A Letter To My Mom

Mom,

We sure do miss you around here. 

February has become a darker month for many of us since your death. The cold days and passing of cheery Christmastide brings with it memories of your illness and of your death in February two years ago. April called me on the first day of February this year and in the shakiness of her voice, I realized I felt it, too - the emptiness left by your physical absence. We cling to our memories and to each other, just as we clung to you.

February took a different turn for our family this year. You probably knew what was happening before I did! On Saturday, February 3rd, early in the morning I labored with our son. As the pains pulled me up from my bed, I found myself wondering if my labor would be anything like yours. The stories I’ve heard are scary! You labored with April for thirty-six long hours before the doctors brought her out of your womb in an emergency c-section! Then, with me, you were sure I would come on your birthday (August 28), but like April, I preferred your womb and stayed in until September 10th. All I’ve heard about Robert’s birth is that he peed on the doctors (something my son did, too). Oh, and that I sold him to the doctor for a quarter. 

I can’t quite put into words what this February feels like for me. My tear ducts are overflowing with happiness with the addition of our son to our family. It is clear to me that he is a gift. In his newborn freshness, he reminds me of the fragility of life. This February, it is hard to be sad. I’m not sad. Just heart-bursting happy that he is safely living on the outside of my womb. Here in our arms. 

My pregnancy, labor and delivery with him has opened my eyes to something I’ve never experienced before - being a mom. I’ve heard it said before, but dang if it’s not true, becoming a mom has made me all the more grateful for you being my mom. The sacrifices you made in your body and your brain, your marriage and your career -  those sacrifices are not lost on me. They are real to me now. Also, let’s talk about sleep. How did you give up so much sleep?!  I know you wanted to. You wanted us. I understand the complexities of all of that a little more now. 

I wish I could hug you. And pick up the phone and hear your voice. I wish I could hear you say those words, “I love you” and “You’re a good mom” and “It’s all going to be ok.” Those words are coming loud and clear from the community of friends and family you passed on to me and taught me how to create on my own. I know I’m loved and doing the best I can and I do have faith that in life and in death, it’s all going to be ok. You said those words enough around me, they stuck. I can still hear them in your voice, too. 

What I want to say, and what I would say if I could to you today in person, is thank you. Thank you for being my mom, our mom. Thank you for holding us in your womb, birthing us into this great big world, feeding us and hugging us and sacrificing your sleep and sanity so that we would thrive here. We are thriving, each one of us who got to call you “mom.” And I know my son will benefit from feeling your love, not just through me, but through April, Robert and dad, too. 

As the anniversary of your death approaches tomorrow, I plan to hold Lincoln near, to treasure these mysterious passageways between life and death, and give thanks for getting to be someone’s mom. 

I love you. 

Dawn

Farewell to the Adult Playground

Today I say farewell to San Francisco, a place I affectionately refer to as the adult playground.

In this city, I stretched professional muscles and met new friends at the monkey bars.
I ran without abandon and felt free to wear whatever clothes out to play.
I breathed in the air of a place that is safe and colorful and magical.

A few weeks ago a friend asked us what we will miss most about living here and as quickly as the words "pupusa" and "sightglass" formed on our lips, we both realized it is the place, the people, and the challenges disguised as play that will hold our hearts for a while.


We have had fun living in this city.

• We've filled our tummies with fine dining and street cart tacos.
• We've run an absurd amount of miles with #RAGNAR and risen early to do burpees with #novemberproject.
• We've dressed up to hear the best singers at the opera, the undiscovered musicians in the bars, and the journalists speaking their work live at pop-up magazine. 

And we've both had fun in our jobs.
We've collaborated with some of the coolest, most creative people in our fields who are not afraid to try new things nor to fail at them.

We've learned new tricks just by living in a tech-hub. Tricks we get to show and tell for decades to come.

There is a magical energy about this place.  I'll be honest, it took some time for me to get used to the city smells and sounds and parking...but I know now that I will miss it deeply.

So, thank you, San Francisco, the city of adventure, our adult playground.

We Are Not What We Own

“Oh, the joys of city living!” This morning two different people said these words as they passed me cleaning out the broken glass of my car. The backseat window had been broken. Nothing of importance was stolen, but a mess was made and left for me to clean up. 

The line they gave was one I have internalized since moving to San Francisco. We live in a city, which means sometimes we learn lessons we would rather do without.

I’ve come to expect a broken window every now and then. Still, it puts me in a bad mood. Anger rises within me as I wonder if someone really thought I had something they needed or if it was just a fun game. Break the window and run. 

It’s moments like these, when the city teaches me a lesson about my possessions: 

I am not my possessions. 

My possessions should not have power over me.

When my possessions are attacked or harmed, I am not attacked or harmed. 

Of course it sucks to have to clean up someone else’s mess. 

It sucks to pay for a new window because insurance won’t cover it.

It sucks to have to go through the hassle of finding a time when you can meet the window repairman in a parking lot and have them fix your car. 

But it’s just a nuisance. My day goes on. I go on without that window. 

The lesson city living teaches me is that we are not what we own. 

Our identity and value is not based off of the size of our home or the price of our car. In fact, we choose to keep an older car just for this reason. Sometimes it gets broken into or bumped  and the less attached we are to it, the better. 

Sometimes I find myself fantasizing about a 3 bedroom house in a suburb. With a garage AND ample parking on the street. I dream about land that I would own and do with as I please. I think about what I would do with more space to spread out and decorate. 

And someday I may enjoy all these things.

But for now, I catch myself and I give thanks that I don’t have those things. I give thanks for our 1 bedroom apartment that only takes an hour to fully clean. I give thanks for a limited space that forces us to limit the number of things that we own. It simplifies our life. It helps us make priorities and live into our values of simple living and generosity toward others. Having neighbors on the other sides of our walls reminds us to be thoughtful in how we live and how it affects others. 

Even the break ins, broken glass from our car on the street, reminds me that some of our neighbors are in such desperate need that their best resort is to break in and steal from others.

On good days, I take a few minutes and pray for them. I pray for me, too, that I would be grateful for what I have and generous in sharing with others. 

Claiming the Collar

On Friday night, I put on my clerical collar and headed out on to the damp streets of San Francisco to participate in Night Ministry.  We walked by a long line of people waiting for the Prince show, in and out of bars, and along the homeless-lined streets offering our presence and prayer.

I've walked with SF Night Ministry once before and it is a powerful experience. There are night ministers out walking every night of the year and they've created quite a community. Several people living on the streets know Pastors Lyle and Tom by name and are quick to share prayer concerns with them. I was surprised this particular night by how many interactions we had with people out drinking on a Friday night and the respect they showed for clergy in collars.

Then, on Saturday, I went to see the movie Spotlight. Spotlight is an award-winning drama exposing the sexual molestation of minors by priests in the Catholic Church. It takes place in Boston in the early 2000s and sheds light on a horrific systemic problem. My blood was boiling at several points during the movie when time and time again survivors shared how they had been preyed upon by someone that they trusted. Even worse, how they were both emotionally and spiritually harmed by the abuse. As their trust for clergy shattered, so too, did their trust in God.

As I walked out of the theatre, our musician Jason asked me jokingly, "You gonna quit?" As in, quit working for the church. Quit being associated with the clerical collar that has been used for harm.

I sat with lots of feelings for a while. On one hand, I experienced the trust given to me Friday night as I wore the clerical collar and walked the streets of San Francisco. I felt closely connected to the ministry of Jesus as I drew attention to the radical statement of love for the homeless and for the drunks. And on the other hand, I felt real shame for how this symbol of trust had betrayed many. I hated how this symbol now triggers abuse of power and bodies, fear and secrets.

I continue to sit with the complicated symbol of the collar and I struggle with how I can best reclaim this symbol for good. I'm glad the media unveiled such a shameful and horrific abuse of the clergy because it takes away the power of the secret and critiques blind trust. I pray that as I - a Presbyterian clergywoman - wear the clerical collar, my life and ministry can be toward rebuilding the trust given to those wearing a clerical collar. I now wear it with much more awareness that the trust I am given is not always earned and I need to be all the more careful with the authority I am given.

Mom's Celebration of Life

The Reverend Doctor Eugenia (Genie) Varker Martin

My mom loved big. And she was clear that her love came from God - 

Fierce, compassionate, overwhelming love.

You know it because she shared it with you.

She shared it with all of God’s children. 

Genie never met a stranger. 

She made friends quicker than anyone I know. 

In a moments time, she would know you - and love you.

She made space for people in her heart and in her home.

Today, I am struck by Paul’s letter to the Romans and the language of adoption - OUR adoption as children of God. Through Christ, we are more alike than we are different…because we are from the same God. We are…children of God. 

My mom lived and breathed this truth in her ministry. We learned this early as kids because she was always bringing people home to live with us.  

Someone had a need and she had the resource, and by God, she was going to meet that need!

I can say that it was a good experience growing up. We were loved by a whole host of people.

Genie embodied what it means to expand your family to include God’s family and she passed that on to many. 

In the Gospel according to Matthew, Jesus teaches us where we should look to find God. He illustrates a scene in which the righteous are told that they cared for Christ when:

• they saw the hungry and gave food
• thirsty and gave drink
• a stranger welcomed
• the sick and prisoner were visited 

He said, 

“Just as you did it to one of the least of these…who are members of my family… you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:40)

Genie was so interested in people because she saw Christ so strongly through them - through you. 

Mom could find God’s presence in everyone and she took Jesus’ words to heart by seeking out time especially with “the least of these.” 
She wasn’t going to miss Jesus in our midst! 

Now, my mother - the Reverend Doctor Genie Martin - was not perfect. She, like all of us had shortcomings. 

One of my favorites was her impatience. 

I'm pretty sure I get that from her. 

My mom wanted things when she wanted them, which caused some embarrassment for us kids when we went out to dinner and the waiter or waitress just wasn’t moving fast enough.

She was impatient in her driving, even talking herself out of a few speeding tickets on her way to do important ministry!

But she was impatient about the right things, too. My mom was impatient with social injustice. It hurt her heart to see how we, as sinful humans, shut God’s children out - how we treat God’s children as “less than.” 

I’ve heard stories over the years and have seen with my own eyes how my mom changed...how she stretched her heart to make room for someone different than her. 

Then the grief she felt when others, even those she loved, wouldn’t do the same. 

My mom’s love for people - for God’s children - was heart-bursting big.

The prophet Isaiah prepares us for what we celebrate today. Resurrection to new life.

“Have you not known? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the EVERLASTING God,

    the Creator of the ends of the earth.” (Isaiah 40)

“Have you not known? Have you not heard?"

Jesus died for us.

Jesus was resurrected for us. 

Jesus goes ahead to prepare the way....to set the table...to welcome us into God’s kingdom.

My mom was prepared. 

Over Christmas she took me to lunch. She looked at me and said,

“As a mother, I’m not ready to go.”

“But as a Christian… as a Pastor who has witnessed the death and resurrection of the saints who have gone before us...

I can’t wait!
I can't wait to see what is next."

I looked at her and I felt her tension. The sadness in her heart to let go of dreams unrealized - to know she would say goodbye to those she loved. 

And the joy and anticipation she felt for getting to cross over from life to death to new life. 

My mom was not afraid.  She was prepared for this moment - for her death and resurrection. 

She was convinced. 

She lived unshakeable faith in Christ. 

It is a true gift she gives to each one of us. 

I spent my life watching my mom point to the source of her love in both her words and her actions. The confidence she had in God is the most generous gift to us:  She was prepared to go home because she knew her home was already prepared.

So praise be to God for the life of Genie Martin! 

She is welcomed with a chorus of voices singing, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Amen. 

Stress Loss

Before

After

You know how weight loss adds show the before and after pictures to encourage you to try it yourself? Well, here is my stress loss campaign! 

I feel like a different person returning from my sabbatical (religious-speak for extended vacation away from work). I'm more chill, less worried about the little things, and best part...FULLY RESTED. Those two words are ones I haven't seen in a long time. 

My face holds less tension, my shoulders hold less stress and my doctor shows that my blood pressure has dropped. Those are definitely some practical, visible, tangible results of STRESS LOSS! 

This last month of August Tim and I both took off from work, boarded a plane and headed far west to New Zealand and Australia. We had plans for generally where we would be in those countries each day and which Air Bnb/hotel we were to stay for the night, but other than that our trip was left up for daily adventure. We went to museums, hiked national parks, saw incredible sounds of water with rainbows and wildlife, kayaked, snorkeled, swam, ran, and lounged. We took a long road trip around the southern island of New Zealand and felt like we were gawking at  National Park beauty of snow capped mountains and water everywhere we went. I got to cuddle a koala and feed kangaroos out of my hand in Australia. I took time to look around me. Look up. Look down. Look within and remind myself that even in the midst of a profession that is about caring for others, I can and will care for my needs, too. 

I couldn't have picked a better travel partner than Tim. Even after a full month of travel with just him (this is a feat for an extravert), I didn't want it to end. I'm grateful for the time we got to spend just with each other. Present with each other. Present - without stress or worry or agenda - with each other. It was and is such a gift to our marriage. 

How long does it take to lose stress, you ask? Honestly, I'm not sure. I think somewhere between 2-3 weeks my body went into a deeper level of relaxation. I spent most of the first week sleeping through things, including an intense rugby match. My body was no doubt fighting jet lag, but also just trying to catch up - To get the most of this deep rest before time is cut short. 

Tim and I are very fortunate to have taken this time. It was a gift of my church and a wise and generous move of Tim's company's partners to let us get a way for a bit. And we are forever thankful to those communities. This time away feels like a game changer. A reset button. A fresh new start with some more energy and more balanced perspective. 

So, I encourage you to try it for yourself! Pastor-types, negotiate sabbaticals. I chose one month every three years instead of three months every seven. Church-types, encourage your pastor to take extended breaks. Other worker-bees like Tim, I know your professions aren't likely to take the biblical support for sabbaticals, but find the vacation time, ask for time off, it's amazing and well worth the extra effort.

This might be all I write about our month away...seems like work to do more...however,  if you're on instagram, you'll be seeing pictures from our trip on Thursdays (#tbt) from now until forever :) 

Weekly reminders for me and glimpses into what we saw and did for you that helped me gain this perspective on life and appreciation for full and real rest.

Here's todays pic:

#tbt Coolest Pool, Sydney, Australia

Into Deeper Waters

unsplash.com

When I was first learning about the ocean, my dad would take me and my sister out with him. The two of us, one on each hip. We'd watch in amazement how he just kept walking through the crashing waves. We'd squeal, he'd jump and we'd be on the other side of the wave. He wanted to show us how just beyond the first break of waves,  the waters calm down. It's lake-like. We'd float for a bit and then he'd tell us it's time to go further. With surprised looks on our faces, and hearts full of trust for our dad we'd wrap our arms tight around him and explore deeper. I remember some hard conversations. The two of us young girls not wanting to go further and my dad in an attempt to help us overcome our fears would encourage us along. I remember the day we went to the point where he couldn't touch. He was treading water. It was an amazing moment. Not one of us drowned.

My childhood memory reminds me of Jesus calling Peter out onto the water (Matthew 14:22-33). Jesus invites Peter into deeper waters to explore what he hadn't seen before. Peter learns, as do we, that it is all about trust.

This year my mom was diagnosed with cancer. It's taken an emotional toll on me and my family. And it's certainly taken lots of time for me to feel like I can process it, much less write about it.

In a lot of ways my mom is the emotional bedrock of my family. She is a professional juggler of both family and church needs. It's pretty amazing just how many people my mom can keep track of and love.

When we stepped deeper into the reality of her illness, roles had to shift...and trust had to be reworked. It feels to me like Jesus is inviting me into deeper waters and I am terrified. Whose feet exactly can touch the ground? My family and friends close to mom have had to dig deep within ourselves to find something bigger to trust. Something big enough to overcome our fears of falling in. For me, it's Jesus.

I am sad about my mom's illness. Sad about how cancer is fighting her and sad about how the treatments are fighting her. I'm sad when I see how hard she fights to still be our mom or my dad's partner or my grandmother's daughter or my aunt and uncle's sister. Somehow she musters up the energy each day to walk a little deeper into the waters. For herself, but also for us.


I feel Jesus beckoning me into deeper waters with him and I'm convinced I'm still treading water where I am.  I trust deep down, like I trusted my dad, that we'll be ok. That Jesus won't let me slip under. That I'll be amazed looking back at how we all stay afloat. But, I'm still terrified. Still watching the big crashing waves with fear and awe. Still holding tight to Jesus as we pass through each wave and come to the other side.

We don't get a choice if we experience rifts and currents in life, but we do choose how we ride them. When we risk some movement through the breaking waves, we can sometimes find calm and peace on the other side. With some intentional trust, we can lean back and float for a while. We won't sink down. Trusting even in the deep waters, we can rest here for a bit.

Jesus does this. He takes us to deeper waters. But he is trustworthy. He'll be there with us. Ready to catch our hand when we begin to sink. Ready to move us to a more restful spot before we begin deeper again.    

Ashes for Action

Following a full morning of #AshesonBART, our church intern Lacey Hunter, elder Tom Pack and I gathered in front of the immigration court building in San Francisco to offer a service of ashes and prayers.

Together with the Interfaith Coalition of Immigrant Rights, we lamented the fear and uncertainty that hundreds of thousands of immigrants feel as they cannot yet apply for safety through Obama's extended programs DAPA and DACA. Read more here.

The connection for me is clear. On Ash Wednesday, we step into the season of Lent. We mark a cross with ashes on our forehead and we remember that we are mere dust...beloved dust...and that as God's creation we belong (in life and in death) to God. We also belong to each other...

"Somos todos seres humanos." We are all human beings. We are connected beyond borders, beyond governments, beyond racial differences...by our faith. By our Creator. By our God.


Thus, Ash Wednesday and this season of Lent cannot be just a time to focus on our personal relationships with God...as important as those are. We cannot just be aware of how God is present to us, but to our neighbors as well.

The ashes remind us that we are dust and we will return to dust. That dust is all of creation...God's creation...we are connected.

This lenten season I'm excited to walk with my community (Mission Bay Community Church) toward a deeper faith as we seek to see and care for our neighbor.

As a great mentor and professor Bill Brown once said, "May we see what God sees, and may our hearts break over what breaks God's heart."

Parts of our Service of Ashes and Prayer was documented by NBC Bay Area News. You can watch online here: http://www.nbcbayarea.com/video/#!/on-air/as-seen-on/Protests-Follow-Court-Order-on-Obamas-Immigration-Reform/292514031

Love is a Risk

Last year I determined that my life goal is to take risks for the sake of the gospel. As I live it, I realize that this takes shape both in my professional life and personal life. In both, it is often the risk to open my heart to love.

This Valentine's Day, we get swept away with images and messages of love. And though our culture prioritizes intimate love, there are many more forms. Love between parents and children, siblings, grandparents and grandchildren, friends, colleagues. This year, I received a valentine from one of my mentors.

Love for me means many things -

Love is an intentional action to care for someone's needs above your own.
Love is a feeling of belonging, being known and accepted fully.
Love is opening your heart to let someone else in.

...Ultimately, love is a risk.

In my professional life caring for people, love is a risk I take every day. I meet people, I look for God's presence in them, as I get to know them and care for them, I begin to love them. This takes investment of time and emotional energy. And sometimes that Christian love spreads and multiplies and I am amazed by the joy it brings. And sometimes it falls short leaving me a bit empty and tired.

In my personal life too, love is a risk. Risking to invest in a new friend in a transient place when we really don't know how long they can or will stick around. I risk when I invest all of who I am and all I have in my spouse, Tim. If one day I were without him, a large part of me would be missing. Same with my family and close friends. With each step deeper into love, I'm risking more of myself. Vulnerability and parts of me I won't get back.

This Valentine's Day, I am aware of these risks. I'm aware of my friends who have lost someone or several people that they love. They mourn this day because they know what the fullness of joy love brings and they feel the empty space. I'm aware of friends taking a risk to love and the fear they feel of being vulnerable and hurt. And I'm aware through my social media feeds and texts and calls how worthwhile these risks for love are... because regardless of what kind of love it is, love is what binds us together. Love is what reminds us of our worth. Love, for me, is the purpose of life.
The risk well worth taking.

Happy Valentine's Day.
Dawn

Netflix Therapy

Ok, this post is going to sound silly. But I write it because it's true for me and because I know so many of us do it. Do what, you ask? Use Netflix to help us process the emotional stress of life.

These last few weeks I have devoured Gilmore Girls. A sitcom of a mother/daughter duo who basically engage in witty banter for 40 minutes about family, education, social class, pop culture and politics (2000-2007). At first I indulged because it reminded me of when my college roommate Elin and I would would watch the episodes (you know, marathon style) when we finished all our end of term exams. It was our way to destress, laugh and have fun.




I kept watching because the show made me laugh and I started connecting with the characters in the story line. Then, it dawned on me (...I know, corny...deal) that this show served a purpose for me. Watching these two women engage in their relationships was allowing me to consider the relationships that were causing me stress. I could laugh at their issues because they were just enough like mine that they were real and just enough different that it didn't hurt...too much.

When I realized I was crying in an episode, I really got it. Oh man, I'm carrying some stress and pain of social structures, abusive relationships and unrealized dreams. I'm feeling this disappointment deeply. I want reconciliation, but I'm not quite there yet. I could ride the emotional roller coaster with these characters I grew to like and it helped me remember that the seasons don't last forever. The storyline always continues...well, until it ends.

[Netflix] shows can let us into the storyline where we realize (at a slant of course) our own emotional issues and stress. They play on our emotions by taking us along the real life ebb and flow of pain.

I'm not saying Netflix is the way to process your emotions. I still prefer professional therapy, good colleagues, exercise and rest....BUT, sometimes it's just what I need to gently engage and process.

Sleep Wrestling

My newest spiritual practice is to read a daily entry of Celtic Treasure: Daily Scripture and Prayer by J. Philip Newell each morning.

This morning's entry focused on the biblical story of Jacob wrestling with God. In the context of the story (Genesis 28-33), I remember the complexity of human relationships. The parental favoritism shown by Abraham toward their son Esau and Sarah toward their son Jacob. The brotherly feud between Esau and Jacob. The trickery, manipulation, and power struggles. And in the midst of the human messiness, Jacob wrestles with God. In his sleep, Jacob is worried about confronting his brother Esau and he wrestles with his fears and with God. By the end he's desperately asking for God's blessing and protection in the day ahead.

Reading this story this morning is the first time I've really connected with Jacob's wrestling in his sleep. My own worries and fears can dominate my subconscious and take over my dream world. In these dreams, I find my subconscious working out daily interactions and processing deep emotional issues. It feels like wrestling with my fears and with God. A wrestling match between my own free will and with God's will.  I wrestle by wanting to cling so strongly to the control I have (or perceive to have) and my own desires for how things should work out.

At the end of the scripture passage, Jacob does encounter his brother. And the big event he feared turns into a joyous event of reconciliation. Jacob, wounded by his fitful slumber, limps toward Esau and Esau runs to him, kisses him and together they weep. Jacob says to his brother, "Seeing your face is like seeing the face of God, for you have welcomed me back with love."

Waking from a fitful night's rest is never fun. It sometimes makes the day ahead incredibly hard to face. Reflection on this scripture has made me ready to look for the ways the events I fear become events full of joy. For God's will is always better than my own.

Transience - Rooted in God

2015 is here! Regardless of the fact that I keep writing 2014 on everything...

The turn of a new year always creates a pause in my life for reflection. A moment to mark the transition and look forward to the future.

As I reflect on this past year, I'm aware of the ways I have changed and grown both as a pastor and as a person. I'm also acutely aware of what has stayed the same.

One of the major themes of my ministry in San Francisco is the transient nature of the community. Each year, new people come into my life and into our ministry. And each year good friends and congregants move away. I find myself sitting with both grief and joy at these transitions. Grief that our church community must say goodbye to incredible leaders and faithful disciples and great joy that I've had the chance to meet them and share ministry with them.

San Francisco at Night.

In conversation with a colleague Monica Kilpatrick some time ago, she shared with me the metaphor of a port for my (and MBCC's) ministry in San Francisco. We are here, providing a space, a community, and a format for people to enter into. Some may only visit, stop and rest a while. Others may settle in, grow, share, and lead us. And as we bring people in, we also send some on their way to the next place God is calling them. This metaphor of a port is helpful to me as it reminds me that God has called me to a specific kind of ministry. A place that is active and energetic, fun and engaging. A community that is transient and will continue to change.

I now know that the emotional process of loss will remain the same struggle. The depth of my grief and my joy will stay the same. My heart saddened in the same way now as is was the first time. And honestly, that's a good thing. As hard as it is to say goodbye and grieve, it shows that my heart (and our hearts) are still open to loving. Open to the newness God is bringing our way.

During worship last Sunday, we laid hands on one of our members who is moving away. This ritual of laying on hands and praying over the one who is being called elsewhere is such a beautiful gift for our community. It acknowledges the pain of the loss, lifts it to God and reminds us all that beyond this place, beyond our geography, beyond even our community in each other....we belong to God. We are rooted in God and thus we are forever connected to one another through God.

As I look to the new year, I am excited about the new energy, ideas and growth. I also hold within my heart the people who have come and gone during my ministry at MBCC and I hope you know you will forever keep a place in my heart.

Happy 2015! Here's to remembering, celebrating and jumping into the new year!

Hospitality

I've been the pastor for Mission Bay Community Church (MBCC) now for two years and I've learned a lot from this community. Most recently, how well the community cares for one another in times of need. The care they give is just one way they share hospitality.

Earlier this month a newer family in our community experienced complications with their pregnancy. We got word one morning that the mother needed to go into the hospital and she had her two young boys (ages 4 and 2) with her.  I found myself wanting to jump into action and at the same time, I felt overwhelmed with how to help with all I was juggling that day.

Instead of jumping in, I waited a bit and watched with pure amazement as the community sprung into action. Within an hour, a plan was established. One member would go to the hospital, visit with the mom and take the boys off her hands. She then drove the boys to another member's home where the boys came in for snacks and got to play until their dad could leave work. Meanwhile, two other members stopped by the hospital after work to check in with the mom and keep her company.

By the next day when I heard how things had gone, the family already had rides figured out to and from bible study and worship. Meals were being planned and the community was surrounding them with prayer.

WOW. I mean, seriously, this family just moved here a few weeks ago!


It's amazing to see how the deep bond of faith in Christ comes into action in our daily lives. The family shared their need and people jumped up to help going out of their ways to care for each other, feed each other, care for each others' kids.

MBCC does hospitality well. We receive Christ's radical hospitality and then we are compelled to share it with others.  I'm grateful to serve alongside this church!

***Permission was given by the family featured in this story.***

montreat...another home

As soon as I entered the Montreat gates, my soul felt welcomed home.

For some of you readers on the west coast I know it is odd to you that I would choose to fly across the country to be at a place like this...so I want to write a bit about what Montreat is and how I ended up here.

Montreat is a town, a college...but known best to me, it is a conference center. I grew up coming to Montreat...

- first as a child with my parents attending Presbyterian Peacemaking Conferences,
- then as a youth for youth conferences,
- later as a college student working on summer staff as a camp counselor,
- now as an adult planning team leader for the youth conferences.

Montreat for me is a place of study - engaging scripture in keynote, worship and small group. Having theological conversations with anyone...everywhere.

Montreat for me is a place of recreation - climbing mountains, rock hopping, running, paddle boating, energizing (Presbyterian do these choreographed dances...ask me and I'll show you some time).

Montreat for me is a place of reunion - I run into people I know from all different stages of my life. People who have known me since I was a child and remind me that my faith roots run deep.

Montreat for me is a place of spiritual rest and renewal - I don't mean rest in terms of sleeping, but rest in the way that I breathe a little more deeply. I feel comfortable, at home, known and loved here.

Montreat can be a bubble... full of insider speech and connections. But at it's best, it is meant to be a safe haven, a sanctuary, a thin space where you feel closer to God and to each other.

West coasters, I hope to share Montreat a bit with you through this blog and maybe, EVEN MAYBE spark some interest in bringing some of you with me next time to experience God in this place. Participating in conferences at Montreat helps us remain connected to the larger church and learn more from each other.

This week, one thousand youth were brought together to explore the theme "rooted and reaching." Through keynote, small group, recreation and worship, we explored together what it means to be rooted in God's love so that we can reach out to others. I served on the planning team that has worked the last 2 years to create the conference. It's been a great way for me to give back to the place that has given so much to me. I prefer to serve the larger Christian church this way because I believe in the power of investing in the youth of our church and learning about God through them.

As I'm here and reflecting, I realize that I am rooted in this place. Throughout my life, the seeds of my faith have been nurtured and grown here. Coming to this place reminds me of my deep faith roots so that I can continue to reach out in love to others.

practice resurrection

"Practice resurrection" was a motto I learned in Haiti. It was an integral part of the orphanage St. Joseph's Home for Boys in Port-au-Prince. The boys and their leaders lived this motto every day. Rising early in the morning for prayer they would recite their core scripture: "You can do anything in Christ who strengthens you" [Philippians 4:13].

The devastating earthquake in Haiti destroyed St. Joseph's building and a few months later, I received in my inbox an email with a picture of a plant growing out of the rubble.

Resilience, the email said.

Reminding us as well as them to practice resurrection.







I love this motto: practice resurrection. It's core to my belief in God, in Jesus Christ, in forgiveness, hope, and new life. But, no matter how much I like the idea of it...living and practicing resurrection is hard work.

In order to practice resurrection, you have to live through death. Death of a life, destruction of a building, the end of a worthy ministry or relationship.

In order to practice resurrection, we have to experience great loss. Something taken away from us. A dream, a person, our control.

My friend Kate recently helped me put an image to this feeling. It's like a harrow tearing through soil.

A harrow - the garden tool with a heavy frame and teeth. A harrow - with the sole purpose of breaking up what exists. Cutting roots. Turning soil over, bringing what was on the bottom to the top.


The verb "harrow" can be used to describe our emotions during a time of loss and grief. It means distress, torment, grieve, pain, hurt...

The process of loss is harrowing. The darkness, the pain, the deep sadness is brought to the forefront. The harrowing makes a mess within ourselves, mixing the old with the new. Creating ugly chaos. And yet, in the garden, pulling up soil creates a sense of relief. A sense of hope. Harrowing gets things out of the way for us to prioritize and make room for what what is new.

Perhaps what is most difficult in practicing resurrection is not the loss.

Rather, it's trusting that something new will come.

During our Good Friday service at church, the sanctuary grew gradually darker as we retold the story of Jesus' suffering and death. At one point, all the candles were extinguished and we sat in darkness together. I could tell that some of us wanted to stay in the dark. There is a familiarity there. We've been there before. It's not pleasant, but it's real. There are things to be learned in the darkness.

And yet, there was new light to come. With a clang of the cymbals a new candle was lit. A small child sitting on the back row let out a gasp, "Whoa!" Not expecting the light to come and amazed at how it lit the room.

Whoa is right, little one. The promise in practicing resurrection is that the light WILL come. New life will emerge out of darkness. That is the promise and truth of our faith.

As I am harrowed by the changes in my ministry at an organizational level and also in peoples' very lives...I find myself searching for the light. Not emerging from darkness prematurely, but seeking and hoping and praying for the new life that will come from this change.

I'm trusting in the process and in the promise that new life will come. I'm living my motto:
practice resurrection.