn, learn something more about who God is. In the process, He transforms us, too, as we’re all in need of a Savior. I am certain God is encouraged by the mentors, the foster parents, the people praying, the tutors, the people sharing meals with their neighbors who don't look like them. But how many of us does that really, truly include? What would it look like in our every day lives to live out God’s calling to love our cities? Would we pray more? Would we give more? Would we serve more?

Maybe we don’t “do” because we don’t know exactly what to do. Maybe we’re uncomfortable leaving our safely-guarded homes, or we don’t feel like we have anything to give. Or maybe we want to fix things, but don’t know what the answer is, so don’t want to try. Or maybe we’re so consumed with ourselves that we don’t see anything outside of us. Or maybe we have our own misconceptions to get over.

I wish I could tell you what the answer is. I wish that right here on Hyde Park Heroes I could say “do xxx and poverty will decrease, racial injustices will stop, and we’ll all live as one big happy family.” The reality is that this side of heaven, I don’t actually believe it’s possible. And yet…we’re still called to do something. I can't tell you exactly what that something is. Realistically, it will look different for each of us. Some will feel called to vocationally serve, as I do. Some will be called to give. Some will be called to volunteer. The point is that inaction is not acceptable.

I would suggest you start here: down on your knees, asking God how you might love as He loved, serve as He served. Pray that He would be at work and use you in that work. Search the Scriptures to know and believe what God is saying. Read books about this work (I list a few suggestions below). Seek out people who are doing this good work. Step out in faith. Oblivion is no longer an excuse.

I long for the day when there is a holy city, where there is no more weeping, no more pain and no more injustice. It’s not going to be here, and to believe that it can be is foolishness, as long as people are imperfect. And yet every day Christians around the world pray that thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

What would it look like for you to be a part of God’s kingdom coming in urban America?

Book Suggestions

"Truth and Social Reform" (Vishal Mangalwadi)

"When Helping Hurts" (Steve Corbett & Brian Fikkert)

"Theirs is the Kingdom" (Bob Lupton)

many, many more!

They're Not Mine

When I was little, I used to travel with my mom to a women's Bible study called BSF (Bible Study Fellowship, I think.) I don't remember exactly where it was, but I do remember the fun things my friend Rachel, Dan and I used to do while our moms studied the word; things like tracing our bodies on big, white butcher paper and making fun kids crafts. I don't remember much about what we learned or even (beyond the butcher paper) what we did. But I know that the Lord was present, that we were learning and that we- at a very early age- were a part of a community of believers.

If I don't remember what we, the kids, did, I certainly have no clue what our moms did. But before I left for India in the summer of 2004, my mom shared with me one of the things she was told one of the first times she attended BSF.

Her leader challenged the class- mostly young moms- to pray that the Lord would remind them that their children were not theirs. Are you kidding me? my mom thought. This is my baby, my little girl. MINE.

And yet, even with those feelings deep in her heart, I think my mom began to pray that she would believe in the Lord's goodness and faithfulness. That she would remember that- above all else- I was the Lord's, not hers. That she would do me harm if she kept me from doing all that the Lord would call me to in order to protect me or, worse yet, keep me for herself.

And so, in 2004, probably with deep worry (that she bravely did not show me) my mom and dad let me go off to India for six months pretty much by myself. It is because she knew that this was what the Lord was calling me to that she was able to let go. It was probably this same spirit that led my parents, again, to let me go off to DC without a job, without too many friends and without a place to live. It is again, this conviction, that strengthens them when I tell them about the shooting that happened around the corner from my workplace, or M and my deep desire to live a messy, urban life in a "dangerous city."

The greatest gift my parents ever gave me was to trust in the faithfulness of the Lord and His good plans for my life. They could have orchestrated it (or continued to pay for it :) They could have demanded alarm systems, "safe places" and living down the street from them in their safe suburban neighborhood. They could have held on tightly, even as the Lord said "No, she is mine."

I hope one day, when M and I have children, that I can draw upon the example of my mother as I, too, learn that even as I birth and bring up these children, they are not mine. That the greatest gift I can give them isn't to protect them or hold too tightly to them, but, rather, with assuredness to say "they are Yours."

Happy Mother's Day.

Something BIG

On Saturday, May 15th, I'll spend my day with about a thousand other Chi-towners out in the neighborhood of East Garfield Park. Why? For this.

When I Grow Up from Breakthrough Urban Ministries on Vimeo.

Friends, family and neighbors will gather to officially kick off our Breakthrough Dream BIG campaign, as we work to create a place where families can come together in community and where community can come together as family.

It is, in fact, a BIG dream. In East Garfield Park, less than 40% of all youth graduate from high school. It's easier to become a drug dealer than a doctor. There's disinvestment, empty lots and hurting hearts.

And yet.

Nearly 100 kids arrive at the door of Breakthrough after every school day ready to- wait for it- learn more. Men and women in the interim-housing program open the Word together and study what it has to say. Every month, nearly 800 families in the East Garfield Park neighborhood alone take part in Breakthrough's "client choice" Fresh Market.

God is at work here.

And that's why I believe in this BIG dream. Raising 15 million in a shaky economy isn't easy or- to be honest- fun. But then, when you're certain that the Lord is in something, what's easy and fun don't exactly matter. Because the truth is that God is BIG. And He promises us that He will accomplish His good works, when we submit to His leading.

Don't misunderstand. Plenty of youth have and will slip through the cracks and end up pregnant, alone or bouncing from house to house. Men and women will leave the interim-housing program, only to find themselves homeless and jobless again a year, or two, or three later. I don't pretend to begin to understand why exactly this is: I think it's a mix of broken systems, broken individuals, broken programs and a broken understanding of what it means to love our neighbors as ourselves.

And yet.

We're still called to Dream BIG. To work- FIGHT, even- for the things of the Lord: love, redemption, community, justice, peace and transformation. I am so blessed to be a part of an organization that fights for these things.

So I challenge you to Dream BIG with me. To believe in a God who accomplishes great things. Who has something to say to us about how to love our neighbor. Who cares about poverty, disinvestment and justice. Who longs for His children to be in a place of deep love and knowledge of Him. Who is doing BIG things here in East Garfield Park.

To learn more about the Dream BIG campaign, visit www.breakthrough.org/dreambig

Really Weird Things about Me

The blog has been a little serious lately, so I thought I would lighten it up by letting you know just a little bit more about me or, rather, some of the weird things about me. It starts with this:

- I was once run over by a float in a parade.

- From the age of about 12-18, I turned my feet sideways while going down the stairs because of a book I read.

- I cry every time I see a baby being born (so far this has only been on TV. Including The Office.)

- I once broke my thumb dancing to my Disney record on my Fisher Price record player.

- I used to hate pickles and bell peppers but now love them.

- I have taken language classes in Ancient Greek, French, Spanish and Arabic.

- I used to play "Bar" when I was little.

- I love- and I mean LOVE- lima beans.

- I also used to play "Orphanage" when I was little.

And there you have it.

Of course, M just said, "You never even told me half that stuff." Oops. That's why they say you're always learning something new about your spouse, I guess. And somehow the fact that I played bar as a child hasn't really figured into our relationship until now.

Go figure.

Ok, Ok, My Ten Books

I know, I know you've all been waiting to see when I would respond to David Frum's blog challenge of naming ten books that have influenced my worldview. Honestly, I knew nothing about it until my friend Jonathan mentioned it on his blog.

This was much harder for me than I expected. There are lots and lots of books that I love (Make Way for Ducklings is at the top of that list), but I don't know if I would say they've influenced my worldview. And yet if I love them, something about them has probably stuck with me and influenced the way I think, react or act. So below are ten books that, in some way or another, have influenced me.

1. The Bible. Cliche, right? But as someone who professes to be a follower of Jesus, the Bible has deeply influenced the way that I think and feel about the world. It reaches (hopefully) into every area of my life, from the way I treat people (again, hopefully) to the way that I spend my time (hopefully) to the things I believe are worth fighting for (still hopefully!). I truly believe that from the first page to the last, this is the most influential book I have ever read. Yes, even the lists of names part.

2. The Idiot, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I sound really smart right now, don't I? I picked this book up while I was in India (don't ask me how that happened, because honestly I don't remember). But I do remember the amazing story of the "simple" Prince Myshkin and his willingness to fight for Nastasya despite the ridicule of others. Honestly, I don't think you can read The Idiot without thinking of Christ or a Christ-like figure (of course I think the same about the movie Moulin Rouge and people think I'm crazy). There's also an element of societal condemnation (or the condemnation of certain types of behavior in society) that I think has influenced the way that I view our current society. I'll leave that there.

3. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith. Oh. my. gosh. I LOVED (and continue to love) this book. It is the quintessential coming of age story in the slums of Brooklyn, New York. In my life, this book's influence was quite far reaching, from giving me a context of what it means to grow up as a girl no matter what time period you may live in, to the realities of life in the slums. I just read this again earlier this fall and found it even more powerful than before.

4. The Magician's Nephew, by CS Lewis. The first in the "story series" of the Chronicles of Narnia, I just read The Magician's Nephew this fall (I apparently did a lot of reading this fall). It is the creation story as it has never been told before (and I won't spoil it for you so you can read it yourself!) It taught me to think of the story of creation in a completely new way, as a beautiful act of art, rather than a list of things that were made in a certain amount of time. That is literally changing my "world" "view". Ha!

5. Truth and Social Reform, by Vishal Mangalwadi. This book fundamentally changed my perception of the Christian's responsibility to social reform. I read this while studying at L'Abri in England...and really, anything you read in an English manor house is probably going to make an impression on you. The book is no longer in print, but if at all possible, get your hands on it. Mangalwadi, an Indian, writes of his struggles to figure out what his faith has to say about social reform, even as it is linked to evangelism. Absolutely essentially important to read.

6. Basic Christianity, by John Stott. Really, almost anything by John Stott. The basic fundamentals of what it means to be a Christian. Not an American Christian or a rich Christian or a poor Christian or any other ridiculous label of a Christian. He depicts the judgement deserved as no one I have ever read before, and yet also depicts the grace extended as I've never seen before, too. Rocked my world.

7. The Beautiful and Damned, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Great Gatsby could also be up there, but B&D influenced my worldview even more. In one short sentence, B&D shows us the dangers of irresponsible living, living that thinks only of one's self. Very powerful.

8. The Decameron, by Giovanni Boccaccio. In particular, the Second Story. Anyone who knows anything about The Decameron knows that it's quite raunchy in some parts and just plain gross in others. But the Second Story, in particular, profoundly impacted my world view and my thoughts on evangelism an the reality of the Christian faith. Encouraged by his friend, a Christian, to visit Rome to learn about Christianity, Abraham (a Jew) makes the trek to the great city. What he sees, instead, is complete debauchery by the "religious". His friend-completely disappointed- approaches him when he returns, fully expecting that he'll have nothing good to report. Here's the part that gets me. Abraham responds: "Unless I did not see things straight, I found no holiness, no devotion, no good work or example or anything else in a single man of the clergy. On the contrary, lust, gluttony, avarice and worse things...for all were at their work to ruin the Christian faith entirely and ban it altogether from the world...Yet when I notice their aim is not fulfilled, but that your religion continually grows and becomes more bright and clear, it seems to me very evident that the Holy Spirit is its foundation and support, so it must be the truest and holiest of all faiths." Wow.

9. Balkan Ghosts, by Robert Kaplan. Changed the way I view the world known as "former Yugoslavia" and most of the geopolitical situations around the globe.

10. Vogue's Book of Etiquette, 1948 printing. If you want to see the way people used to treat one another and behave, you've got to glance through Vogue's Book of Etiquette. I don't know if I can say that it changed my world view, but I can say that it definitely enlightened me. Maybe one day we can return to a more civil society (without the ridiculousness of some of the customs, too)

I know as soon as I hit publish I'm going to regret at least a few of these or some of the ones I left off. But here they are. Read, ask questions and check them out yourself.

More like our Grandmothers

There's a New York Times Magazine article making its way around Facebook right now called the The Femivores Dilemma that I highly recommend you check out. The article itself is but a tiny glimpse of a neat little revival of sorts (minus big tents and people passing out) among young, hip- and oftentimes urban- families.

I have an apron just like that

The jist of the article is to tell us about a growing trend toward home-grown, unprocessed food, even-gasp- chickens. The idea is that it's not only healthier, it's also, somehow, more pure, more community-focused and less, well, consumer-driven. Like the majority of our grandmothers had, this new trend focuses on sustainable "kitchen gardens" that can feed a family, save money and ultimately allow women (and men) the opportunity to again work with their hands and bring life out of dark soil.

There is a feminist piece in the article that I won't go into (though I find it enlightening)...what is more interesting to me is this paragraph:

As I rustled up a quick dinner of whole-wheat quesadillas and frozen organic peas, I found my thoughts drifting back to our conversation, to the questions she raised about the nature of success, satisfaction, sustenance, fulfillment, community. What constitutes “enough”? What is my obligation to others? What do I want for my child? Is my home the engine of materialism or a refuge from it?

At its heart, I believe these are deeply spiritual questions, questions that I wish the American church in particular would take more seriously. These are questions, as we have budgeted and cut and downsized and budgeted again, that M and I are taking a long, hard look at. What is fulfillment? What is enough? What do our lives say are the answers to these questions? While we can't literally have a kitchen garden (but will be planting tomatoes and some herbs on our itsy bitsy back staircase), how do we make decisions that reflect our belief that our worth is not found in the things we possess, the restaurants we eat at or even in the neighborhood we live in? How do we live responsibly, not because it's "cool" right now, but because we believe it's part of our Christian calling? How can we encourage others, others who strive and strive to reach the top of that ladder or make that extra million or whatever it might be, that these worldly pursuits, while they may be golden, are fleeting? Do not read this as a condemnation of enjoying trips or food or homes or what have you- but do see this as a condemnation of the Gospel of More Stuff.

I don't know the answers. Even still, I know these are all questions worth asking.

Hello, Cupcake

In the late summer of 2006, my office was having a small party for something or another. Though I am usually a big baker, for some reason (which I don't remember now), I bought cupcakes for our party at the grocery store. You know what I'm talking about, right? Those sometimes oddly-colored concoction that are half cake and half icing? And you start shaking after eating one because of all the sugar?

Yeah, one of those.

At the time, one of my co-workers, MG, took a cupcake up to her office, maybe to eat it later, maybe to look at it...I'm not sure why exactly. And there it sat.

And sat.

And sat.

And.....sat.

Molding, right? Going through some process of decolorization, surely.

Nope.

That's right. Nothing happened. Nothing. When I left in August 2009 (THREE YEARS LATER) the cupcake- while maybe slightly smaller- looked exactly the same. In fact, MG and I were just emailing today and she told me the cupcake remains, just as before. Like God, the cupcake never changes.

Mmmm. Go getcha one of those.