My summer job is being a nanny. I work for a single father who has his two little girls (6 year old Lily and 9 year old Sophie) for the summer months. So my days now are spent cooking and cleaning, doing laundry and playing Barbies. We watch lots of Hannah Montana, we color and we play outside. When the weather is nice- or even remotely nice- we usually go to the pool in town, spending 3-4 hours playing in the water. This isn't my first nannying job but this one has taught me a few more things about life, children and love:
1) No matter what, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into four little triangles can say "I love you." No kidding. The girls' dad, Joe, told me that whenever he made sandwiches for the girls, they wouldn't eat them. I asked Lily about it and she said, "Well, it tastes better when there are four pieces and you are the queen of peanut butter sandwiches. You make them real good- even better than school." High praise indeed.
When I first made her a PBJ sandwich early on in the summer, I told her that my mom used to cut my sandwiches like that sometimes. Now every time we have sandwiches- peanut butter or otherwise- each girl gets "four little triangles," a little extra time taken to cut that sends a message to a little girl saying, "I made this just for you. It might just be a sandwich but you know that I care."
2) Hair rituals can be sacred and the time spend on them is vital. Both girls have long, beautiful hair that regularly needs lots of attention. Having short hair myself, I learn as I go. I'm not what I would consider very "girly" and my hair ritual consists of washing, a little bit of product and the end result is that I purposely look like I just got out of bed. Luckily, in my last nannying job, I learned how to french braid.
I think most of us at some point in our lives have enjoyed having someone play with our hair. It is an intimate, comforting thing. Everyday I brush the girls' hair and either braid it or put it up in ponytails. This is about the only time of day that they sit still. They sit down at the kitchen table or on the living room floor with straight backs, holding their heads high, just waiting for me to brush all the tangles out. I've learned over the summer that there is more to this ritual than simply "doing" their hair. Spending time brushing it and touching their heads is just as important as the end result.
Joe told me that his kids' long hair "sort of scares" him and that he has no clue what needs to happen with it. While the girls have never told me this, I suspect that hair care and "hair rituals" are pretty important when they live with their mom. And so each day we spend a good hour on hair- 30 minutes each. Combing, untangling, braiding, simply touching the head of and being close to each girl, reminding them how special they are and how much I care about them.
I had not been with the girls for a few days because they were on vacation last week. When I got there on Tuesday morning, they both raced to the door to meet me, carrying combs and pony tail holders arguing about who was going to get their hair done first. Hair. Something so simple, so "girly", so important- time that I wouldn't give up for anything.
These two things are only the tip of the iceberg of my summer. I love these two little girls I just met in May more than I ever thought possible and every day is a new adventure.
Never underestimate the power of a triangle cut PBJ sandwich and a hairbrush.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Amy
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
What does it mean to see Jesus?
The “Greeks” in the beginning of our text surely want more than to just “see” Jesus- they wanted more than just a glimpse of this great man they’d heard about. They wanted to truly “see” Jesus- to meet him, touch him, hear him speak—to know him. Their request seems simple enough. Jesus’ answer, however, is another matter entirely. He answers in a way that is anything but straightforward and perhaps not quite what these foreigners had expected. But we can only assume that they were granted their request and got to “see Jesus.”
But what about today? How do we “see” Jesus? How do we meet him, touch him, hear him, know him? In the world of Philip and Andrew, the Son of God was there in the flesh, there for everyone to see. Today, we have to look for Jesus in other places entirely. We have to look for evidence in places we might not expect.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
Where do we see Jesus?
If we take a look around today, locally as well as globally, it might be hard at first glance to see Jesus. It is hard to see around and through the natural and human made disasters, the economic issues, and other things that seem so overwhelming. But if we take a step back and look at the people involved, it is another matter entirely. We can see Jesus in the faces of the people we meet every day. What an idea! If we take the time to look at- to “see” those who need our help and all whom we encounter in our daily lives, we can “see” Jesus. What if we treated everyone like we were encountering Jesus? Just as we treat Jesus with the utmost respect and love, we should treat everyone we meet. If we work to see face of Christ in others, it naturally means that we treat them with the respect and dignity that every human deserves. If we treat everyone as if we were seeing Jesus, it might make it easier to pay someone a livable wage, to work for peace and justice for all people, to work for human rights so that all people might be free from the bondage of poverty, hunger and disease.
In January I took a J-term trip through the seminary to Pine Ridge Indian reservation in South Dakota. Shannon county, where most of the reservation lies, is one of the second poorest county in the entire country.
Over and over again, I looked into the eyes of the people who have suffered for so long. I heard the stories of people’s struggles with alcohol and drug addictions, the mistreatment at the hands of the people entrusted with caring for those living on the reservation. In those stories that brought tears to my eyes and even anger to my heart, I realized that every person was loved by Jesus. And that fact alone made it easier to see Jesus. In the faces of the children who came to play at the Lutheran retreat center every afternoon, in the eyes of the mothers struggling to feed their children and heat their homes.
We heard stories of triumphs, of traditions passed on, but we also heard stories of pain and suffering. One particularly cold and rainy day we ventured up the hill to Wounded Knee, the site of the 1890 massacre that claimed the lives of 300 Lakota people- men, women and children. It is also the site of the 1973 standoff between a Lakota group- known as the American Indian Movement- and US Marshals that lasted for 71 days.
Standing on the top of that hill in the cold rain, looking over the cemetery where so many people are buried, I wondered where I could “see” Jesus in the midst of all the pain and sadness. While our guide, Kelly Looking Horse told the story of his own involvement in 1973, I realized that Jesus was right there, in front of me. Kelly Looking Horse and others like him work to keep the stories of their people alive and pass on the history to future generations. He also reaches out to visitors to help spread the message and to encourage people to support the reservation. That day, perhaps more clearly than any other time on our trip, I looked and saw Jesus in the face of someone else. When he finished his story, someone in our group thanked him for sharing his story and for allowing us to come to this sacred burial ground. His response made us all pause: “This is my life, my story. And I give it to you so that you might tell someone else and keep the hope alive.” That is where we see Jesus: in the moments of hope and promise that exist in the darkest and seemingly most hopeless of circumstances.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
We don’t have to look far to see Jesus today.
But if when we look at others, we see the face of Jesus, the opposite is true as well. Can others see Jesus Christ when they look at you? When they look at me? Author CS Lewis writes in his book Mere Christianity, that we are “little Christs.” We are called to be the face of Christ to others- to witness by our very lives the good news that Christ died on a cross and rose again for all. But to be “little Christs,” we are called also to act. To be the very hands and feet of Jesus. To carry Jesus’ message to world. To work for peace and justice, to reach out to those who suffer, to remember and embrace those who are at the edges of society.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
Let us live our lives so that others might see Christ in us. And let us live our lives seeing Christ in everyone we meet.
Amen.
What does it mean to see Jesus?
The “Greeks” in the beginning of our text surely want more than to just “see” Jesus- they wanted more than just a glimpse of this great man they’d heard about. They wanted to truly “see” Jesus- to meet him, touch him, hear him speak—to know him. Their request seems simple enough. Jesus’ answer, however, is another matter entirely. He answers in a way that is anything but straightforward and perhaps not quite what these foreigners had expected. But we can only assume that they were granted their request and got to “see Jesus.”
But what about today? How do we “see” Jesus? How do we meet him, touch him, hear him, know him? In the world of Philip and Andrew, the Son of God was there in the flesh, there for everyone to see. Today, we have to look for Jesus in other places entirely. We have to look for evidence in places we might not expect.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
Where do we see Jesus?
If we take a look around today, locally as well as globally, it might be hard at first glance to see Jesus. It is hard to see around and through the natural and human made disasters, the economic issues, and other things that seem so overwhelming. But if we take a step back and look at the people involved, it is another matter entirely. We can see Jesus in the faces of the people we meet every day. What an idea! If we take the time to look at- to “see” those who need our help and all whom we encounter in our daily lives, we can “see” Jesus. What if we treated everyone like we were encountering Jesus? Just as we treat Jesus with the utmost respect and love, we should treat everyone we meet. If we work to see face of Christ in others, it naturally means that we treat them with the respect and dignity that every human deserves. If we treat everyone as if we were seeing Jesus, it might make it easier to pay someone a livable wage, to work for peace and justice for all people, to work for human rights so that all people might be free from the bondage of poverty, hunger and disease.
In January I took a J-term trip through the seminary to Pine Ridge Indian reservation in South Dakota. Shannon county, where most of the reservation lies, is one of the second poorest county in the entire country.
Over and over again, I looked into the eyes of the people who have suffered for so long. I heard the stories of people’s struggles with alcohol and drug addictions, the mistreatment at the hands of the people entrusted with caring for those living on the reservation. In those stories that brought tears to my eyes and even anger to my heart, I realized that every person was loved by Jesus. And that fact alone made it easier to see Jesus. In the faces of the children who came to play at the Lutheran retreat center every afternoon, in the eyes of the mothers struggling to feed their children and heat their homes.
We heard stories of triumphs, of traditions passed on, but we also heard stories of pain and suffering. One particularly cold and rainy day we ventured up the hill to Wounded Knee, the site of the 1890 massacre that claimed the lives of 300 Lakota people- men, women and children. It is also the site of the 1973 standoff between a Lakota group- known as the American Indian Movement- and US Marshals that lasted for 71 days.
Standing on the top of that hill in the cold rain, looking over the cemetery where so many people are buried, I wondered where I could “see” Jesus in the midst of all the pain and sadness. While our guide, Kelly Looking Horse told the story of his own involvement in 1973, I realized that Jesus was right there, in front of me. Kelly Looking Horse and others like him work to keep the stories of their people alive and pass on the history to future generations. He also reaches out to visitors to help spread the message and to encourage people to support the reservation. That day, perhaps more clearly than any other time on our trip, I looked and saw Jesus in the face of someone else. When he finished his story, someone in our group thanked him for sharing his story and for allowing us to come to this sacred burial ground. His response made us all pause: “This is my life, my story. And I give it to you so that you might tell someone else and keep the hope alive.” That is where we see Jesus: in the moments of hope and promise that exist in the darkest and seemingly most hopeless of circumstances.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
We don’t have to look far to see Jesus today.
But if when we look at others, we see the face of Jesus, the opposite is true as well. Can others see Jesus Christ when they look at you? When they look at me? Author CS Lewis writes in his book Mere Christianity, that we are “little Christs.” We are called to be the face of Christ to others- to witness by our very lives the good news that Christ died on a cross and rose again for all. But to be “little Christs,” we are called also to act. To be the very hands and feet of Jesus. To carry Jesus’ message to world. To work for peace and justice, to reach out to those who suffer, to remember and embrace those who are at the edges of society.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
Let us live our lives so that others might see Christ in us. And let us live our lives seeing Christ in everyone we meet.
Amen.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas Joy
There is nothing quite like Christmas, is there? While the hype and the craziness that surround the season can overwhelm us, there is something about Christmas that draws us all in. We sing the songs and hear the stories as we've done for years and years. We trudge through the snow to spend time with family and friends.
Christmas. We gather together all over the world to celebrate the birth of Christ, the coming of a savior into a world that so desperately needs saving. We sing the hymns, old and new, that tell the story we know so well. Christmas.
There is something almost magic about Christmas. The festiveness, the gatherings, the food, the music, the laughter, the joy. It is truly a time to celebrate.
But at Christmastime, we remember as well that the story doesn't end in the manger. It begins in the manger. Jesus comes as a child at Christmas but the Nativity is only the beginning. Christmas is a time to celebrate what we know is coming. We've come through Advent, full of anticipation and waiting and now we've arrived at Christmas. The wait for the savior is over. But the wait for his return still continues. Christmas reminds us that Christ came into the world and lives among us, even as we live in the promise of his return one day.
My family lives in a parsonage that's on almost 60 acres of land out in the Iowa country. One of my favorite Christmas traditions, perhaps my favorite, is something simple that happens on our farm each Christmas eve. Growing up, my brother, dad and I would go out to the barn after Christmas dinner to bed down the animals and give them some extra food, all in preparation for what would happen later in the night.
The story is that on Christmas Eve, the animals in the barn can talk. They gather together to tell the story, The Story, of what happened on the first Christmas so long ago. The animals remember the part those first animals played in the Nativity and they tell the story to each other. As I've gotten older and the logical part of my brain has grown, I've learned a lot about the world and about how things work. This logical part of my brain tells me that such a thing is not possible and that this is just a story told to children. But another part of me wants to sneak down to the barn on Christmas Eve and put my ear up to the door and hear the soft voices of the goats, whispering to each other the story of the One who came to earth and slept in a manger so long ago.
Blessed Christmas.
Soli Deo Gloria!
Amy
Christmas. We gather together all over the world to celebrate the birth of Christ, the coming of a savior into a world that so desperately needs saving. We sing the hymns, old and new, that tell the story we know so well. Christmas.
There is something almost magic about Christmas. The festiveness, the gatherings, the food, the music, the laughter, the joy. It is truly a time to celebrate.
But at Christmastime, we remember as well that the story doesn't end in the manger. It begins in the manger. Jesus comes as a child at Christmas but the Nativity is only the beginning. Christmas is a time to celebrate what we know is coming. We've come through Advent, full of anticipation and waiting and now we've arrived at Christmas. The wait for the savior is over. But the wait for his return still continues. Christmas reminds us that Christ came into the world and lives among us, even as we live in the promise of his return one day.
My family lives in a parsonage that's on almost 60 acres of land out in the Iowa country. One of my favorite Christmas traditions, perhaps my favorite, is something simple that happens on our farm each Christmas eve. Growing up, my brother, dad and I would go out to the barn after Christmas dinner to bed down the animals and give them some extra food, all in preparation for what would happen later in the night.
The story is that on Christmas Eve, the animals in the barn can talk. They gather together to tell the story, The Story, of what happened on the first Christmas so long ago. The animals remember the part those first animals played in the Nativity and they tell the story to each other. As I've gotten older and the logical part of my brain has grown, I've learned a lot about the world and about how things work. This logical part of my brain tells me that such a thing is not possible and that this is just a story told to children. But another part of me wants to sneak down to the barn on Christmas Eve and put my ear up to the door and hear the soft voices of the goats, whispering to each other the story of the One who came to earth and slept in a manger so long ago.
Blessed Christmas.
Soli Deo Gloria!
Amy
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Postville, Iowa
If you haven't heard about what's happening in Postville, IA take a few minutes and Google it. You'll have more than enough information. For now, however, here's story about the power of human kindess, even in the midst of impossible situations.
http://community.icontact.com/p/decorahevents/newsletters/oct15/posts/decorahevents-a-story
My sister is the acting local volunteer coordinator in Postville. As I like to say, she's saving Postville. And saving may be just what is needed.
Please pray for the people of Postville and all those who are doing everything humanly possible (and impossible) to help those in need. Soon I'll blog about the issue in general, but for now, let us be thankful for the kindness and generosity of people who care.
Soli Deo Gloria
Amy
http://community.icontact.com/p/decorahevents/newsletters/oct15/posts/decorahevents-a-story
My sister is the acting local volunteer coordinator in Postville. As I like to say, she's saving Postville. And saving may be just what is needed.
Please pray for the people of Postville and all those who are doing everything humanly possible (and impossible) to help those in need. Soon I'll blog about the issue in general, but for now, let us be thankful for the kindness and generosity of people who care.
Soli Deo Gloria
Amy
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Winter
It snowed a lot in the past day here in Iowa. My friends Cadence and Olam and I went Christmas shopping this afternoon. We got to witness firsthand the beauty of the snow. The snow fell so beautifully straight down and covered the ground, making everything shockingly white. I was reminded again and again of how amazing the earth around us is. The simplest things can remind us of this day after day- a beautiful sunrise, a baby animal being born, a snowfall. The most beautiful things in our lives can't be made up; these things can only be witnessed and enjoyed.
My friend Olam hails from a less snowy part of the country and it was fun to be with him in the midst of the snow and exchange knowing looks with Cadence when we replied to his snow-joyfulness with "You haven't seen REAL winter yet, boo."
Snow, however, can also remind us of how fragile we are. The snow and ice make driving and sometimes even walking a challenge. There is nothing more humbling than realizing that we have so little control over the winter weather.
There was a guy in my church, Henry, who always used to remind people of this fact. "You pick the day, not the weather," he'd say. How true. We can plan and plan, but sometimes to no avail. Sometimes all we can do is put aside our plans and pick up a sled.
Soli Deo Gloria.
Amy
My friend Olam hails from a less snowy part of the country and it was fun to be with him in the midst of the snow and exchange knowing looks with Cadence when we replied to his snow-joyfulness with "You haven't seen REAL winter yet, boo."
Snow, however, can also remind us of how fragile we are. The snow and ice make driving and sometimes even walking a challenge. There is nothing more humbling than realizing that we have so little control over the winter weather.
There was a guy in my church, Henry, who always used to remind people of this fact. "You pick the day, not the weather," he'd say. How true. We can plan and plan, but sometimes to no avail. Sometimes all we can do is put aside our plans and pick up a sled.
Soli Deo Gloria.
Amy
Sunday, December 14, 2008
A Confession of Confessions
Ok, the time has come for a true "Confession," I think. I survived another semester of seminary...no, that's not my confession. But the fact that I survived is a milestone of some sort. So, here's my post-semester confession. One of my classes this fall was Ethics. I took it as a requirement. My friend Cadence was in the class with me and we sat by each other all semester. I think we provided some humor to the class since we sort of play off each other and just generally have a good time together. The class was taught by a faculty member from the Presbyterian seminary in town. Calvin, the professor, was absolutely amazing. My friend and I weren't sure what the class (or the teacher) would be like at first, but we quickly decided it was probably our favorite class all semester. We discussed ethical issues using the ELCA's social statements, draft statements and messages. The class divided up into groups and we each chose a statement (etc) to present. My group- Cadence and Gianna (another friend in the class) and I- presented last. I really wanted to talk about the ELCA's draft statement on human sexuality. While it wasn't on the original list that Calvin had us choose from, he was willing to let us do this one- perhaps because I was so excited and animated about it. I am so grateful that my friends were willing to go along with me on this. Our group was the last to present in the semester. The draft statement (http://www.elca.org/What-We-Believe/Social-Issues/Social-Statements-in-Process/JTF-Human-Sexuality.aspx) is long and intense so we decided to narrow it down to one issue-- the issue that seems to be the ELCA's "hot topic" issue. As Cadence so nicely put it: gayness.
Ok, time out. Now's the time for the confession. I am gay. I came out of the closet last spring (March 17, 2008). I am still working on defining who I am in light of this but I know this much for certain: I am gay and I'm ok with that. My family knows and are ok with it for the most part I think. My friends know (or are learning) and particularly my seminary friends and my college roommate have been amazing. Who knew how many gay jokes seminarians could make? Anyway, I am who I am and I know that God loves me the way I am. I know that may sound a bit shallow and cliche but that's the truth. Being gay is not all of who I am, but it is certainly a large part of who I am.
As can be imagined, this reality makes my call to be a pastor a bit more difficult. Because the ELCA is still in "conversation" over the issue, I am in a bit of a tough situation. I've run into a bit of difficulty already but I am still working at it...even if the process doesn't turn out to be as..."straight forward" as I originally thought. I love my church and I have no intention of leaving. Because I love my church, I am willing to fight and struggle along with the people of God that surround me and my fellow GLBTQ people called to serve the church. I am not out to be a crusader or a poster child, but I am out to be who I am and who God made me to be.
I pray that the church will find an answer and not practice exclusion, but I know that this will be a process and can't happen overnight. In light of this, I am willing to be more open and stand up and speak instead of just letting other people doing the hard work themselves.
Ah, that felt good. Confessing the truth has a bit of freedom, don't you think?
Soli Deo Gloria.
Amy
Monday, October 13, 2008
Playing in Holy Water
I was babysitting yesterday for a 4 year old and his baby sister. We were at a convent/convention center because his parents were there for a conference. We walked all around the building, checking things out. Being the curious 4 year old that he is, my little friend was drawn in a certain room by the sound of running water. We drove the stroller into the room and immediately my little friend, we'll say Ben, went to the front of the room to the source of the running water. It was an impressive source- a huge, stone baptismal font. The waist high creation was made of limestone, no doubt taken from the rock of the hills nearby. The water flowed from a shallow pool on the top down the sides of the rock into a stone-lined base at the bottom. The water flow was soft and light. In fact, Ben leaned against one of the ravines in the rock and got his shirt and pants all wet. I rolled up his sleeves and he immediately stuck-- no, splashed-- his hands in the pool on top. He then looked at me like perhaps he had done something wrong and said, "What if someone sees us playing here?" And I smiled and answered, "I don't think anyone will mind." We splashed a bit and played in the water. Ben traced the paths that the water took down the rock. I couldn't help but think about the symbolism of the moment. What better place to play? Ben obviously felt completely comfortable in the chapel room and at the font. I did too. As we played and flicked each other with water, one of the sisters came into the room on her way down the hallway. For a moment I thought she might tell us to stop, but instead her actions completely surprised me. She came over to the font, smiled at us and dipped her hand into the water. Then, she pulled her hand out and looked Ben right in the eye and flicked water at him before continuing on her way out of the room. When she got to the door, she turned back and waved at us and then blew Ben a kiss from the doorway.
I know that I'm reading a lot into this but I can't help it. It was absolutely...cute...and charming. But it was also a neat thing, theologically, to see this whole moment transpire. I mean, what better place to play? Safe in the waters of baptism. Secure in the knowledge that we are loved and noticed. Rejoicing in the fact that we are baptized and welcome in the body of Christ.
Safe in the waters of baptism. Martin Luther reminds us that when wash our faces, we should remember our baptisms. Keep the flowing waters of God's love close to your heart and mind and rest safely in the waters of baptism. Your baptism, God's promise revealed. Play safe in the waters of baptism, wherever they may flow.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Amy
I know that I'm reading a lot into this but I can't help it. It was absolutely...cute...and charming. But it was also a neat thing, theologically, to see this whole moment transpire. I mean, what better place to play? Safe in the waters of baptism. Secure in the knowledge that we are loved and noticed. Rejoicing in the fact that we are baptized and welcome in the body of Christ.
Safe in the waters of baptism. Martin Luther reminds us that when wash our faces, we should remember our baptisms. Keep the flowing waters of God's love close to your heart and mind and rest safely in the waters of baptism. Your baptism, God's promise revealed. Play safe in the waters of baptism, wherever they may flow.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Amy
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