On Throwing Paper Airplanes in Church

I should have known something was up when I picked up my Sam from youth choir rehearsal one day last fall, asked him how it went, and he said, "IT WAS AWESOME!"

Not that he doesn't usually enjoy youth choir. He likes it fine, but IT WAS AWESOME! isn't his usual response.

So I wondered what made it so amazing, so different. I knew the choir had rehearsed in the sanctuary for their upcoming musical, not in their regular spot in the choir room, but surely that wasn't it.

Sam sits in this sanctuary just about every week,

often with the same enthusiasm he demonstrates when I make him put away his clean underwear and socks.

So on the drive home, Sam told me the reason for the twinkly eyes and sudden zeal. I should tell you that the Dana Carvey church lady in me just about had to pull out of traffic and search the minivan for smelling salts!

It seems that his mother had been a ding dong and dropped him off an hour early (in my defense, they changed the time,) so with an extra hour to spare, he and the other sixth grade boys with ding dong mothers had found some worthwhile pursuits to while away the time.

Pursuits like climbing to the top of the balcony and throwing paper airplanes.

"It was so fun!" Sam said. "You wouldn't believe how fun it was! Oh, and you got double points if you hit the baptistery!"

I nearly choked on my tongue.

But that wasn't all they did.
Nope.

"That sanctuary room is amazing! Have you ever thought of how many hiding places it has?"
"No, I don't think I have."
"There's the pews of course. Dozens of those. I counted them one Sunday when I was bored, but I don't remember how many there were."


"But the best place is that little nook in front of the organ. You know, behind that short little wall? You can hide there and NOBODY will find you. You could do ANYTHING and nobody would know!"

"But you know the best part?"
"I can't imagine."
"The secret slide!"
"What secret slide?"
Sam explained it, but allow me to show you.
See how the pews are arranged theater style, descending toward the front of the church?


Well, take a look at this...


Now come closer.

Yep. That's the secret slide.
I doubt it works for adults, but it might. I haven't tried it.
Come to think of it, I could have been brave and given it a try if I'd wanted to. Nobody was in the room when I was taking pictures.
Sam says it's real slippery and slide-y. You just lie on your back, push off with your hands, and whatever you do, don't raise your head up. Those pews have sharp edges.

The whole time I was listening to Sam , I have to admit, I was having a fight with myself.
Part of me was thinking I should probably thump him on the head. Launch myself into a lecture about sacred space and reverence.
The other part of me secretly wondered what time of day might be best. Just when might no one notice a forty-something woman putting down her purse, taking off her shoes, and slipping under the center of the very back pew?

In case you're wondering, the forty-something secret slider won my internal debate.
You know who convinced me?
The sanctuary itself.

You might not notice it at first, even if you're sitting right there in a pew, but the worship room of First Baptist Church, Greenville, is designed to make us feel as if we're sitting under a huge tree together.

See the branches and limbs hanging over? The mammoth trunk rising up behind the pulpit?
Can't you imagine a crowd sitting under a tree, listening to Christ tell his stories? The children wouldn't sit stone faced. They'd play!
I can't imagine a better place.
But not during worship, of course. That might just earn you a thump on the head. :)

So what do you think? How do we manage teaching our kids reverence without worshiping the things of our sacred spaces? I'd love to hear your thoughts about finding play in church!

Have a beautiful, wonder-full weekend, y'all!
Love, Becky

Thanks to Renée Turner for the paper airplane photo, licensed through creative commons.

All of Us

When he was just two months old, his mother, a prostitute, took off all his clothes, laid him in his crib, and walked through her mobile home, opening each window wide enough for the bitter wind to enter. Then she shut the door behind her, leaving her child to freeze to death.
If his aunt hadn't heard his screaming, the cold would have surely killed him.

This is only the beginning of Dwayne's story.
His grandparents took him in, but verbally and mentally abused him.
While he was still just a child, his uncle would take him on overnight fishing trips where he'd make Dwayne drink beer until he passed out. When Dwayne woke up, he'd find himself naked in the back of the truck, under a blanket.

When he was just thirteen, Dwayne met a girl who changed his life. She loved him and he loved her. They married later and had a baby, a home, a van, and each other. They had fifteen good years, but then she got sick. She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and died at the age of 35.

The pain was too much to bear, and Dwayne turned to prostitutes for comfort and to drugs. He lost his child, his place, his van.
He was homeless and a drug addict, living in shelters and under bridges, wrapping a towel around his head at night so that the bugs didn't crawl in his ears.
He went to rehab several times, but it never lasted, and one day he decided to end it all. To walk into oncoming traffic and put a stop to the pain.

The light turned green. He waited a moment and then lunged forward, but felt something grip his shoulder so hard that he turned around, expecting, he said, to see a football player from the nearby campus.
It was a tiny old woman. "You don't want to go that way, son," she said, and turned him in a different direction, down Rutherford Street, toward Triune Mercy Center.

That was the beginning of his new life.
"Life is good, isn't it?" he said to the hundreds of us, the homeless and the comfortable, squeezed together in the pews of Triune. "I've got so much now. I'm clean and done with drugs. I've got an apartment with central air and heat, I got a fridge and a stove, I've got food to eat, and I've got God in my life now. And I don't have to sleep with a towel around my head no more. I really hate those bugs."

Life is good, indeed.
We'd come to Triune to listen to Kyle Matthews sing, to raise money for this church to the homeless, and to show support for its ministry. I hadn't expected to worship, to hear Dwayne's amazing story of transformation, or to reconsider my notion of what church is supposed to be.

God, in the busyness of my days, help me take time to make connections with the people around me. Help us be church to each other, respecting the truth that we are all your children, vulnerable babes in an often painful world.

I hope you have a great day, y'all. Before you go, I'd love to hear what church means to you.
And be sure to give a listen to Kyle's song All of Us. The lyrics follow the video. The song tells quite a story.
Love, Becky

Photo by cindy47452, creative commons



All of Us

She's got a toddler and a baby, but she's just a child herself
She's desperate but she's too afraid to ask for help
As she wanders through our yard sale, we want to offer food
But we don't want to embarrass her, we don't want to intrude
Thinking, "How can we
Be what she needs?"

She needs friends to be like family
In the best and worst of times
A job, some education, and enough cash to get by
Women who will listen
Men that she can trust
There's still a chance she'll make it
But she's gonna need...

All of us, she'll need all of us
She'll need all of us

He longs to be the savior of people such as these
He wants to wipe out hunger, house the homeless, cure disease
He rides in on his white horse, he's noble and unbowed
Til his money, optimism, and his patience have run out
He thinks, "I should have known
I can't do this on my own...
{chorus}

She stands with all the others in a sea of caps and gowns
Cheers rise from the balcony when her name is called out
She says I'd like to give you all the gift that I have found
A church to be there for you when others let you down
‘Cause the day is gonna come
When you will be the one...

Who needs friends to be like family
In the best and worst of times
To celebrate your victories
Cry with you when you cry
A sea of faithful people
So that when the trouble comes
They surround you like a wave
That gently lifts you up...

And that takes
All of us, that takes all of us
That takes all of us

By Kyle Matthews ~ Copyright © 2008 Catalytic Songs (BMI) All Rights Reserved.

Getting Ready

*
Last Sunday, we got a new batch of wiggly fourth graders in our Sunday School class.
A new set of faces to get to know and love, to sit beside us in our circle in the candlelight, to hear the sacred stories, and to ponder with us what they might mean.
A new chorus of voices, sharing their child wisdom.
A new herd of bodies to teach to get ready.

Getting ready is so important.
We sat on the carpet and talked about how the stories were God's gifts, given to our ancestors, passed down to our grandparents and our parents and now to us. Presents, for us!
We want to be able to be still enough to hear God's voice. To be calm enough to hear God speaking through our own thoughts, to feel God nudging us.

"Don't worry," we told the children. "We'll help you."
"Before you come in, the teacher in the hall will ask each of you, one by one, if you're ready. If you feel too wiggly, that's okay," we said. "You can step out of the line and get all your jumpies out, have another sip of water, and then try getting ready again. You can join the circle when you're ready. But we hope you'll try very hard, because the stories are too special to miss a single word."

It always amazes me that the kids can do this. They really can! Even after a doughnut or two. Even after hanging out in the game room, where ping pong balls whiz across the room and it's too loud to hear yourself think.
Sometimes the kids do it better than I do.
When I'm teaching, I'm completely plugged in, but if it's my week off? I'm not always the model student of the carpet.
My mind sometimes drifts. My To Do lists interfere.
I really should step outside and get my wiggles out.

I was thinking about all of this as I stepped outside this morning, feeling the strange coolness in the air, the dew under my bare feet in the grass, the peppery scent of the muscadines ripening on the vines. As I reached out and touched a purple flower springing from the weeds in our garden, I felt a strange calm pass through me. I listened as a prayer formed in my brain, all by itself.

Thank you, God, that we don't have to do it all. That even when we can't do the work of getting ready, of shaking off our wiggles, of stilling our bodies, of clearing our thoughts, you suddenly appear out of nowhere, surprising us with your presence.
Thank you for preparing us, preparing the Way, even when we can't prepare ourselves. As we walk the path before each of us, help us be on the lookout for You.

What do you do to prepare the way for encounters with God? What helps you still your body and quiet your mind? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky

*Photo by lenoz, creative commons

Washed

Flickr photo by smlions12, creative commons

Do you remember your baptism?
Maybe you were just a baby and you have only the memories your parents shared with you. Or maybe you were older and were pushed into joining the church. Or maybe not. Maybe it was one of your most powerful experiences of your life, or maybe the meaningful part came later, when your faith grew, and you learned what it really means to be take your part in the church, your place in the family of God.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my baptism, probably because I just wrote about it over on the Being page of this blog. I hoped it might work as a way to introduce myself to newcomers here, to give a feel to who I am and why I write. And I hope it will encourage folks to keep coming back, to sit down in the circle and share your own faith stories.

As you can see by my own account, my baptism had a slightly shady/weird/embarrassing beginning, but it turned out to set me on my faith journey in quite a powerful way.
That's not so surprising, I suppose. Baptisms tend to be moving, powerful experiences.
Every single time I watch one, whether it be a baptism of a baby or an old man, in a church or in a swimming pool or creek or river, I say to myself, "That's got to be the most beautiful one I've seen yet."
And don't even get me talking about my children's baptisms. I'm all out of Kleenex!

So today I'm hoping that you'll share some baptism memories of your own. They could be of your own baptism, or others you've witnessed.
I hope you'll share!

Have an awesome weekend, y'all!
Love, Becky

PS. Enjoy this beautiful song, Been to the Water, by my friend, award winning songwriter Kyle Matthews.

Bubbling Up Soul Bread

Flickr photo by treehouse1977, creative commons
Just in case you're wondering what to buy your favorite ten year old boy, may I suggest a package of Fleischmann's?
Bubbling yeast is DISGUSTING, which makes it a fantastic gross out gift.
Kids love to watch it come alive, eat sugar, and poop out gas.
Yeast also comes in handy at church, if you don't mind your Sunday School smelling like a brewery.

I came armed Sunday morning with pockets full of packets, figuring I'd need all the help I could get. Susan and I trade teaching every week, and I drew the straw for the shortest lesson of the year. The parable of the leaven is one sentence long.
One sentence.
We've got fifty minutes each Sunday and at least a dozen 4th and 5th graders. We need a meaty story or the kids go nuts with the quick dry clay. Then they do rude things with pipe cleaners.

Normally, I love the lessons on the parables. We use a Montessori style curriculum called Godly Play, and each week of the summer we pick a new parable box, unpack it's contents, and study the story. I'm not being metaphorical here. It's a real box, painted gold, since parables are treasures.
But a one sentence lesson? I was nervous.
So I did what most Sunday School teachers do when they're nervous.

Step One: Read parable. In many translations.
He told them still another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough." Matthew 13:33

Step Two: Research
There were two interpretations on the parable: Many scholars view the yeast negatively, warning followers of the corrupting influence of evil in the church. Others view the parable as a celebration of the church's influence spreading throughout the world.

Step Three: Pray. And hide the quick dry clay.
After a few deep breaths and meditation, I decided once again to close my eyes and hold tight to the philosophy of Godly Play: to simply present the story, gently guide their discussion, and trust the Holy Spirit to help the kids discover the wisdom and meaning.
And then I hid the pipe cleaners.

Once everyone was seated criss-cross applesauce on the carpet, we began.
I admit that I started out a little hesitantly.
I showed them that the box had a lid, reminding us that sometimes parables are hard to enter into. Sometimes they're confusing, and we have to come back later and unpack them again to work out what they mean.

Then I told them the short, one sentence story, and I got ready to guide their discussion.
But first I opened the vial of yeast.
The kids peered in, sniffed it, and decided it was stinky. I let them tell me about the times they've baked bread and what exactly yeast does.
Just when I was about to take the reins again and dive back into the story, something beautiful happened.
The children took over.

"It's like a riddle!" one girl said. "I think I know what it means. Maybe it's that when we all work together we can get a lot done for God."
"Yeah, I think the woman is Jesus."
"Or maybe she's God's spirit. That when God gets mixed up through all the people, it helps the people do good things for God."
"But wait," another girl said, "it says the kingdom of heaven is like the yeast."
"Maybe it's us, the people of God. Maybe it's saying that we can pass on God's love, until the whole world sort of rises with it."

The kids kept going, scratching their heads and biting their lips and working hard at their thinking!
"Sorry to stop you," I finally said, "but we've got to go make our bread sticks if they're going to have time to bake."
Everyone cheered. (They always go crazy for food.)
But as they moved from the floor to the table, one boy got up in a dramatic huff. "This is crazy!" he said. "Why couldn't Jesus just TELL us what he meant?"
"Why do you think He didn't?"
"Maybe because He wanted us to figure it out ourselves," another boy added.
"Or maybe because it's kind of fun," said a girl. "And maybe because it means different things to different people."

At that very moment, the parable itself became bubbling yeast to me. We had opened the box and as we warmed it in our hands, the Holy Spirit breathed life into it. The story was now a living organism, and as we ate the bread sticks, shaped into crosses and snowmen and unintelligible lumps, it fed our souls as well.

Aren't kids the best teachers of all? They were so busy interpreting the story that I forgot all about the packets of yeast!
Have any more ideas about the parable? Thoughts on Sunday School and pipe cleaner madness? I love to hear what you're thinking!

Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky

PS. I wish I could hand you some bread, warm from the oven!

Flickr photo by treehouse1977, creative commons

God and Freedom and Pepto Bismol

Happy Belated Independence Day!
And yes, apparently pigs celebrate it too, though I bet that one wouldn't mind a little independence of his own, a chance to stroll his piggy toes freely through the amber waves of grain, untethered by pig leashes of any kind.
(Full disclosure: Watch out pigs. I love bacon.)

Did you have a fun 4th?
I love the holiday, the small town parades with fire engines and dogs wearing hats, the red, white, and blue bunting and the hot dogs and hamburgers, the pigs on parade.
There's just an eensy weensy part that makes me nervous. Okay, two parts, if you count the trepidation I feel as my husband and young pyromaniac set off Crazy Bob firecrackers on the driveway and then dance around with their arms in the air, laughing like mad scientists.

I guess my tummy just starts to percolate whenever people start tumbling God words and GO USA words all together.
Does this ever make you nervous too?

I love my country madly. Our four years in France gave me a new gratitude for the American can do spirit, our beautiful optimism, our willingness to reach out our hands to help those in need.

I'm thankful for people like my grandfather, who died ensuring the freedoms we hold dear, for people like my husband and my brother in law, who've given years of their lives in service to our country. We have such a rich heritage and live with privileges and rights unavailable to so many others in the world. We've been richly blessed.

But as a Christian, I pledge my foremost allegiance to God, a God who loves all of his children as much as any others.
So when I look at the freedoms and the blessings that I enjoy and then survey the world and see the need around me, what do I do with that?

As always, God can help me work this out. Gathering to pray and think with other believers usually makes things clearer.
Take a look at the scripture we read in worship.

For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.
For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence,^*14 but through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’
Galatians 5: 1, 13-14

Although Paul wrote these words to remind the Galatians that Christ frees them from legalism in their faith, from the overwhelming list of rules on diet and circumcision, the message speaks to us as well, warning us against self indulgence, self focus, perhaps against isolationism and nationalism.

It was a beautiful morning of worship. We heard an awesome sermon, sang O Beautiful for Spacious Skies and My Country, 'Tis of Thee. But when the choir stood to sing This is My Song, voila, my need for Pepto Bismol vanished.

Do you know the song? It's a Finnish anthem, Methodist hymn, and a new favorite of mine.
Joan Baez sings a version of the first two verses here, if you're interested.

This is my song, oh God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
This is my song, oh God of all the nations;
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

This is my prayer, o Lord of all earth's kingdoms
Thy kingdom come on earth thy will be done.
Let Christ be lifted up till all shall serve him.
And hearts united learn to live as one.
Oh hear my prayer, o God of all the nations.
Myself I give thee; let thy will be done.

So today as I look at our flag hanging from my porch, I'll thank God for his many blessings, and sing a Tiny Tim prayer for all the nations. God bless us, every one.

Tell me, as you splash around in the morning-after patriotism, how does this strike you? Have you had the same questions? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Have a great Monday, y'all!
Love, Becky

Making Room for the Gypsies

Did your parents ever threaten to sell you to the gypsies if you didn't behave?
It's something people like to joke about, but given the loving spirit of the gypsies I've met recently, I have no doubt that they'd be glad to take you in.

I was sitting in my pew Sunday morning, minding my own business, feeling thankful for the ever widening and merging circles of the family of God, when my circle morphed before my eyes!
In walked the gypsies, and I've been singing ever since.
Meet my new friends, y'all.


They're teens from the Gandhi school in Pecs, Hungary, and they're Roma people, also called gypsies. The guy in the middle is my friend Glen Adkins, the former music minister at my church. Clista and Glen sold their house and moved to Hungary three years ago to work at the school with the gypsy kids, to start a choir and teach them about God's love. Now they're taking a few of them around the southeastern United States, sharing their musical gifts with our corner of the world and telling the story of the Roma people.
(Look here to see if they're visiting a church near you. Just click the tour button.)

Photo by my friend Elaine. (Thanks, Elaine!)
They sang at church Sunday morning, and gave another program Sunday night. I wish you could have been there. The kids are obviously having a blast.

Do you know about the Roma?
For centuries, they've sat outside the circle of the family of God. Not because they wanted to, but because the world slammed the door and locked it in their faces. The 12 million gypsy people in Europe face overt discrimination in housing, health care and education. I've seen it for myself.

During my French life, I was told to be careful of the gypsies, that they were robbers, a poor, dirty race of people up to no good. I'd see them camped outside my village and watch the crowds part whenever they walked through the market.

After years and years of being shut out and scorned, many gypsies believe that God hates them too. Thankfully, people like Glen and Clista are willing to show them that they've got it all wrong, that Roma people, too, are created to bask in God's love, to sit in the circle of the family of God, to dance in it and sing!

Let me tell you, these kids can sing.
Give a listen to this Hungarian gypsy hymn, Zöld az erdö.



The music is enchanting, but the words will break your heart.

Green are the woods and green are the mountains.
Our luck just comes and goes.
Trouble cuts into our flesh with sharp knives.
The world has become a land of hypocrites.
The whole world is our enemy.
We live like chased thieves.
We have not stolen but a nail from Jesus's bleeding palm.
God, have mercy on us. Don't let our people suffer any longer.
We are damned. We are beaten. We have been made eternal vagabonds.

The song gives me goosebumps.
We have not stolen but a nail from Jesus's bleeding palm.
Oh, dear Roma. Don't you know that the nail was given for you, too?

The story of the Roma people reminds me that there are others around me who've been made to feel that they're not allowed in the family of God because of their history, their lifestyle, their circumstances, or the prejudice against them.
Jesus mourns, and God's family is incomplete.
God, help me find people in my own life who've felt shut out and welcome them into the circle.

Have you ever felt you didn't belong in a circle of faith? What made the difference for you?
Who do you see sitting out of the circle now? What can we do to help them find their place with us?

Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!
Love, Becky

The Joy of Aaron's Oily Hair

Flickr photo by spapax, creative commons
Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed to find myself in ever-enlarging, ever-linking and merging circles of the family of God, that I'm afraid to speak for the blubbering tears that might come out.

So Friday night, as I grabbed Todd's hand and pulled him toward the doors of the Charlotte Convention Center, I tried not to make eye contact with anyone, sure that the sight of God in one more face would turn me into a less mascara-ed, smaller haired version of Tammy Faye.

I'd made the trip to Charlotte for two nights in a row because I thought it'd be fun to take part in my denomination's national assembly. But by the end of the second service, my eyes had taken in about as much beautiful community and worship and joy as these peepers could hold.

This circle of God's family was led by smart women and beautiful men, (and vice versa!) young and old, black and white, the mildly musically talented, and the man singing opera behind me Friday night. (Whoa dude, that's quite a joyful noise!)

And if that wasn't enough, I had come to Charlotte already brimming with gratitude.

In the past few weeks, I've discovered more about the faith of people all around me, including you sweet people, my old and new friends. I've felt welcomed into circles of Episcopalians and Methodists, Catholics and Baptists, Quakers and Presbyterians, circles of every hue in Christ's crayon box.

I can feel these circles merging and morphing, changing and dancing, just like the circle Karen Dresser depicts in her art.

I can't help thinking of Psalm 133.

How good and pleasant it is
when God's people live together in unity!

It is like precious oil poured on the head,
running down on the beard,
running down on Aaron's beard,
down on the collar of his robe.

It is as if the dew of Hermon
were falling on Mount Zion.
For there the LORD bestows his blessing,
even life forevermore.
Psalm 133:1-3, Today's New International Version

Precious indeed! Thank you for being part of my circle.

Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!

Love, Becky

Cords of Kindness

Flickr photo by DeaPeaJay , creative commons
"I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love. I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them."
Hosea 11:4, NRSV

Melissa was a homeless woman, living in a Sunday school room in our church with her three kids for one week as part of our participation in the Greenville Area Interfaith Hospitality Network. I was her host for the evening, and it was my first time.

I was a little nervous, to be honest.
Still, I couldn't just hide in the host room. Todd had offered to take her kids down to the gym with our three, and I could already hear them laughing and talking and having a big time.
I stepped into the hallway, took a few steps toward her door, then darted back to the host room, a scared bunny rabbit.

What was wrong with me? I believed in the program. I really did.
Our church had plenty of room, and I was all for offering it a few times a year to homeless families struggling to get back on their feet. I'd worked with homeless kids before and loved every exhausting minute of it. So what was the problem?

It wasn't the kids. It was the mom.
Kids were easy, but how would I relate to a homeless mom?
She had the door closed anyway. Maybe she didn't want interaction.

I could knock, but would she want to talk? And if she felt like it, what would we talk about?
I didn't want to intrude or make her think I was getting in her business, but I didn't want to ignore her either.
Enough of this, I thought. It's her first night at our church, and by golly, she's going to feel welcomed.

I was just getting ready to knock when her door opened.
"Well hi there," she laughed.
"Hi. I was just...uh... coming by to see if you needed anything."
"Oh, thanks. I don't think so. This room is so nice. It's going to do just fine."
"I'm glad," I said.
We looked at each other for a moment.
"I'm just getting settled," she said, returning to her chore, taking the kids' clothes out of her plastic trash bag, folding them, and setting them on a table. "But if you feel like talking, I'd be happy to have some company. Here," she said, pulling a plastic chair off the stack beside her. She patted the seat. "Come on in and let's talk while I put our things away."

I was supposed to be her host, but as she welcomed me into her bedroom, moving a suitcase out of my way, I felt like the guest of honor.
But I still wasn't sure what to say.

"This is a nice church," she said. "Have you been going here long?"
It was an easy question, and soon I relaxed and we were chatting away. We talked about our kids and where they go to school. She told me about the kerosene fire in her rental house, and how her ex-husband was incarcerated, and even though they'd been divorced a while, her youngest son still cries for him. She told me about the fund-raising program in her home church, how on the big dedication day all the church members were going to walk down the aisle with their pledges, wearing the different colors of the rainbow, celebrating God's promise.

Before I knew it, three and a half hours had passed and I was sad to leave. She'd been so kind to me, and we'd enjoyed each others' company. We had so much in common, really, both mothers, caring about our children and trying our hardest to make a good life for ourselves and for them, a life that pleases and honors God. Both making tons of mistakes along the way.

Now, three years later, I'm still thankful for Melissa's kindness. My experience with her made me want to volunteer again and again. She taught me just to be myself with other homeless women and men, and because of that, I've had the privilege of hearing many stories of grace, courage and deep, abiding faith in the face of dire circumstances.
I have no doubt that as Melissa reached out to me, her kindness became one of those cords used by God, pulling me along, leading me toward joy.

I'm so thankful that God doesn't yank us through our days on a leash, as if we're dogs, or string us along like a heavenly puppeteer. How marvelous that the Holy Spirit can work through the kind actions and words of those around us, fanning them, like a mysterious perfume that piques our senses, a scent that we can't help but follow.

How wonderful that in every loving gesture of a friend or stranger, God is lifting us to his cheek, nuzzling us, whispering His love in our ears, nourishing us with soul food.
It makes me want to pull my head out of my calendar and make sure I'm ready to be kind.

So many of you have been God's nourishment to me, whether you know it or not. Thank you!
I'd love to hear about a kindness you've experienced lately, big or small. Do you feel like God's rope--or just a bunch of loose threads? :)

Have a wonderful Monday, y'all!
Love, Becky

Miss Eula

Flickr photo from Prisoner 5413
Her name was Eula, and she told me she was seventy four years old.
"I never imagined I would be living like this," she said, looking around at the Sunday school room our church had made into a shelter for homeless families for the week as part of our participation in the Greenville Area Interfaith Hospitality Network.

I nodded.

"Homeless, at my age? Why, I've always had a home." She ran a hand through her thinning hair, and then rested it on the growth on her neck. The growth worried me. It was gray, like a huge skin tag, but had a reddish side. I tried not to stare.

"But I had to take Cindy out of that house," she said, then looked away. "I worked all my life, in a doctor's office. Dr. Jackson. Do you know him? I believe he went to church here. His wife was real sweet."

"No, I don't think I know him. Do they still go here?"

"Oh no. They passed on years ago. You would have liked them. They were fine people."

We walked to the game room and sat down on plastic chairs to watch her granddaughter play air hockey with the other children. She was a tiny little girl with a face like a moon, big blue eyes and a mane of curly hair neatly clipped with a barrette. Her nose was stuffed up, so she kept her mouth open to breathe as she played.

"Cindy, come here," Miss Eula said and held up a Kleenex. "Blow. There, that's good." She fished a Chap Stick out of her pants pocket. "Stay still." Miss Eula smeared it on her lips and nodded for Cindy to go back to playing.

"She's feeling poorly because she has an ear infection. Both ears, poor thing. I have to just about sit on the child to get her to take that medicine. You know, the pink stuff. She doesn't like it one little bit, but I tell her, 'Honey, you have to. We have to get you well.'"

"She looks like she might be feeling better since dinner."

"Yes ma'am. I believe it's finally working."

Miss Eula looks at the other children. "Those little black girls there, they've been so good to her. Lord knows Cindy needs them. She gets lonesome, with it being just me and her. It's been nearly a year now since her momma left, and do you know, she still cries for her? At night, especially. And her momma hasn't one time called or come to see her, not once. I thought she might on Cindy's birthday, but she didn't. At the school she goes to, the mommas, they come in to help in the classroom. I said to her, I said, "Cindy, I could come in and help your teacher,' but she said she didn't want me to."

Miss Eula raised her head, looked at me, and her eyes began to glisten. "I asked her if she was...if she was ashamed of me," she said. "She said no. She said that all the other kids have their mommas. She didn't want them to know that she didn't have no momma. I think it's the word momma that means so much to her. It's the word that means so much."

"But it's so wonderful that Cindy has you."

"Well, I do the best I can for her, but I'm not her momma. But I guess it's just as well her momma's gone with her drinking like she does. She's Spanish, so I put her over at this school where they teach the children Spanish, so maybe one day she could talk with her. But I don't know if it's ever gonna happen."

"I'm not gonna let her momma do anything to hurt her, that's for sure. And her daddy, my son, he was living with us, but he's not any better, I'm sorry to say. And one night it got so bad that I just packed us up and we left with little more than the clothes on our backs. So here we are."

"You're taking such good care of her."

"Oh, I'll take care of her. I'll take care of her if it's the last thing I do. But, she does have some nice friends at school, so it's not so bad. Her best little friend at school is Dr. Smith's little girl--Dr. Smith, from the Greenville clinic. Do you know him? He's a good man. A nice family. They had us stay with them over Christmas and they made it so nice for us. They even bought us presents. I wish I could have given them something, but I guess they understood. They did let me fix some cornbread for them to have at Christmas dinner. Dr. Smith says you just can't find good cornbread around here, and he sat there and ate three pieces. Three! I tell you, it did my heart good to see him enjoy it so. There are good people in the world, thank the Lord.

"I'm hoping I can get a job of some kind, but it's not easy now, at my age. I've got an application in at a grocery store, and another for cleaning houses. I didn't think life would be this way, but you just never know. We're not promised anything, are we? But Cindy and me, we have each other. She's a blessing, even with all that's happened."



Hey friends. I was so inspired by Miss Eula's story that I wanted to share it with you.

Have a beautiful Monday!
Love, Becky

PS. Names were changed, of course, for the sake of privacy.
If you have time, I hope you'll watch a bit of this video from Family Promise. If this charity interests you, you might want to find out if they have an affiliate in your area. Our church hosts three families for one week, three or four times a year. It's a wonderful way to meet incredible people trying to get their feet back on the ground.

Happy Easter!

What's your favorite symbol of Easter?
Lambs or butterflies? Lilies? Easter eggs?
I think the flowery cross is my favorite. I just can't get over God's genius that even in the end (or in the beginning, if you like,) Christ made an ugly instrument of death into something beautiful!
But doesn't that fit?
Wasn't Christ always doing things like that? Turning things upside down, sharing his crazy-to-the-world wisdom in statements like:
The first shall be last,
Happy are those who mourn,
and Whoever humbles himself like a child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

When our Sunday school kids decorated the cross with flowers, they were celebrating what Christ had already done.
I don't know about you, but all this Easter joy has got me singing...
Up from the grave He arose, With a mighty triumph o’er His foes, He arose a Victor from the dark domain, And He lives forever, with His saints to reign. He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!

Happy Easter, y'all!
Love, Becky



PS. Just in case you prefer the symbolism of a lamb to a flowery cross, here's a treat for you!
It's BAAAAAD. (Meaning good, of course!:)

Christmas by Candlelight. And My Pagan Baptist Husband.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/theoquinnfamily/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
(Great job, KevinOQ. What a terrific photo!)

Last night was the Lessons and Carols service at our church, and I must confess, I didn't really feel like going. No, I hadn't turned into Mrs. Grinch, with termites in my smile and garlic in my soul. It had been a busy weekend, we'd already been to Sunday school and church that morning, and I just wanted to slouch around the house and finish the crossword and try not to think about how many calories I'd ingested in all those Christmas cookies I saved from Tanner. Plus, I occasionally like to pretend I'm a hermit. The service attracts huge crowds of people I've never even seen before, and lots of folks get there an hour early just to secure a pew up front.
Ugh, crowds.
Also, there's the candle thing. It's probably because of the years I spent teaching chemistry, but the thought of hundreds of candles held by preschoolers and old people with shaky hands and women with so much hair...it made me nervous. Or maybe it was an excuse.
I just didn't feel like fooling with the whole thing.

"But it's the candlelight service," Sarah said. "You don't really want to miss that."
I sort of did, to tell the truth. But we went anyway.

It was exquisite.
Breathtaking.
The children reading the scripture, the big extended families taking up entire pews, the little ones bouncing off the walls, the glow of the candlelight on faces of people I've loved since my college student was a pink newborn.

I love how the sanctuary gets darker and darker as the lessons and carols advance, until virtually the only light is the one flickering from the advent wreath. Then, as we take the light from the Christ candle and share it with each other, the room brightens again. What a lovely symbol!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/wicks/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

That reminds me. The winter solstice is today. Did you know?
I'm so glad that early Christians chose to put Christmas right around the time of the pagan celebration of the winter solstice, the return of light after the longest night of the year. In fact my wonderfully geeky husband is so delighted with the timing that a few years ago he started an annual bonfire celebration in our backyard. It's a chance to trade the Christmas cookies for marshmallow roasting for a night, and to celebrate the transition of darkness into light.
We may be the only Baptists on the block adding a little solstice to our Christmas cheer, but it seems to me like a perfect fit.

In case you're not planning to fire up your own yule log, I brought you one. Enjoy the light!
Love, Becky

Sum-thing Special!

Today's Wonder of the World is...Dim Sum!

Happy Chinese New Year everyone!
Did you know the Year of the Ox officially starts today? I thought we'd celebrate by honoring dim sum, (also known as Chinese brunch,) since folks all over will be enjoying it. Unfortunately nobody serves it around Greenville, South Carolina. Boo hoo. I'll just have to drool over the pictures and remember the love story... (Cue the violins--or maybe cue a Chinese bamboo flute. That would be more appropriate.)

Let me first take you to to the birthplace of my passion for dim sum.

Flickr photo by smata2
Yes! It's Calvary Baptist, our church home when we newlyweds moved to Washington DC back in the Dark Ages. (1987)
Calvary, how I love you! For teaching me that an integrated church isn't just possible, it's WONDERFUL! And for showing me how much I love working with homeless families...
But that's another story.

Back to dim sum...
No, Calvary Baptist doesn't operate a Chinese restaurant out of its basement.
But see what's right behind it?

Flickr photo by fivesixzero
Chinatown!

So guess what we had for lunch after church each Sunday...

Flickr photo by Dan_DC
Dim sum!

Part of the reason dim sum is so fun to eat is the way that it's served.

Flickr photo by wireguy
Waitresses walk by your table with carts and you choose what you'd like to try.
It's all in the bamboo steamers or on little plates.

Oh, I almost forgot. Everything is served with hot tea, of course.

Flickr photo by Lola Blue
If it wasn't for tea, there'd be no dim sum. Dim sum actually means "touch the heart." It's not a heavy meal, just enough to touch the heart, just a few little tidbits to accompany the tea.

On to the tidbits!
There isn't room on one blog post to list all the choices, so I'll just show you my favorites.
There are steamed shrimp dumplings...

Flickr photo by chattycha

And my all time favorite, barbecued pork buns!

Flickr photo by luckyfish
(They're the white balls in the back, between the meat balls and the wrapped sticky rice.)

I like these too--money bag dumplings.

Flickr photo by tofu666
Yum.

Be sure not to miss dessert.

Flickr photo by The Mooncake Box
Those are pineapple balls and sesame balls! The sesame ones are my favorite.
Shoot. Now I'm drooling.
I'm going to have to drum up the strength of an ox to fend off this dim sum craving!

Flickr photo by Samurai Shiatsu
Maybe that pretty bamboo will distract me...
Nope. I'm still thinking sesame buns.
Anybody want to take a road trip to Atlanta?
Have a wonder-full day, y'all!
And Happy Chinese New Year!


See you Wednesday!
Love, Becky