Lions and Tigers and Bears... oh my!

One of the perks of my job is that I get to do some really fun things as part of my ministry. Yesterday, I was invited to participate in our preschool's "Zoo Day" as a way to spend time with the children and meet their parents. I was incredibly excited... after all, kiddos and a field trip to the zoo... what could be better?

After Lauren and I arrived at the zoo, mingled some, and got checked in, we began to leisurely wander toward the various exhibits. We watched monkeys play, marveled at the camels, and I even fed a giraffe! However, I spent quite a bit of time stressing because the Richmond Zoo does not offer maps.

Now, this zoo is privately owned and relatively small, so they dont actually NEED maps, but I needed one. I like to have a plan, create a specific course, make sure that I hit all of the things I want to see in an order that doesnt force backtracking. You know at amusement parks when you see those crazy tourist-looking people with fanny packs and souvenirs and their noses always stuck in a map (except when they are snapping pictures of EVERYTHING)?? That's me... minus the fanny pack and souvenirs. When I go to Disney or some other park, I plan the entire day with my map, so that I can hit every ride, show, and parade that I want to see. I make sure that water rides are in the heat of the day and that food and restroom breaks are planned into the schedule. I am annoying. I am efficient. I am a gal with a plan.

Now, cut back to the zoo. Yesterday, without my map and plan, I felt lost and out of control. I still got to see all of the animals. I still remained on schedule. But, I had to keep reminding myself to enjoy the things around me and stop worrying about my blasted map. After a while, and a little backtracking, I loosened up and stopped caring so much that I wasnt following a certain order. I listened to the children ask questions. I laughed at the antics of the animals. I savored the moment... and I had a fabulous time.

Often, God has to remind me to let go of my controlling tendencies and show me that my plan is not always going to work out. After the initial discomfort and maybe a little backtracking, I am reminded that I should stop worrying and enjoy the moment. I cant go through life with a fanny pack and a map and an agenda that is planned for every minute. But, I can loosen up, take a look around me, and enjoy where I am. I can laugh and play and have a fabulous time... even without my map.

Buffet Plates

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of a visit from my very best friends, Amy and Darren. These two have been a shining spot in my life for the last six years. Amy was my "Big Sister" in our sorority in college. Darren was my boss at two different jobs. I was the maid of honor in their wedding. We lived near each other in both Lakeland, FL and Durham, NC. They are more than friends; they are family.

Amy is the kind of sister everyone wants but rarely gets. Supportive. Thoughtful. Caring. Fun.

Darren, on the other hand, is exactly the kind of brother most people have. Teasing. Annoyingly Protective. Argumentative. Darren and I, though we love each other, usually fight like brother and sister, intentionally goading the other one to see just how far we can push the other before they break.

This weekend, the three of us were constantly on the go. On Saturday, we drove a short way to one of my favorite places in Richmond, the Short Pump Town Center. This is an outdoor mall with many stores, great restaurants, and a lovely atmosphere. The weather was beautiful, the flowers were blooming, and we were equipped with frozen drinks and comfortable shoes.

As we wove through many of the stores, Amy and I brainstormed ideas for how to redecorate their bedroom. Thus, it was essential for us to hit all of the fancy home stores (some of my favorite places!). Towing Darren along, Amy and I fawned over everything we saw in Pottery Barn, Williams & Sonoma and Crate & Barrel.

As we turned the corner into the kitchen section of Crate & Barrel, Darren suddenly decided to have some fun at my expense. He began loudly proclaiming his need for Buffet Plates.

This wouldnt have been so bad... except that he pronounced them "Buff-it Plat-ays." 

I was mortified. 

Despite my general social mindedness (and my admittedly low income), I can not deny that I enjoy the finer things in life. I love the idea of sophistication and finery. I own Emily Post books (and I follow them!). I enjoy china and dinner parties. I dream of attending black tie affairs in beautiful gowns and having an entire house full of Crate & Barrel things, despite how expensive they are. I recognize that my taste is impractical and semi-ridiculous, but I cant help it.

Cue Darren, my best friend from a small back-woods Florida town, loudly going on about "buff-it plat-ays" in his subtly southern-accented voice. People, including sales clerks, were staring. I briefly considered if I could walk away as if I didnt know him, but certainly Darren would have followed me. Knowing my weaknesses and mortification, Darren laughed, enjoying himself at my expense. Thankfully, we were soon on our way out of the store and I could breathe again.

What is it that makes us so concerned about what others think of us? Why did I care about the strangers and the hillbilly impression my friend was giving off? Why did I respond with mortification rather than laughter? Did it REALLY matter what others thought? I felt as though I had been exposed... as if I didnt belong among such fine things and Darren was making that clear to everyone. He might as well have been shouting "Phony! Fraud!" as my projected image crashed to floor, shattering louder than an entire wall of falling buffet plates.


And... I am grateful. I am grateful that I have people in my life who remind me to be humble. I am grateful that I have people in my life who remind me to be genuine. I am grateful that I have people in my life who remind me to laugh (later, after the embarrassment fades).

Whether our homes come straight off the Crate & Barrel show room floor or our home is simply a C&B box, we shouldn't be embarrassed of who we are or what we (don't) have. Lesson (mostly) learned.

The Greatest Show on Earth

There is a reason I am a children's minister.

It's not just because I love kids or just because I hold such high importance in the faith of children; while those things certainly are true, I like to think God called me into this position because the way I think is not often very far off from that of a child. I am excited and enthralled by small pleasures in life. I enjoy simplicity. I enjoy fun. Color. Sparkles. Disney World. Cupcakes. Swing sets. If it's made for children, I probably love it.

Knowing that, you can imagine my excitement as several friends and I ventured to the Ringling Bros. Circus last Friday! We were in the cheapest seats possible. Our shoes stuck to the floor as we climbed stairs covered in soda and who knows what else. From every angle we were offered the opportunity to buy glowing necklaces, rubber noses, clown hats and, of course, outrageously priced cotton candy and popcorn. I was in sensory overload as I took my seat, jittery with excitement, and prepared to watch "The Greatest Show on Earth!"

As the show began, I oohed and aahed at the tight rope walkers, lion tamers, trapeze artists and dancing elephants. Especially the elephants. I marveled at the glittery costumes, the amazing contortionists, and the comical clowns. I couldnt help giggling at the way the Ring Master announced everything, as if he only knew how to speak in elongated syllables. "Annnnnnnnnd nooooooooooooow, weeeeeeee wiiiiiiiiiiiillllllllllllll alllllllllllll taaaaaaalllllllllllllllllk liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike crraaaaaaaaaazzy peeeeeeeeeeeopllllllleeee."

However, about 3/4ths of the way through the show, I began to wonder... is this REALLY the greatest show on Earth? After all, several people fell during their stunts. The show was silly in parts. If you were close enough, the people probably seemed more cheesy than impressive. If you were over the age of 10, you probably thought (at least once): "That's not real." There was a lot of glitz and glam, but not as much substance.

Of course, I began to consider the circus in relation to the church and to my faith (big shock there!). I occasionally catch a certain preacher on TV who reminds me a lot of the circus. Tons of people, tons of things there for you to spend money on, tons of glitz and glam... but no substance. I am often shocked if this particular preacher even quotes the Bible. It's all a big show, and just like at the circus, we get sucked in to it.

On a smaller, more personal scale, we have a circus mentality in many of our local churches as well. Forget the mega church and the televangelist. Many, many folks attend church each week, dressed a particular way and expecting a particular "show." We want to hear a certain type of sermon, a certain type of music, a certain type of glitz and glamor. We want to eat yummy treats (or drink yummy coffee), and we want to sit and watch something we are paying to see (tithing does not equal entitlement, though sometimes we forget that too). We forget about what it means to be a part of a church-- worship, serving, giving, mission, outreach-- which are all, by the way, about focusing on God and others rather than ourselves.

It makes me wonder, am I... are we... looking for The Greatest Show on Earth each Sunday morning or are we searching for something with a little more substance? What is the difference between sitting in a church or sitting at a circus? Do we know? Do we care?

Cleanliness close to Godliness?

I am fairly certain I have some mild form of OCD. My friends constantly tease me about it; my co-workers often joke about it. My closet is organized by color, photos on the wall have to be straight for me to concentrate, my silverware must be lined up a certain way. My shopping carts have a certain organizational pattern, as do my dishwasher, my refrigerator, and my movie collection.When my best friends, Amy and Darren, come to visit, Darren purposely rearranges my picture frames or magnets to see how long it takes me to notice (usually not very long).

With that in mind, it shouldn't surprise you that I like to clean. Now, let me be clear... I don't like planning to clean, I don't like thinking about cleaning, I don't like taking time out of my already busy schedule to clean. However, once I actually pick up a broom or sponge, I instantly remember how therapeutic it is. As I clean away the dust and dirt and dog hair (my beloved pup is shedding that winter coat at enormous rates!), I feel like I am also cleaning my soul. Everything has a home. There is no clutter, no mess, no disorganization. Everything shines and sparkles and smells fresh and clean.

Over the last couple years, I have felt a little like my pre-cleaned apartment. At a glance, everything was straight and looked pretty good. Nothing was glaringly out of place. Upon further inspection though, things were dusty, disorganized, and neglected. My spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being were left on a shelf to collect dust. They had lost their shine, their sparkle, their fresh scent.

I hated thinking about it, planning for it, or making time to fix it... but recently, I remembered to Spring clean. I remembered what it felt like to get my life back in order, to give things in my life a rightful home, to sweep and polish and throw out the old junk to make room for new, better things. My heart and soul and mind feel clean.

And, now, just like when I have a freshly cleaned home... I am happier than I have ever been. My OCD approves.

More Jesus, less religion?

They Like Jesus but Not the Church

I was in my local bookstore when that title screamed at me. I couldnt resist the urge. Out of sheer curiosity, I bought the book and it has been sitting on my desk ever since. Until yesterday...

Yesterday, I began to read this socio-religious critique/ commentary on the emerging generations and their role in the current American church. I am withholding my thoughts and insights until I complete the text, but I did find the following quote interesting:

The next generation is definitely looking for a less programmatic, more relational, and more missional kind of church... they want more Jesus and less religion.

I have been rolling this concept around in my mind. As a member of said generation... and one who works in the church... DO I want less religion and more Jesus? DO I want less programming and more relationality?

Yes, yes I do.

Across the nation, across every denomination, church leaders are asking, "Where are the young people? How do we get them into our church? How do we effectively minister to those 18-35 year olds?" Very few people are doing it well. Very few churches are doing it well. Why?

I am not sure where Dan Kimball is going to go with this text, but Amanda Stallard has a few thoughts. I cherish and honor my faith traditions. I am a theologian. I love the church.

That being said, my Jesus met in small, intimate groups for study and conversation. My Jesus ate EVERY day with the poor, the hurting, the "unclean." My Jesus cared less about politics and more about people. My Jesus lived social justice. My Jesus lived hospitality. My Jesus was relational. My Jesus was dirty and ridiculed and passionate and... radical!

Can we say those same things about our churches?

From what I have seen, my parents' generation was one who sought anonymity. They slipped into the backs of churches and wanted to be unnoticed, unrecognized, unbothered. Folks, my generation is exactly the opposite! In a culture and era of instant social networking, where cell phones and iPods and laptops replace actual human interaction, my generation is crying out to be known. To be recognized. To be relational!

Until the American church finds a way to bring us more Jesus and less religion, I think we will continue to scratch our heads and ask, "Where are the young people?"

Passion permitted

I am sick to my stomach with anxiety. It is half-time during the most important game in college basketball... and my team is up by only one point.

It doesn't take long for people to know that I am passionate about Duke basketball. I watch all the games religiously, I wear the shirts, I know the chants, I bash the Tarheels. I bleed blue... Duke blue. Whether we are winning or losing, I never waver in that loyalty, and I have faith in the fact that we will eventually prevail.

If you are a true sports fan, you understand this concept. This passion. This unwavering commitment.

I have often heard this commitment and loyalty criticized. Is it wrong to feel so strongly about a team? Is it wrong to care so much about winning? I dont know, but the way I see it, we could all use a little more passion in our lives.

I have been talking a lot with folks recently about this concept of passion, or lack thereof. It is rare to see true passion in people outside of a sports arena. What if we were all as passionate about serving others as we were about sports? What if we went to a homeless shelter religiously, wore the shirts, knew the chants, and jumped up and down yelling about loving and serving others. What if we gave as much thought, time, and money (gasp!) to the poor, the sick, the broken... as we do to our sports teams? What if we gave as much thought and time to our families and friends? Our community?

What if we bashed injustice, prejudice, and poverty as much as we bashed our rivals? What if, instead of bleeding blue (or whatever color your team is), we bled kindness and hospitality?

Friends, I believe in passion. Unwavering, committed passion. On the basketball court... and, more importantly, off of it.

Where my peeps at?

For the last week or so, I have been following Peep stories. Yes, Peeps. I have taken great joy in hearing about the "peeping"... and couldn't resist the opportunity to share with each of you!

For those of you who don't know, there is more to these sugary marshmallow holiday treats than the joy of finding them in Easter baskets or competing to see which one will expand fastest in the microwave. Peeps are changing lives... at least in the town of Hickory, NC.

A church that I had the pleasure of attending and interning at (Christ Church, Hickory) is revolutionizing the concept of hospitality in their community with Peeps! The attendees of Christ Church have been commissioned to practice random acts of kindness in the name of Peeps (and Jesus!). Church members are reaching out to people in grocery stores, nail salons, buying the meal of the person behind them in drive-thrus, and canvassing their neighborhoods with Peep boxes in hand. At last count, 8,500 boxes of Peeps had been dispersed into the community. 8,500 acts of kindness. 8,500 physical representations of God's love.

Each box of Peeps was attached with an invitation to attend Easter services at one of Christ Church's campuses. I imagine the invitations consisted of witty words like "Our peeps invite your peeps to Easter service," "Bring your peeps to Christ Church," or "Tell your peeps it's happenin' at Christ Church." While I applaud the marketing technique, I am much more impressed with the motivation behind peeping.

Christ Church is not simply trying to get folks in their doors. Rather, they genuinely care about the "peeps" in their community, and seek to be a beacon for those around them. This is not a ploy for membership, money, or attention. This is a sincere effort by the church to say, "We care about you. We do more than just spit out religious epithets... we practice hospitality. Radical, Christ-centered hospitality."

Over the last week, my facebook feed has been full of powerful stories of how peeps are changing the lives of church members and strangers alike. I have been moved by the power of kindness and hospitality and I have been reminded that this is what the very nature of my faith is about.

I imagine that if Jesus were here today, he'd hand me a box of sugar-coated marshmallows and ask, "Do you love me?
Then feed my peeps.
Clothe my peeps.
Visit my peeps.
LOVE my peeps."

I can almost hear Jesus saying to us, the Church.... "Where my peeps at?" How will we respond?

A Green G(a)linda

It is the last day of Lent. Over the last six weeks, I have both abstained from things (sugar) and practiced new disciplines (Bible studies) as a way to center myself and reflect on my relationship with God. This year, as I look back over the last six weeks, I am somewhat surprised to realize that the most spiritually transformative moment I had was not at church, in prayer time, or during Bible study. Instead, it came from a most unexpected place.

For my birthday a few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of seeing the musical Wicked. For those of you who have not seen it, Wicked is the story of the witches of Oz. After Dorothy kills Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, a celebration occurs! One of the Ozians inquires of Glinda (the Good Witch of the South): "Is it true you knew her?" and from there, the story unfolds of the witches meeting in grade school and their relationship up until the point of Elphaba's death. It is a powerful story of love and friendship, politics and power, greed and goodness.

The true beauty of the tale is in the recognition that Elphaba was not truly a wicked witch at all. She often stood against injustice, tried to do what was right, opposed the higher powers. She cared for her family and friends. However, because she was (quite literally) green, she was labeled as different and evil.

G(a)linda, on the other hand, was lovely and well-liked. She had the right pedigree, the right personality, the right popularity. In school, she was the "it" girl. She was "kind" to people. However, though her eyes were opened to injustice, she often chose not to stand against it for fear of ridicule.

Every day since I have seen the show, I have asked myself: "Are you a Glinda or an Elphaba? Who do you want to be?" I have wrestled with this idea in light of my faith. Quite honestly, I strongly desire to be the Elphaba-- a woman who stands and fights for what is right. A woman who cares less about how she is viewed than about justice. A woman who has integrity and inner-strength that far exceeds any sort of outer beauty.

But, alas, I fear that I am a Glinda. I am  a people pleaser, and I enjoy being well-liked. My eyes are certainly open to injustice and I do befriend those different than myself, but I catch myself often making many of Glinda's arguments ("I can do more to help if I have the status and the popularity, than if I must go out alone"). As a result, I water down the suffering of those around me or choose to turn a blind eye.

My faith tells me that God calls us all to be Elphabas--different, counter-cultural, just, loving-- but too many of us seek to be Glinda-- good, well-liked, kind, mediocre.

This lenten season, I have struggled with the idea of what is good and what is faithful. Where do I fit in? I pray that, despite my Glinda tendencies, I have a little tinge of green in my skin... and that I will become more and more green every day.

Asphyxiation by... bridesmaid dress?

I almost died yesterday.

Ok, perhaps that's a wee bit dramatic, but at the time, I literally was afraid that I would slip into unconsciousness before someone would save me.

Yesterday at around 5pm, my apartment was a sweltering 85 degrees. My a/c had broken (again!) and I came in from work to find myself in a sauna. Sitting on the door step was a box I had been waiting for all week and so I rushed in, tore open the box, and pulled out my bridesmaid dress. For some unfathomable reason, I decided I needed to try it on right then.

As anyone who has ever been in a wedding knows, there is always quite a bit of drama regarding bridesmaid dresses. Often, you don't get to try it on beforehand and there is quite a concern about whether said gown will fit once it finally comes in. This particular dress was even more dramatic for me, as I had no time to be measured for it prior to ordering. My very oldest friend, Katie, has a rather short engagement and so I had exactly 2 hours to order my dress from the day I was asked to be in the wedding until the order had to be filled. So, I guessed on a size.

As I was preparing to dive into the dress, I realized that the zipper stuck some and would likely be difficult to zip up on my own. In a moment of sheer brilliance, I decided that, rather than stepping into the dress and trying to zip it, I would leave it zipped and tug it over my head. Perfect plan... until the layer of boning got caught around my chest as I was tugging it on. I pulled and pulled, but to no avail. The dress would not budge. I couldnt pull it back over my head and I couldnt pull it down into place. Instead, I had a very snug-fitting layer of boning cutting off my ability to breathe. And remember that pesky zipper? Yep, completely stuck.

I began to panic! I wasn't breathing. I was sweating (did I mention that the dress has about 5 layers of floor-length chifon?). No matter how hard I tugged or twisted, I was quite literally stuck. As the room started to tilt from my lack of breathing, I crumpled to the floor. Ah! As I lay flat on my back, I realized there was just enough room to take very shallow breaths. Oxygen!

What was I going to do? My neighbors werent home (and that would have been an embarrassing introduction, since I have never talked to them before). I couldn't cut myself out of the dress. I was going to die in my apartment... from a bridesmaid dress.

The oxygen must have started restoring my rational side, because I suddenly realized... I have friends! I struggled to my feet again, feeling the agonizing loss of breath as I got vertical, and hurried for my phone. Once again on the ground, in a heap of chifon and sweat and panic, I called my friend, Lauren. No answer. Recall. No answer. Recall. No answer (LAUREN, WHERE ARE YOU WHEN I AM DYING?!). Recall.

After 5 or so attempts, she answered! In a breathy panic, I explain the situation and she rushes to my apartment to save me! After a few agonizing minutes, Lauren appears and manages to fight the zipper, freeing me to breathe again! Ah, sweet oxygen!

Being a bridesmaid is a dangerous job.

Hee Haw

For my very first blog post, I find myself at a loss for anything to say that is creative or witty or interesting. So, instead, I think I may simply share my Holy Week insights.

Each year, I read the story of Christ from the Triumphal Entry through the Resurrection and, each year, I find myself in different places in the story. Some years, I am in the crowd waving palms. Some years, I am at the Last Supper. Some years, I am Peter-- denying Jesus. Some years, Joanna-- amazed at the Resurrection of Christ. Most years... I am in the crowd shouting "Crucify!"

This year, I think I am the donkey.

Yes, you heard me right. Many of you know my call story and how, until the very day that I accepted my current job as a Christian Educator, I fought tooth and nail with God. I was NOT going to work full-time in the church. I had spent years refusing to accept the call, even though I was working in churches and attending seminary... I had literally stomped my foot, crossed my arms, and said "NOPE!" And this Holy Week... here I am. In the church. Ministering. Full-time.

In the story of the Triumphal Entry (my favorite version is in Luke 19), Jesus tells the disciples to go find a donkey that has never been ridden. It is tied up and when the disciples untie it, it's owners ask, "Why are you untying our donkey?" The disciples respond, "The Lord needs it." Then, the disciples throw their cloaks over the young, untrained animal and Jesus sits on top of it. Many would anticipate Jesus (the King of Kings!) to ride in on a glamorous horse, beautiful and well-trained and reflecting the perfect majesty of it's rider. Instead, Jesus calls the most unlikely colt to carry the burden of his weight.

Most days I consider myself ill-equipped, inexperienced, unable, and unwilling to carry the burden of Christ into the world of believers and non-believers alike. There are hundreds of others who would be better, stronger, and more fit to take my place. Until 6 months ago, sitting in a church office was the last place I wanted to be. And yet, sometimes "The Lord needs [us]." Sometimes, we are called (or led... or even dragged) into a place where we have the honor of carrying Christ to the people. Jesus sees in us, the lowly donkeys, a potential and a calling... even when we don't see it ourselves. There is nothing majestic or beautiful or holy about any of us when we stand alone... but as we carry Christ with us, we are transformed.

What a blessing to find myself as a donkey.