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.