On Silence and Solidarity

Last week I shared publicly on Facebook that I have decided to formally release my status as a certified candidate in The United Methodist Church. This wasn’t an easy decision. It was actually one of the hardest ones I’ve made in the past eight years. I believe I am called to ministry - set apart to lead, teach, preach, and seek justice. 

It has been too painful and contrary to my beliefs to pursue ordination in a denomination that is not inclusive of ALL people - and that continues to say “no” to my friends and colleagues, simply because of who they love. This doesn’t feel like a no to ordination for forever, but feels like the right next step in my ministry path. 

The irony of annual conference season being during Pride month is not lost on me. To all of those who have been told no, who have been told they’re not welcome, who have been told they are not beloved, I want you to hear (hopefully not for the first time) that you were created and called perfectly good. Just the way you are. And even if churches have said no to you, God will always, always say yes.

I have many more thoughts, but for the moment, I’m continuing to find hope in the clergy (both new and old) that are making bold moves in protest of the church law, the churches that are unapologetically inclusive, and the beauty of what can happen when we gather in community, seeking a true connection with the Divine, rather than getting lost in the politics of the institution. I’m glad for the chance to connect and livestream from afar and look forward to connecting with friends once I’m back in the states! Let us all take a moment to rest in the good new that we are beloved and we are never alone, wherever you are in the world today. <3 

A Simple Touch

I had the most terrible 36 hours. 

I ate some food that made me feel awful and I got sick — like sick sick. I threw up more times than I want to have to admit and the rest of what was going on in my body was even worse. Details not needed, you get the idea. I was staying in a shared hostel room, so felt terrible getting sick in our shared bathroom, but I had nowhere else to go. I only left the room for 15 minutes the next day, to try to go work in the lobby, and got nauseous on the third set of stairs only to go get sick in the room again. Being sick is never fun, but being sick while traveling is another level of not fun. 

I was still trying to center myself — express gratitude for getting to travel in Morocco with a friend who speaks Arabic and has been to the cities before. Getting to be back in Africa after so many years apart. Adding another country to my expanding list of new cultures and experiences. 

But part of me just wanted to be back in my safe zone. Back in mainland Europe where it’s easy to communicate and I know what’s in my food. Where I know how to navigate the trains and public transportation. Where people don’t look at me like I have 4 heads when I say I’m vegetarian and actually mean it (no seafood, no chicken broth, no leather, no gelatin). 

When I woke up on Friday, I was pleased that my medicine had kicked in enough that I could keep down some bread/jam at breakfast and felt like I’d be able to handle a train ride. We walked through the narrow market streets on the way to the taxi and I almost threw up again — 4 lamb heads, big whiffs of raw meat, chickens that were soon to be dinner. I try so hard to set my preferences aside and experience the culture. But today was not a day for that. Today was a day for comfort that was hard to be found. 

When we got to the second train stop, two Moroccan Muslim women got on the train with big bags that we helped them stow in the seats next to us. As they were making their way on, I knocked over my bag and water bottle as I was moving my stuff over. The older of the two ladies laughed, handed it back to me, and touched my knee gently as to say “oh sweet child, we’ve all been there.” A simple touch. Across a language barrier. Across generational and continental gaps. 

She was wearing beautiful traditional clothing with a simple white hijab. If my grandma were Moroccan and Muslim, I think she would share the same traits — gentle touch, loving eyes, carrying her faith with her as she moves through the world. 

I’m grateful for this woman, for the chance to see God through others on this trip, for the opportunity to be out of my comfort zone in order to learn and grow. I pray for peace for those next to me on the train, and all over this beautiful, unique country of Morocco. 

On doing things a little differently

“Your travels give me so much anxiety but that probably means they’re perfect for you.”

I have had multiple friends say this to me as I told them about my upcoming travel year. It’s honestly the kindest thing and most supportive thing a close friend could tell me. I’ve had a lot of pushback against the travel year and how it doesn’t make sense and have been told that I should be more practical. And while I totally agree and understand where people are coming from, where I have found hope in maintaining connection and friendship is with statements like this. We’re all built to do different things and we’re all wired differently. What excites one of us might be the other’s least favorite thing and vice versa. I love that when we can come together though, we can find ways to to connect and support each other even in the middle of our differences.

I’m excited for a year that looks a little different. It does feel chaotic and impractical to me a lot of the time, but I’m also thrilled and beyond grateful for the chance to see life through a new lens for a year. I feel like I’m going to find things out about myself that maybe even I haven’t been attentive to. Different isn’t always bad. When we lean into what’s different and uniquely made about ourselves, that is sometimes the push we needed to shine in the world. And the world needs your aliveness. If you have an idea that’s a little bit different or something that you’ve been wanting to do that your friends don’t support, my encouragement to you is it the only reason you’re not doing it is because it’s scary and giving people anxiety then you can put that on his head and get out there and go do it. Hugs to new adventures and being bold enough to try the next few things. XOXO

On Making Adjustments

After a great two weeks at home working, resting, and packing, I’m officially on my way to my first leg of my travel gear. I decided to start small with a trip down the East Coast stopping to see friends in Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia. This travel year still feels like a bit of a wild idea, not because of the big picture but because the smallest of things. Not having a place to put my clothes, taking my pajamas off before I travel and realizing I don’t have a hamper, and having to pack away all my spices because I don’t have a kitchen for the year. These are all little things that can be overcome though.

My parents have been gracious and are letting me store stuff in their house, gave me a dresser to put some of my clothes in, and gave me hangers to hang up my winter coat store during the spring and summer. Beyond that, I realized I will just need to make some adjustments from the way I was doing things. I will need to keep my mask and my hairbrush in my car so that I can easily access then when I get them. I’ll need to keep all of my snacks packed up and my valuables in a place that I can easily take them into whatever house I’m staying at. I’ll need to keep my shoes with a pair of socks in my car so I can change them and put them on or off anytime I need to based on what activity we’re doing. Don’t we all need to make some adjustments these days?

As we move into year three of this pandemic, I think it’s fair to re-evaluate the way we did things before and see how we can adjust moving back into daily life that is already getting busier and fuller. Do you need to move stuff around in your schedule so that you can continue to prioritize the quiet time you’ve been having the past two years? Are you able to say no to an activity that is draining for you so that you can continue to say yes to an activity that brings you joy and life? Have you processed through what’s most important to you and the lessons that you’ve learned during this pandemic?

While I still feel very unsettled right now, I’m grateful for this time of intentional reshuffling. I think that being less dependent on my material goods is going to force me to dig deep and find some of the truths I’ve been searching for. I’m grateful you’re on this journey with me and can’t wait to see what we find. xoxo

On Sunsets in Santorini

We all know the iconic sunset in Santorini. The radiant red skies overlooking the white and blue dome churches on the cliffs. Instagram makes us believe this is reality. And while it is sometimes, it’s not guaranteed when you go on a trip to Santorini — especially during the winter.

We stayed in Fira, a town a few miles away from the iconic sunset hill in Oia. We had a beautiful Caldera facing room and could sit out by the jacuzzi (too cold to sit in it) and watch the sunset. The first night was a bust: cloudy, rainy, nothing really to see. The second night I was hopeful. I put my phone out for a time-lapse on my tripod and waited 25 minutes. When the sun got low enough, it tucked behind the clouds and the wind was so bad it blew my tripod over. Another missed sunset. Our car driver said that during the winter you get 1 in 3 good sunsets — we were staying 3 days. Third night: here goes nothing. Tripod set up, wine poured, hair in a ponytail to endure the wind. The sunset was BEAUTIFUL. Bright reds and oranges, just enough cloud coverage, the reflection off the sea looking like a watercolor. We worried that the same thing would happen when it went behind the clouds halfway down but it peeked back out at just the right time and you could see the full circle, beautiful sun slowly descending behind the horizon. 

My favorite part of the sunset is the end. You wait so long for it to set and then the end goes so quick. Look away or go and pour another glass of wine and you might miss it. I always try to pause for that moment. Another day complete. Another piece of the puzzle of life placed. Another accomplishment of setting our worries aside just for today, just for this moment. It’s as if in this moment God is saying to us: Good job, my beloved. You made it through another day. It’s hard out there, but you are strong. I am with you always. With you, I am well pleased. Joy comes in the morning.

For this and all things, I am thankful. 

On Reaching Out

Being in Venice was harder than I thought it would be. I was having a lot of feelings. Feelings about leaving my friends in Atlanta when I got back. Feelings about how deciding to do a travel year would mean I’d be single for yet another year. About how my friends lives felt so put together and mine felt so unraveled — fun and exciting, yes, but unsettled nonetheless. 

Was I doing something wrong? Were my parents right? Did I take the wrong path? Should I be prioritizing career jumps and finding my perfect person? Am I going to regret all this? 

One of my friends on the trip loves photography and kept seeing great shots that he wanted to take pictures of. As we walked through a park, he said, “Ooh y’all should go walk ahead and hold hands and I’ll take pictures of you.” My married friends went on, holding hands and smiling at each other.” We paused for a moment and then my friend reached out his hand for mine. It was the simplest gesture, yet it meant everything. 

You are not alone. 

You are okay. 

You are beloved, simply for being you. 

How can we reach out our hands to others in our daily lives? Who will you reach out to today, letting them know they are not alone and they are beloved, simply for being themselves? 

On Great Mistakes and Great Grace

In my mind, my nomad year doesn’t technically start until I’m officially moved out of my apartment. A three week trip to Europe still isn’t insignificant though. Technicalities aside, today felt like a big step. The first month I’m truly taking advantage of remote work; first new country I’m going to in a while; first solo days since 2018 adventures. So it was a big day and what did I do with it?? MISSED MY FLIGHT TO GREECE — after sitting in the airport for 6 hours for a layover. 

Let’s back up. I had a great flight from Atlanta to Amsterdam. I met this LOVELY Norwegian woman named Audhild at the airport bar. We chatted about the Olympics and family; about aches and pains, both physical and relational. We exchanged information on the plane and she invited me to her house on the coast of Bergen this summer. Talk about hospitality! Then I got the best sleep I ever have on an overnight flight thanks for a full aisle to myself and a great new hand-me-down eye mask from my sister. Once we land in Amsterdam, I have the most productive work morning I’ve had in a while — e-mails flying, graphics being created left and right. 

Two hours before my flight, I finish up my cheese toastie, make it through passport control, and I’m on my way. Plenty of time  to spare. Athens here we come. I wait in line for 35 minutes waiting for my documents to be checked and 3 minutes before flight time they say, “Are you on Aegean or KLM??” My stomach dropped. There were two flights at the same time. Same destination. Different airlines. They weren’t on the board in the same spot (there were a few other flights in between) so I didn’t even realize it. I walked, didn’t run, to the correct gate. The board said gate closed and we all know what that means. 

Fast forward to the snotty sobbing (sorry again, KLM agent at T2 who had to deal with me) and concerns about ticket changes/COVID test timing out/missing my hotel reservation, I took a deep breath (or 500) and decided to make a day out of it. I love Amsterdam. So I hopped on the train and went into the city. I had a beautiful day wandering and checking out spots I hadn’t seen before. I took a canal tour and our captain Hank gave me an hour long commentary that the rest of the boat didn’t get because I was up front and everyone else was just there to chug Heinekens. I extended grace to myself and reminded myself that in travel, like in life, plans aren’t always executed perfectly. Shame has no space here — and by here, I mean in my life; in our lives. 

Extend grace to yourself today, dear ones. And to the person next to you and down the street. To the person who cuts you off in traffic and the coworker who tries so hard but always manages to let you down. Shame is not something we need more of in the world. Thanks for continuing to be on this journey with me. Until next time… xoxo

On Watering Plants and Souls

I’m heading out for a three week trip and when I return, my parents will meet me at the airport and help me pack up my boxes, which will go into storage for the next year as I head off on a new adventure — a nomad year. No apartment. No mailbox of my own. No parking spot in the back lot. I’ll mostly be spending time at home in Virginia and with dear friends across the east coast, with a little west coast or Europe trip thrown in here and there, working my normal work schedule from wherever I am. The reactions I’ve received haven’t matched what I was expecting. Honestly, in my mind my plan sounds wilder than it really will be. But I have to keep in mind that a permanent place of residence is something that is considered essential - and not something to be taken for granted. 

It feels like a little thing, but what hit me this week was that giving up my apartment meant there’s no place for my plants. No place where they can thrive and be comfortable in their environment. No place for them to ensure that they are watered each week so they have what they need to continue to grow. So, my plants are finding new homes with wonderful adoptive plant mamas and friends. When I brought the box with a few plants to my friend Whitney she was excited and then looked down and said,

…Michelle, when was the last time you watered this thing???

I laughed it off and said I’ve been busy and that’s why I’ve neglected it but the truth I was feeling inside shook me to my core. I haven’t watered it because I never learned how. And I’ve killed plants by overwatering them. Or putting them in the wrong soil. Or on the wrong side of my apartment too close or too far from the window. So I just stopped. It’s a cactus… those things can live forever, right? Instead of seeking wisdom from friends and experts, I froze. And in doing so, the plants I thought were fine were actually the thirstiest they’ve ever been. 

What if I’ve been frozen in this season — unsure of how to best care for myself and unable to create the emotional space needed to relearn the right ratios of creating and resting; showing up and stepping back; of work and play? What if when life shifted, rather than seeking wisdom from friends and experts, I just stopped caring: for myself and for the world? 

My hope for this year is that I may learn how to measure, adjust, and sustain the level of care I need and that others need from me. That I may learn and relearn what my body needs, how my soul feels the most nourished, what I need to thrive. 

My hope is that we may all begin to flourish again, together.

On Composting As An Act Of Resurrection

Written for Georgia Interfaith Power and Light on September 21, 2021 - original article linked here

Where do I put my coffee cup?! And the lid? And the bag from my pastry? We’ve all been there staring at the landfill, recycle, and compost bins, worried about putting our morning breakfast run trash in the wrong bin. Composting has become a lot more common in the past few years, so educating ourselves (and then passing that knowledge on) about what can be composted and why it matters is a great thing to do. I knew compost was important growing up, but I didn’t realize it would become such an important part of my life and of my faith journey until recent years in my adult life. 

Our goal should always be to reduce our food waste as much as we can, but when it’s unavoidable, composting is crucial to limiting the amounts of greenhouse gases that are released from our leftovers. Landfills are a large producer of methane gas, which is one of the most potent greenhouse gases. Methane is produced by the anaerobic digestion of solid waste in landfills. However, when you compost organic waste, microbes help to break down the material. This process actually helps to sequester carbon from the atmosphere, and the resulting compost can be used as fertilizer.  This is why composting is crucial to our efforts of slowing the impact of climate change that we are seeing in tangible ways right now around the world.

I believe corporations need to take responsibility for large-scale composting (many have and I’m always grateful to see it!), but composting as individuals is important too – and can turn into an important component of our daily faith practice if we let it. Composting is a daily reminder of our connection to this earth that God created, to our connection with the world and everything/everyone in it, and that the promise of resurrection is real and available for everyone.

Lately, composting has been more than just a theological reaffirmation, but rather a daily decision to practice resurrection. Have you ever realized how amazing the process of composting is? Nutrients breaking down from food that wouldn’t have been used otherwise and then being put back into the ground to provide sustenance for new growth is a beautiful picture of resurrection at work before us. It’s a reminder that everything in this world is connected and was created by God and called good – and that we can sustain each other as we continue to search for wholeness, justice, and oneness in our communities.

Each time I cut up vegetables, clean out my French press, eat a snack of fruit, or finish leftovers that are in a paper takeout bowl, I get to decide whether I’m going to put the effort in to save it and take it to a community compost site or choose the more convenient option of putting it in the landfill trash ten steps from my apartment door. When I choose the compost option, I feel like I’m just a tiny bit more connected – to the earth, to my neighbors, to the Divine. Need a little resurrection in your life? I invite you to join me in composting. You never know what healing and wholeness you may find in the grimy, smelly, rich goodness that is compost.

In the Metro Atlanta area and looking to get involved with composting? Here are some great places to start: www.litterless.com/where-to-compost/georgia. Or you can start your own (https://www.epa.gov/recycle/composting-home)!

On The Importance of FRIENDS

 
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TV shows can take up a lot of time in our lives. Sometimes this is time that should be spent doing other, seemingly more productive activities, but other times it is time well spent. We should extend ourselves the freedom to prioritize a place for relaxing and for allowing ourselves to feel detached from the stress and responsibility of our reality by immersing ourselves into the story of fictional characters, even if just for 23 minutes. This has been the role of the TV show Friends for me for many years. 

This May, after over a year of a very challenging (and continuing) pandemic season, The Friends Reunion was released on HBO Max. It was a time for the characters to get together, read through some old scenes, and talk about their experience on the show. They hadn’t seen each other in person during the pandemic, so it was a true reunion! They laughed and cried and told stories together. They reintroduced each other to their current stage of life. The writers/producers talked about how they dreamed up the concept of the show and how it transformed their lives. The most meaningful idea they talked about is that the show was meant to depict the season in your life where your friends are your family. That premise hit me hard - and helped me realize why the show has been so meaningful to me for so many years.

When I was in college, I had friends who quickly became my family. I was living away from home for the first time and learned just how important it was to create meaningful relationships with people who understand me past the surface level. People who were willing to ask me the hard questions, call me out when I wasn’t willing to admit when things were wrong (even to myself), calm me down and encourage me. These were the friends who stayed at my apartment way too late on school nights, asked big questions about life and faith and love and justice and purpose, sat in the parking lot of our favorite restaurant each week waiting for them to open the doors because we only had a one hour time slot that worked for all of us to have dinner together each week. They’re the people who I laughed the most with and cried the most in front of. 

Like everything, that season didn’t last forever. People graduated, got jobs, got married, moved out of the state. I moved to Atlanta and it felt like my world wouldn’t ever quite be the same. It felt weird - wrong, even - making new friends. New friends who would turn into the people who would ask me big questions, go on new adventures, and laugh until we cry/cry until we laugh together. Can I have these friends in multiple places? Do my friends resent me for moving away? Will things ever be as good as they were in Blacksburg? 

It took me years to answer these questions. Five years, to be exact. Last month, some of these dear college friends visited me in Atlanta, and we figured out that things weren’t the same - and that was okay. Better than we could have imagined, actually. We caught up, told stories, filled each other in on our joys and heartaches of the past few years, laughed and cried and smiled. We went to the FRIENDS experience, a pop-up event where they recreate the set of the show and you can go learn more about the history/take pictures with all the most iconic props. We had the time of our lives pretending that just for a moment we were the stars of this dream world of a TV show - the one that had pulled us out of our stress and reality during some of the hardest seasons.

It felt weird to get emotional about something that was so touristy and ultimately fictional, but it was in that moment that I realized that these friends were always the ones who pulled me out of the stress and responsibility of my reality, even just for a moment or for an afternoon, and helped me to prioritize joy and goodness as part of my routine even when I resisted it. I’m grateful they can still be part of this journey for me. 

I continue to remain in a season where my friends are an important part of my family and make up my community where I live. I’m grateful for these people and experiences that have shaped me over the five years - for learning that friendships can be maintained across seasons and states and that as they grow, they can become just what we need them to be if we’re willing to risk and trust enough. My hope for this next season is that the laughs and cries and storytelling and adventures will just continue to morph and adapt as we all continue to grow and navigate our individual journeys together. 

On Sitting And Imagining

Over the past five weeks, I’ve been sitting at a coffee shop in my neighborhood once a week as part of a course I’m taking through the Missional Wisdom Foundation called “Missional Imagination.” We have assignments each week that help us to turn our focus and attention on different parts of our space: what do you see, who is there, what is happening there, who are the people of peace, what is God already up to at this place, how could you join in that work? Below are my reflections on my time of sitting and imagining in this neighborhood.

What do you see as your ongoing connection and commitment to this place you chose during this course?

During the time I’ve spent at Press & Grind, I haven’t felt an overwhelming call to make this be a place where any community gathering happens in big ways. I am, however, grateful that I have found a spot I can be out of my house in a safe way and can work around other people, even if that looks a little different and more distanced during the pandemic. Because I’ve been observing during my time there, I realize I am more attentive towards the people around me. I’m quicker to notice people who are wanting to talk, people who seem stressed out, parents who are trying to hold it together, people who seem like they’re in peaceful seasons of their lives. I’m glad that even though I haven’t engaged in any real conversations yet, I am at least feeling more connected with my neighbors. And, even though this connection didn’t happen at a coffee shop, I did meet three more of my neighbors while I was hanging out on the lawn with some friends for Halloween. I don’t think I would have been open enough to noticing them or brave enough to say hi if it hadn’t been for this exercise of being in the posture of imagination for at least an hour every week for the past five weeks.

I will continue to work at Press and Grind and hope that it can continue to be the space I have described - a place of rest, creativity, imagining, dreaming. If it becomes a place of doing, that would be great. But I’m trying to follow the advice of trying not force that if it doesn’t feel natural. The one idea I have had is holding a sort of “open office hours” time for Neighborhood Church folks where I could buy them a cup of coffee and catch up. I’ve seen other ministry leaders do this, and our pastors are doing this on their porch, so it could be a way for me to connect with folks from a different angle. 

Describe your space one last time, using your favorite way of creating/communicating (so I made a video, of course!):

I am grateful for the ways my soul has been opened and softened in small ways and how I’ve been able to notice people more during this month. I’m excited to continue being curious and imagining - and to see what shows up in the neighborhood as time continues!

On Parting Ways With Pressure

I’ve heard since my days as a child in Sunday school that I am loved by God and that I am welcome at church — that I have a community that is surrounding me with love and has promised to care for me and teach me. Some of the Sunday school lessons were problematic: not fully formulated, choosing only the parts of scripture that didn’t lead to questions being asked and doubts being unpacked. But I was always told that I was loved, by God and by community. I’m grateful that I heard this so often.

Fast forward to the end of high school when I felt a call to ministry for the first time. I reluctantly told my parents and my pastors and they were supportive. They have been here with me on the journey from the beginning. They helped me process what my options were and gave me resources and opportunities to learn and explore. They never put pressure on me. So where did the pressure come from? Because I have felt a heck of a lot of it starting back in college up until now even after graduating from seminary.

Maybe it came from mirroring the Northern VA style of doing life together. More is better, busier is more honorable. More extracurriculars, more AP classes, more awards, more more more. 

Or maybe it came from these unformed scriptural teachings, taught for good and not to harm, but harmful nonetheless.

  • Faith without works is dead. (James 2:26)

  • Do not conform to the patterns of this world but be transformed. (Romans 12:2)

  • For I know the plans I have for you - plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future (out of which comes the non-biblical addition of: so therefore, everything happens for a reason). (Jeremiah 29:11)

So from what I knew of discernment and my understanding of scripture at the time, God called me to ministry which means it is God’s plan for me which means if I don’t do it I’m conforming to the patterns of the world and that is sin and then I’m not loved by God - or not loved as much? Or maybe I knew that wasn’t true, but I really just felt like I was letting people down and that’s one of my least favorite things to do so I justified it by using scripture? 

Wherever the pressure came from, I’m ready to part ways with it. Gently, not in a harsh way. Like a high school friend you text less and less each year until you finally don’t communicate at all but still have all your memories of the times you had together. 

I’m not sure what my plan is yet. But my ability to unpack scripture using more lenses than just memorizing to win the game has brought me to an understanding that God’s love for me is not contingent on my career, or how many things I say yes to, or even how well I know the Bible. I’ve also pondered for years that maybe God doesn’t have a perfect plan for my life in terms of an ordination timeline but rather a perfect vision for our world - for the ways we should treat each other and for structures that life people up rather than exploit them and value each person’s life as sacred and holy. Those are the plans I want to lean into, not because I feel pressure to, but because life is better when we live this way - more full, more fair, more peaceful (those are “mores” I can get on board with).

I’m not mad about the past. I’m grateful for where I am not. At the same time, I anticipate a future that incorporates all I’ve learned up to this point. When I imagine a future like that, I imagine not saying yes because I feel like I’m letting people down but saying yes because I feel like that will add quality to my life and to the life of others. I imagine life continuing to be flexible and fluid. I imagine plans continuing to not work out - and new plans being made in the midst of the crumbles as a hard and holy exercise. I imagine therapy continuing as a part of my bi-weekly routine. I imagine prioritizing spending time with people, not with projects. I imagine continuing to seek life, not money - love, not status. When I dream about this future, I feel God holding me up in God’s hands, helping me see glimpses even as I stand still in the present. And I hear God whispering to me: the pressure has fluttered away. All that’s left now is love and opportunity. The future starts today, beloved. Let’s be on our way - together.

On Neighboring For Justice

*This article was written for Rethink Church at umc.org - you can find the published article here

Sometimes, being with our neighbors is uncomfortable—and yet that can be beautiful.

I remember the first time I worshiped at a predominantly Black United Methodist Church. It was the summer after my freshman year and I got an internship where they placed us at different churches around the state. I’ll never forget that first Sunday on the job. I got to the church early, was greeted warmly as I walked in, and then was told to sit up front with the pastor. Me? But how will I know what to do?  Do I have to say anything? Won’t everyone be looking at me? 

The first chords rang out from the organ and the choir emerged down the center aisle. Everyone was singing, but nobody seemed to be using hymnals. What have I gotten myself into?  Feeling frazzled, I tried to mouth along the words that I had heard in the background before but certainly couldn’t sing by heart. I was feeling discouraged, on the verge of tears, but then I felt a tap on my shoulder - a choir member slid me a copy of the African American Heritage Hymnal and whispered “#261, honey”. It was in that moment that I knew I wouldn’t leave that church the same.

That summer was one of the best summers I’ve experienced. I learned how to sit with discomfort, how to listen more than I speak, and how to learn from the leaders around me. That summer I realized for the first time that I could never fully understand the lived experiences of my Black and Brown siblings. But I got a glimpse of what the richness and fullness of the kin-dom of God looks like—especially when we don’t ignore race, but rather embrace it and celebrate the beauty of the diversity God created and called “good.”

It’s been years since that internship now, but when I walked through the streets of Atlanta protesting this week, I felt the same sort of connection. Most of the protests I’ve been to are non-religious, but there’s a certain essence that I can only explain as the breeze of the Holy Spirit encircling us as we march through the same streets Martin Luther King Jr. and so many other civil rights heroes marched through. We’re walking on holy ground when we do the work of resistance and justice seeking together - and it’s all about listening, following, and standing together. I believe Jesus would have marched in the streets with us.

I work on staff at Neighborhood Church, a church plant in in-town Atlanta that emerged out of a vital merger between two declining congregations. From our early days, we embraced the notion that it was important to be a church that strives to be pro-LGBTQIA+ folks and anti-racist. We quickly learned that this was more of a forever-long journey than an identity that can be posted on a banner. It means making decisions each week to ensure we are keeping on the path of seeking justice rather than doing what is cheapest, easiest, or the most celebrated. Justice seeking is embedded in our DNA at Neighborhood.

So, when the tragedies of the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd hit, we already had some framework in place of how to do the work of anti-racism. Still, we started asking ourselves questions: what can we really do right now? Should we already have had book groups and conversation partners in place? Have we ignored this for too long? Can we catch up?

We quickly realized that rather than our voices simply being loud right now, they need to be intentionally placed. In some scenarios, that means keeping them completely silent to allow Black and Brown voices to be amplified and followed. In other situations, it means messaging neighbors for hours about resources and places to get started with the work of anti-racism. Sometimes it means literally shouting in the streets for miles demanding justice for our Black and Brown siblings.

We remembered back to the early days when we did hours and hours of community listening sessions and built relationships with community leaders. Those leaders came to us this week and asked the same questions: what can we do, together? So we listened again. We realized that this work of anti-racism continues to be a journey. We remembered that it’s important to engage in the on-the-ground work of justice during moments of crisis and also to build systems that are sustainable and aim to create long-term systemic change. So, right now our work involves both immediate action and calculating the best steps to take moving forward after the headlines are less energetic and we aren’t seeing protests daily as we drive to the grocery store.

We had one of our community members approach us with an idea about starting a solidarity fund that would support businesses affected by the violence that took place by a small number of protesters in downtown Atlanta the week after George Floyd’s murder. This will also support Black-led justice groups doing the work of activism and organizing around the city. We thought this would be a good way to streamline and redirect funds for folks who are looking to plug in and use their financial resources but aren’t sure where the best place to do so is. We have a team of board members plus a few other community members who are vetting where the money should be donated and re-distributing that money weekly. We raised just under $2000 in one day which showed us that people are actually looking to engage in this work and are stepping up and putting their money where their mouth is.

We also had people come to us who aren’t able to donate because of financial reasons but are hoping to use other gifts for the cause. For example, one of our community members owns a salon and will be giving free haircuts outside the church one Sunday morning in exchange for donations to the solidarity fund. I imagine other ideas like this will bubble up, as well. What a beautiful iteration of our gifts and talents all being used by God for the work of good in the world.

As people who are seeking to live the way Jesus lived, we need to constantly be open and looking for ways to shift and reshape our work in our neighborhoods. Part of this work is actually knowing our neighbors. So step one: if you don’t know the folks who live around you--the leaders of community organizations, the folks who live in the neighborhood across town who were pushed out by gentrification - go do that! Then step two: listen, learn, be humble, be willing to admit your mistakes, recognize that racism is embedded in the systems in which we interact on a daily basis. And step three: keep your foot on the gas. We are far from justice, and we are the people God calls to continue showing up day after day, week after week.

There is always more work to be done. There is always more shifting and learning - more stepping back, speaking up, and stepping back again. So our holy, yet challenging, work is to find a cycle of working hard, taking time to rest, centering ourselves, and then doing it all over again. The good news is we don’t do this work alone. We do it all together as the body of Christ who have vowed to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.

There is work to do, friends. We hope you’ll join us. We’re so grateful to be your neighbor.

On Scarcity

The Israelites wandered in the wilderness for forty years, Jesus fasted for forty days and there were forty days between his resurrection and ascension. The number forty shows up a lot in the bible. In fact, the Christian season of Lent is forty days. We were still in this season when COVID-19 was acknowledged as a threat to us here in the US and shelter-in-place orders started to be released. I didn’t give anything up for lent this year. It felt like a long time - too much of a commitment. But, little did I know how much we would all be giving up for more than forty days during this pandemic.

Today marks day fifty for me of being physically distant from other people. I know some other people have been at home longer, but I was visiting in Virginia the weekend things got real. Never forget that weekend. So much unknown, so much fear, so many questions. Will I be able to get back to Georgia? Are they going to close the state borders? How could they even do that? Is it safe for me to fly a plane? Am I going to get people sick once I get back? My parents loaded me up with to travel size hand sanitizers and back to Georgia I went with all my questions and doubt.

The next day, up until today, I’ve been staying at home. I have been spending time with my boyfriend, which has been such a gift, but outside of that, nothing: no work, no church, no restaurants, grocery stores once a week. Being the self-proclaimed extrovert that I am, I was surprised when I felt relief rather than isolation in the first few weeks of this pandemic. Then I asked myself new questions: have I been working too much? Did I forget what it looks like to rest during my time in grad school? Am I putting too much emphasis on what I’m producing rather than my health? Have I been over functioning for the past 20 years of my life?

I recognize that my time of social distancing is full of privilege. I’m still working a full-time job, I have a great guy who has been my quarantine-companion, I’ve never wondered how I’m going to get my next meal, and I have a huge circle of people who have been there for me for virtual happy hours, games nights, phone calls, and group messages. But even knowing I had all that when we started this season, I was still worried if I could make it through.

 A mentality of scarcity can sneak up on us anytime, but mostly when we’re in a season of fear, unknown, and a lot of questions. It can be rooted in fear of not having enough money, physical resources, shelter, or connection. My scarcity mentality was rooted in fear that there wouldn’t be enough of a lot of things: not enough love, not enough hope, not enough connection, not enough creative ways to be in community. But I’ve been blown away by the connectedness I feel during this time, and have been reminded of the simple truth that God is in all places and connects us in ways that it’s hard for our conditioned human brains to latch onto and really believe.

This time is really complicated, and will continue to be for a while. But the mini-celebration I want to offer you today is that we’ve made it here. You and all of your questions, all of your unknown, all of your grief, all of your anxiety, and all of your mess, is still here. That in itself, is something to celebrate today.

I’m celebrating this afternoon by getting my 10,000 steps for the day in early. I’ll be celebrating tonight by eating Indian takeout and some discount wine we got at the local liquor store out on the balcony. How will you celebrate today? And how will you trust that just for today, there is enough?

I'm An Enneagram 7 And I'm Staying Home

If you don’t know about the enneagram, it’s a spiritual tool that helps you figure out your tendencies and protective tools you’ve learned to use to navigate the world. Shedding these shields helps us live in a way that is more authentic and whole with the goal of getting close to oneness with God. 

The number 7 is the enthusiast - 7s are full of energy, which is normally scattered in many different places. 7s love adventure, attention, newness, and positivity. 7s struggle to deal with negative emotions and fear being trapped in pain - they always spin situations to make them better. Have the hardest exam of the semester next week? Might as well throw a rockin’ study party with all our closest friends + plenty of wine on the back deck! Work getting you down? It’s probably time to find a cheap flight and take a week of vacation! 

Since graduation, I’ve been in a really healthy place. I’ve been flourishing in this new season of being able to live into my seven-ness. I try new bars & restaurants on my work-from-the-community days, fly to see friends & family on the weekends, got back on online dating apps and am in a relationship that is full of healing, encouragement, and adventure. I play trivia twice a week and gather in community often. I continue to structure my job so there is variety and excitement. I meal prep, try new low waste recipes, journal, walk for miles in the city. I love this life - it’s full of people, connection, travel, Instagram pictures with fun folks I meet along the way. It’s full of closeness, in person connection, hugs, handshakes, high fives. 

So what happens when that all goes away? I flew home to Virginia last Tuesday and things were fairly normal. I had plans to attend my delegation meeting, my parents’ church, and pub theology. I was going to get to see friends who I only see once a year. Everything changed in six short days, though. Travel restrictions, bars & restaurants closing, social distancing meaning no hugs, no hanging out, no trivia. I’ll admit - I didn’t think this was necessary a few days ago. 

I sent flight options to my boyfriend last week asking if we could go work remotely from one of many places whose flights had dropped significantly in the past week. $67 to get to San Juan?! $54 to Austin?? Let’s gooooo. I tried not to cancel small gatherings as hard as I could. I did everything I could to resist social distancing. I fell into the “well, I’m young and healthy so I’ll be okay” category.

But then it clicked - I’m going to have to decide whether or not I choose my privilege or the well-being of other people right now. 

One of our frequent Neighborhood Church teachings popped in my head as I was navigating this tension between wanting to go on adventures but also not wanting to be *that millennial*:

We don’t put power over people - ever. Full stop. End of story.

So, I breathed deeply. I moved my small group to an online format. I’m not going to trivia tonight even though it hasn’t been canceled. I made a list of food I can meal prep with using mostly the ingredients I already have at home and went to the grocery store once I got back and to enough food for the next few weeks so I’m not tempted to use that as an excuse to not social distance. My parents gave me some hand sanitizer (thanks mom and dad). I watched videos of Italian people giving us advice they wish they’d know 15 days ago. 

My whole thought process and way of being changed in a moment. I canceled plans with friends I hadn’t seen in over a year. I didn’t go try all the new wineries/breweries I’ve been wanting to try in Northern VA. We worshiped from our living room via a Facebook live feed. I still decided to fly back to Atlanta but will be quarantining/social distancing now that I’m back. I’m staying at home - a commitment that as a 7 I have to remind myself of about once an hour. We are called to show up for people and care for/with people always - this just looks a little different in this season than in others. We really need each other right now, friends. 

I’m ready to show up for/with people. To check in, to create times for online connection, to donate money to organizations who are helping in this time of economic distress for so many; to listen, to create space for folks to grieve. I’m also ready to show up for myself. To rest, to write, to read; to put my phone away for hours at a time - to reduce the panic/anxiety scrolling; to drink over 100 ounces of water a day; to sit outside and simply exist; to go on walks and reconnect with myself and with God. If you need me, please send me a DM or a text! You are *still* never alone, even though it may be harder to recognize in this season of physical separation. 

Stay at home, friends. But don’t disconnect - let this be an opportunity to connect in ways you never could have dreamed of. It shouldn’t have taken a global pandemic for us to realize how much we need each other. But now that we have, let’s never let go.