Re-Defined Life

Community is Generosity

I've been reading Blue Like Jazz almost every morning. Sometimes a chapter. Sometimes two. Sometimes part of one.

Today's chapter was the one about community. About living with people. Being around people. About our lives not just being some sort of play about us and only us. About treating people like people.

It made me miss the community experiences I've had. I mean, the only time I actually lived alone was in Brooklyn, New York. And then it was only for six months or something. But there's also a difference between having a roommate and having a major community experience.

I've had the latter twice.

The first time, during college, was living with five other girls in a two bedroom dorm suite. I remember being recruited by the first two girls, who were already roommates, and I said I would do it on a condition: if we opened our doors wide.

If we already were squeezing six girls into that space, why not open it up to anyone who needed community or time away from a dorm room or a bad roommate? So we duct-taped our door so it wouldn't lock. We would take the duct-tape off the door last thing before bed and put it back on first thing in the morning. With six girls and six schedules and the fact that this was college, this usually meant that the room was "closed" for business between the hours of 3AM and 6AM.

In part, this whole experience turned out to be about the girls and the time we all spent together, in pairs or all together. It was about Tana, who was very organized and made a chart so that we would all clean the room. She had to, because we were bad at that. She also was almost engaged and uncomfortable with our general need in the suite to get naked in the bedrooms and hang out. So we would plan ways to be naked when she came in. Or partly naked, really. Once we were sitting on her bed in our underwear when she came in from talking to her now-husband on the phone. She stared a moment, dropped her jaw and then turned and walked calmly out of the room.

The other girl who lived in the bedroom with me was Teresa, who is almost married now. She was the one who sat on Tana's bed with me that time. She was generally comfortable with things. And I remember that year she went through a serious heartbreak from a careless boy. But I think community helps us heal. So we all knew she would be okay. Particularly when there were nakedness pranks being played on Tana or road trips taken to Canada with backseats full of international students who slept the whole way, while Teresa and I heard the popular songs of that day 48759 times.

On the other side of the suite there was Laura, who I wouldn't want to take in a fight. She's probably the strongest girl I've ever met and doesn't know her own strength--which is scarier when you are wrestling, which us girls also had a tendency to do.

And Jenna, who I predict will be the third to get married, who was a dancer and very sweet. She was the only one who lived up to Tana's standards of cleanliness that year. And most of the conversations that her and I had were moderately serious and about Jesus or how we should live.

The last of my roommates, and the one I was and am closest to, is Grace. She was the resident hippie and artist and that was the year she went with dreadlocks. Now she goes to interior design school and dates men who wear flannel or leather and builds bikes in her spare time. She was my co-leader for a small cell group composed of girls in one of the freshmen dorms. It was a hard year for us in that group in some ways. Our girls weren't big talkers and we wanted them to be. I still don't know how to solve that problem. I think you just love people whether they talk or not. Grace and I spent a lot of time planning our talks on her bed and talking about life and the hard questions that we had about it. My most vivid memory of Grace that year, though, was her mooning us through the window when we locked her out of the suite. She mooned us right as a cop drove by and we all thought she was going to be arrested, which was an anti-climactic thing to think, as she wasn't.

For a while we also had an unofficial roommate (or several really). People who needed to sleep on our couches for one reason or another. The most prominent and long-staying was Jasmine, who I think lost her apartment that year and just wanted to graduate. She lived on our couch for something like 6 months and after that gave each of us an ivy plant. I kind of wish I had that ivy plant still, to remind me of community and generosity and that year.

The second time I lived in community was very different. I was in Denver and living off and on on Holly's couch. The reason I would consider this a major community experience is because of all the other couchsurfers that made their way through while I was there. Her door was a rotating door, people always over, in and out. She hosted a french couple while I was there, and they made us dinner almost nightly. And I let go of personal space and lent all my energy to loving people. I guess it was the same frame of mind, which is why it feels similar to college to me.

Generous with space and time and love. That's big community. Someday maybe I'll live like that again.

The Best Year

During our rodeo weekend my uncle asked us all a question, one that was hard to answer and said so much about each person. "If you could relive one year of your life and couldn't change anything, which year would it be?" Essentially, what's been the best year of your life?

I said from last Aug 1st to the end of this July. This past year has been the best of the best.

I asked A the same question and he asked me why I would choose this past year. I said that, even though there were a few magnificently large blunders, the things I want are finally falling into place and my life has been changed more than once.

I landed an advertising job. With a company that represents places. I don't think it could be more tailor-made to my passions. And I have learned a lot, done a lot, there. And, now, I'm writing for them. Some. And, hopefully, only getting steadily greater in amount and quality.

Additionally, within and outside of my company, my writing/publication has increased steadily throughout the past year. Travel writing in Europe, search engine optimization for Northeast Indiana, Flash content re-writing for Omaha, language software reviews, brochures, full websites, newsletters, etc. It's the beginning of a journey down the path that I have always wanted and always been a little afraid of.

My life also changed locations. I picked up, packed up, sold and shipped and signed away my little Brooklyn apartment. And I went to Europe. I traveled by myself. I carried only a single backpack. I met people along the way that I am grateful for. And I fell in love with Italy. Then Denver.

It was also the year when I finally felt that I had put TEW behind me. I learned that I was lovable. By others. By myself. And I fell in love again. This time better. This time returned. And I learned what it was to be in a relationship where both parties were putting each other first. No more settling for less than that kind of care.

In that time I made decisions about my life. About who I wanted to be. How I want to feel about myself. And I stopped apologizing for things that aren't my fault. I started telling people when they hurt me. And walking away when I need to. Actually pursuing my dreams, instead of pursuing everything on their perimeter. No longer mistrusting God. I was made aware of my own weakness and began what I am sure will be a long journey of change.

And, so, yes, if I had to relive a year of my life it would be this one.

On Being Brave

At nighttime I lay out my things for the next day. I pick the shoes that match the outfit and the underwear that seems most appropriate and the jewelry to match.

I take some amount of pleasure from knowing what I will look like tomorrow. Knowing what I will do. Where I will go.

And, then, so suddenly that I cannot ever predict it, I feel that I must be somewhere else. Somewhere unknown. Somewhere that I can sit and wonder and think, dream or hurt alternately. Somewhere that I take the good parts of my life and smile at them. And then I take the bad parts of my life and try to make some sense of them. Or, if failing that, try to find the good in them. To find some part of those dark moments that makes me inexplicably better. And to take strength in the fact that so many things that have been said or implied to or about me in my life, aren't true.

I've always been one to run from trouble. They say I'm brave because I move away and know no-one and scrape by and make it. But I'm not brave. I move away and know no-one because then I have a fresh start. I can wipe away all the nasty parts of myself, for a while, and let new people form new opinions of who I am. In Shippensburg, witty, wry, naive. In New York sensual, restless, clinging. In Colorado a prodigy, reborn, yet flawed, addictive.

I remove myself not only from places, but from situations. Again because I am not brave. And I cannot face some things. Maybe I used to be strong enough for it. But I'm not now. I still have healing to do. Rebuilding.

And, when I saw him and her together on the weekend. When I saw the touch and felt the tension. I felt something like hope flowing out of me. And so I cried.

The Bible says something in Psalms I think, about losing heart. About how if you don't believe--or stop believing that you will see goodness in this life--you'll lose heart. And right after that he says WAIT. Wait on the Lord. And have courage.

In part, this is the very thing I don't have. In part, waiting isn't my strong suit.

But in part, those words give me hope.

That something good can come. That good things often need time. That I will someday stand and not run. From broken hearts and injustices and a God who I can't understand, but still very much believe in. And still very much want to know.

Toothpaste.

This past Friday, while I was on my way to Keo's house, from whence we were heading to the First Friday Art Walk on Santa Fe, I passed a homeless man holding a cardboard sign. Having lived in NYC long enough, I don't feel that this is unusual. In fact, even in Denver I don't feel that it is unusual. Ironically enough, one of the art galleries was interspersed with cardboard help signs.

But sometimes I want to help. Especially when my car is stopped five feet from someone. I hate not meeting their eyeline. Not doing anything. But I also don't like to give money. And for the very reason that this story illustrates.

So, the man holding the sign, who had a red-stained white beard and a dirty face, stood on one side of the road and I parked on the other. I had toothpaste and a toothbrush (unused) and soda and one-size-fits-all socks in my car. So I put them in a plastic bag and crossed the street.

Thank you, thank you, said the man, leaning over me unsteadily and reeking of stale beer.

My heart sunk because, the more beer and alcohol, the more of a hopeless case the homeless man is. I hated that he didn't have a good life. I hated that he was drunk--that he felt he needed that so badly that he would forgo things that might help him and use his money on beer instead. I hated that I felt so small and helpless. That I want to help people--really help them, not with just socks and toothbrushes--and that I knew my small random act of kindness would not see his heart changed. Maybe would not even be remembered.

Sometimes I am just not sure what to do with the heart and the knowledge I have.

I support kids in Asia and I give homeless men toothpaste. But in a big sense of giving--what can be done?

On Church: Backward to Go Forward

My sister asked me recently what my current thoughts are on church. Because I used to go all the time. Be so involved. And then, for a while, I was disgusted, driven away, appalled at their behavior.

And, so, it's a good question. And I think I'll post you my answer to her.

My thoughts on church.

Are two-fold.

1.I think that in large part, the church isn't doing what it was created to do. When the church started it was people coming over to someone's house to eat and drink and talk about Jesus. The Bible says that the church "had favor" with people--they liked it because it was about redemption and love and community. Not just about ritual and fluff and getting lost in a crowd. I feel like the church today (most churches, not all) gets it wrong. It's not about community and love and seeking God. It becomes about programs and people just listening to what someone else has to say. It's flyffy churchianity instead of deep seeking of love and truth. The early church read the Bible for themselves. Prayed. Were real, inviting instead of judging. Loving instead of ignoring.

2. I think there's still hope. I think there's still people who love Jesus and love people. Who understand that life is a competition to see who can get to heaven first. Paul said he'd go to hell for the sake of the people he was preaching to. How many Christians do you know that would say that? I hope that there's more than we think.

I really love the house-church I've been going to. It's all artists and people who are widely varied. I feel that they're trying to get back to what it's supposed to be: community that encourages us to love God and love others. Above all else.

Recently I was lent a Rob Bell book, Velvet Elvis, which Scottie P. recommended to me. In the book Rob Bell talks about needing to re-evaluate our doctrine year by year and change it to accommodate our changing culture/lives.

I disagree vehemently with his statement.

While I do agree that evaluation is necessary year by year, I think it's necessary to get us back to where we are supposed to be. Back. Not forward. Because people needing community, needing love, needing to hang out and eat together, needing prayer, needing Truth--that's unchanging. And they had it right in the first place.

So what's the goal of church? What's supposed to be the point? What was the real New Testament church like?

Then those who gladly received his word were baptized; and that day about three thousand souls were added to them. And they continued steadfastly in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in prayers. Then fear came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were done through the apostles. Now all who believed were together, and had all things in common, and sold their possessions and goods, and divided them among all, as anyone had need. So continuing daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they ate their food with gladness and simplicity of heart, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to the church daily those who were being saved. -Acts 2:41-47

We have to go back to go forward here. In part, it's about undoing the hurt that's been done.

The Snapping of a Thread: On Trust

You never know how much you have your heart set on something until you feel it slipping away.

No matter how much I tell myself to be content in all things; I am not.

Not to say that I'm currently discontent with life. Not at all. I'm still grateful. I am working in the industry that I've wanted. I'm coming back to truths I knew and was afraid of. I'm living in a quieter, more residential area. Having dinner parties. Watching the Office with Emily in the evenings and eating pumpkin bread and french toast. Going to the Tapestry Community. Loving the people there. Loving the truth there. Finding myself again.

But I'm also feeling slightly out of my own control. I'm afraid of repeating the TEW incidents. (I'm sorry that there is a vagueness to this, I feel that it merits so much explanation that it would be impossible in an entry. Rather, if you are confused, you'll just have to piece all these entries together into my puzzling nature and life).

It isn't that I'm afraid to love. Not so: MV taught me not to fear that any longer. But I am afraid of repeating my mistakes. I am afraid of not being loved. Which is what happened before. In so many contexts, not just romantic.

I don't want to be guarded. I want to be genuine. I want to love with the full knowledge of how much I've been hurt and that it very well may come to that again.

Tonight I prayed something that was very familiar. And it jolted me, brought back old ghosts that I've laid to rest. For a moment. It was a prayer from a time in my life that I was trusting God not to let the tiny thread that was holding my life together snap completely. But, snap it did.

Snap, it did.

There is a duality in me now. A still-trust that somewhat baffles me. And a trembling that comes with that trust, because I fear it. I fear that my trust will still end with the snapping of a thread. A sound barely audible, that screams loud in my ears. Still I will trust. In the unseen. Because my perception of failure is skewed. And trusting is far far better than not.

I know, because I've walked miles in a variety of shoes. Including the trustless ones.

Not trusting. Not trusting people or God or yourself. That's one of the most exhausting and demoralizing things you can do to yourself.

You'll be hurt. Surely. If you trust.

But you'll hurt yourself much deeper if you don't.

Agape: To Love Much

"Therefore I say to you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little."                                                            -Luke 7:47

 

In truth, it's been a good long while since I've read the Bible at any length. It isn't because I stopped liking it, by any means. Even in my rebellion and my broken heart, I never hated the Bible or Jesus. Just maybe the church. And doctrine--particularly of the false persuasion. I never hated God either--how could I?--but I was afraid of Him for a long time.

It's like someone said at the house church last week. "God isn't safe, but He's good." And sometimes it's hard to believe the second part of that. But that doesn't make it false.

The reason I posted this quote is that it's been on my mind. Despite a lack of reading in the past year or so, when you write those words on your heart--in your very soul--they don't dissappear. They don't cease. And, so this has been in my heart this month. Almost every day, stealing into my mind as I drive to work and watch the sunrise over the mountains or as I listen to someone talk at the house-church. Or as I'm cooking with Holly and Erik. Singing a song. Just laying in bed at night.

It's always accompanied by awe. As awe is the only appropriate way to describe what I am feeling this month. Awe that when I'd ceased hoping for miracles, mine came. Awe that God doesn't fit the boxes we've made for Him with our expectations. Awe that the things I've longed for can be mine. And, even moreso, awe  that no matter how much I ignored God, I can still be changed.

I feel awe-struck daily. I feel grateful. A kind of gratefulness I'd never before felt. The kind of gratefulness that comes from not taking redemption for granted. From not feeling like you deserve goodness. But knowing that there is goodness nonetheless.

She has been forgiven much, thus she loves much.

I hope I never forget. That all the hard things in my life. All the times when I was crushed into such small pieces that I thought they would never come back together. All the times that things outside of my control pushed me over edges that I never wanted to traverse. And all the times that I chose those edges for myself. That no matter who I've been. No matter how I've failed. God, who is Holy, chooses to love me. With no help from me. Simply because He chooses to. Love not subjected to reasons. Not "I love you because...", but just "I love you."

The Greek word for sin means, literally, "to miss the mark."

The word for forgiven means that those times when you missed the mark are sent away from you. They are divorced from, abandoned, kept no longer.

And so we no longer live in them. Being a "sinner" isn't about wallowing in our own unworthiness. It's about understanding, as the woman in Luke 7 did, how much of our love Yeshua deserves.

Every bit.

He who is forgiven much, loves much.

And all I ever wanted in this world is that. To love.

If the last three years were what I needed to make my capacity for that greater, then I am grateful, even for them.

Forgiven = agape.

How Then Shall We Live

Yesterday, after the failed attempt to catch up on New Year's Eve sleep by taking a thousand naps, I climbed off the couch and into my car on a mission for coffee, food, and company.

I began my restless quest at Starbucks, where I could only read one chapter before I had to get up and move. Too much sleeping. Not enough movement.

I climbed back into the GigiJeep and called some friends. Erik was in Colorado Springs. Holly was yogaing and relaxing in the New Year. And I was hungry, yet indecisive.

I drove around downtown. Up 14th and down 18th. Back across Colfax. And, finally, as nothing looked appealing, I stopped at Taco Bell, let the Ok Go song run to completion, turned off the car, and waltzed in for a Mexican Pizza. Start the New Year off healthy. That's the goal here.

As I was walking in a man was walking out. He had a long face and a gray beard, was wearing several dirty coats and two muted hats. He opened the door for me and I said thank you. Then he asked for some money. To buy food.

"I'm really hungry" he said.

"I'll buy you some food," I nodded, "whatever you want."

After some thanks we ordered. "Can I get this too? And this?" Sure. Sure.

And so we sat down at a little Taco Bell table and he told me about his life. About his family in Illinois and California. About his work as an electrician's assistant. About three months ago when he was attacked. About not being able to work, being in the hospital. About just now starting to work again, but it's part time and the ends aren't quite meeting up.

We ate and talked and I wished I had something profound to say. But I didn't feel that there was a right moment.

I did feel compelled though. I gave him my card. Knowing full well there's not much I have and not much I can do financially for anyone right now. But I told him if he needed help, I would try.

I'm curious to see if I ever run into him again. If someday I'll get a call from Mark, and if I'll remember who Mark is. And what life will offer him. And whether kindness is enough. Because you can address the physical needs of a person, but until we learn how to live we continue to fall into the same situations.

It did make me think about people I know. Made me think about missions and volunteerism. About how we need to address a whole person. Love doesn't ignore one need in favor of another. Love sees all. The physical. Intellectual. Spiritual. We can't just take someone truth and leave their physical needs unmet, but we also can't address only the physical. Because the physical is based on habit and addiction. Cycles.

But how do we love people where they are at and teach them how to best live as well? Esspecially when we don't have it down ourselves.

Hmm,

Gigi

You're Trying in Vain

You're cold that way and that's why you say the things that you say. You can't attract the things that you lack: you're trying in vain.

You spiral down. You've broken your crown.  You don't feel like a queen. You've seen the proof, but you're still crying wolf. You'll never believe.

Try to climb a broken ladder. Grip the missing rungs and fall down down down down. Seems some time ago you said "this wouldn't last" and now you sit here crying.

Beside your bed you feel left for dead. You kneel in the dark.

It takes more than your saline eyes to make things right.

It seems its always the crazy times you find you wake up and realize...

-Crazy Times, Jars of Clay

This week in Arvada, at a YWAM campus, a young man shot four staff members. Two died. A young girl and a young guy. Two were injured. It's sickening and heartbreaking. Sickening and heartbreaking.

But what bothered me most of all was people's nonchalance and disrespect. The other night I was out with a group of people. They were interesting and cool people and I actually really liked them...except that (not speaking for the whole group, just a few) of them lacked respect, lacked consideration, made my heart sink.

The shooting came up (not brought up by me, by the way) and all that came of it was Christians being made fun of throughout the night. Because they're judgmental, supposedly. They weren't making fun of the shooting, but their nonchalant discussion of it and continued hating on religious persons throughout the night bothered me. Can't we care about each other, even though we're different? Isn't that what you believe in? Isn't that why you claim to be angry with the church? Then why are you the ones hating?

The people who consider themselves open-minded were the ones closing out anything but their own opinions. I asked how they could be angry with people for trying to convince them of something when all they wanted to do was convince those people right back. The guy laughed and said "because I'm right and they aren't." Then you're doing the thing you claim makes them so wrong. The pushiness.

Judgmental Christians, they said. But they were the judges.

Hypocrisy runs both ways.

Don't get me wrong. I really liked them. I like their personalities. I liked their humorous approach to life. I liked their upbeat and ready for anything approaches. I like that they crusade for things. That they care about the environment. That they travel. Etc. But I wish they would stop hating. Stop putting people in a box. Whatever you believe and whoever you are--no one wants to live inside someone else's preconceived ideas.

If you know me you know I have my own issues with the church. But people are people are people. Church people or not. We're all just people. And we're all trying to figure it out.

Love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus said that. And why do we all ignore him?