Hard Questions

As I sat in a care meeting with my care committee for the Commission on Ministry, one morning, in what feels like decades ago, they asked me the question, “What’s the most important thing you’ve learned from seminary so far?” I sat to ponder on the question and another member said “I know that may be a hard question, but it’s an important one”.  I replied, “I like the hard questions. They help me think and learn and grow.”  I can’t say I remember how I answered that particular question that day, but it satisfied their curious minds about my development in ministry.  I sit here 5 years post graduation, working as a dispatcher for a trucking company, and wondering how I find myself at the edge of being in ministry again.

My story is as complicated as it is simple. I first discovered my call to ministry at the age of 15.  A man named Tracy Carroll told me that he believed that he saw the light of God in me and that I should consider going into ministry. As I finished up my undergrad in Sociology, I applied to a few seminaries.  A mere week after I received my acceptance letter to Eden Theological Seminary, I found out I was pregnant with my first child.  Something as simple as a child wouldn’t stop me from figuring out how seminary would work, so I started seminary that February with some big naive eyes. 4 years and a total of 3 pregnancies later, I graduated with my M.Div. Later that year I filed for divorce and ministry was put on hold.

I could give you my sob story about how I wasn’t given the opportunities that I deserved.   While this is partially accurate, I was finding myself again after a divorce that was due in large part to me. I was told by the area minister that most churches around here wouldn’t like a divorced mom of three to preach to them. I did little to fight back on these issues and very little to fight for myself. I wasn’t interested in the hard question...the one that weighed on my mind no matter what I did, “Do you still want to do ministry, Brittany?”.

Time marched on and my kids grew. I changed positions in my job. I found opportunities to fill in occasionally at my local church and so my need to preach a word got quenched and I let my idea of being ordained one day slip away. My call became a distant whisper in the back of my mind.

In Summer 2017 lots of things happened that would change the course of my life, as summers often do. My mother’s best friend, a second mother to me, passed suddenly.  I ended an unhealthy relationship. And my kids went to Vacation Bible School. There, my mom, in all her loving pride, told another area pastor about my seminary education, my frustration with my denomination, and my lack of a church. From there, the Holy Spirit moved.

Another hard question, was I committed to sticking with my denomination? Truth be told,  the two main differences between these denomination have to do with baptism and communion, neither were issues that I was worried about the particulars too much to squabble on it. This hard question still weighs on my mind, as my denomination is important to me, but it won’t hold me back either.

The hard questions are often the most important questions we ask ourselves. Do those hard questions always receive clear and concise answers? No. Should we try to see what kind of answers we can find in the midst of wrestling with these questions? Absolutely.  As we enter the spring season where everything blooms new and different and exciting, I hope that we can all ask ourselves the hard questions in our lives. The hard questions are what get us the jobs we’ve always hoped for, the relationships we’ve been waiting our entire life for, and the children who follow their dreams.

Today I ask myself one more hard question. Was it all worth it? I can honestly answer that yes, every moment led me here to where I am supposed to be. So, ask yourself the hard questions, even when it hurts. The hard questions are the only worthwhile questions.

The trouble with the past.

I did it.  I finally did.  It took years and years.  It took many friends, many losses, much pain, but I did it. I wondered if this day would ever come, I fought and cried and felt like I was bleeding, but I did it. I’m happy.  I’m alone and I’m happy and I’m no longer living in the past. I’m living in the present, living for the day to day.

 Living in the past is something we all do from time to time.  We look around our lives and see the small bits of unhappiness and we decide to look back and remember the past instead. That’s something that is concrete, no matter how much it hurts.  It’s something that is unchangeable and familiar. Living in the past seems much safer than looking in the present and toward the future

The truth is, our past isn’t very glamorous.  It’s filled with heartaches and missed deadlines.  It’s filled with failure and lost friendships. It also is covered with the Amaro filter that Instagram has.  It makes everything a little hazy, but also brighter and more attractive.  It feels like it should be relived.

The problem with living in the past is that it causes you repeated heartache.  You long for people no longer in your life.  You stop looking toward the future and the goals that you once had.  You sit in a rut and wish things were the way they used to be.  It’s completely unhealthy and it’s completely addictive. We can bemoan how unfairly we were treated, we can think of how amazing that other person was, but the reality is, we are no longer that person.

However, when we look to the past, it may often help us move forward.  We can see the mistakes that we have made, the changes large and small we have made and the difference in our life now.  It helps us look to the future with clearer eyes. Sometimes, we can remind ourselves of the very real fears that we had about what the future we are currently living in would be. 

Living in the present is terrifying.  We are a brand new person every day, full of experience and life.  There is little certainty of what will happen minute to minute.  That makes it even more exciting and important.  The past? Well, we know exactly how it ends and it’s fun to imagine the might have beens. It feels like healing to wax poetic about how badly someone hurt us or how much we loved someone.

The lessons of our past truly have set up this wonderful future we find ourselves in today. I have often thought that my life was going to be forever changed by an event or decision before me.  The terror was real that I would make the wrong decision and  I wouldn’t be able to recover from it.  Now, I sit back and look at those decisions.  Sure, they were difficult, important, some even life changing, however, they are the reason I am here where I am today. 

We can look back at the past and realize that even on our darkest days, there were plenty of reasons to feel bright and passionate.  We might be wistful about certain aspects of the past, but we can appreciate how our present and our future is informed. Living in the past is always going to lead to heartache.  However, reflecting on the past to move into a new future, can lead to a great insight into what the future can bring us.

As I look to the future now, I can do so with a fresh heart.  I know that nothing that comes my way can destroy me.  The only enemy that can truly heart me, is myself. The past has taught me that nothing else can stand in my way.

My hope is that someday, you can live in the present, too.  The feeling is much lighter and hope filled than I could have imagined.  Maybe I will find love, maybe I won’t.  Maybe I will reach all my dreams and maybe I will fail miserably into a new reality of dreams I have.  Happiness must come from yourself and life is an every changing journey.  Just remember that the past isn’t where we are any longer and the present is full of potential.

My someone

When I think about the possibility that maybe my someone is out there, it both makes me smile and makes me want to cry. We all hope for a special someone.  That person who sees all the broken pieces and recognizes how special that makes you.  I've met some people who I had thought might be it, who I loved all their broken pieces, but I was wrong.  There is nothing wrong with being wrong though.  Loving people is important, and some of the most lovely times in my life have been with the people who couldn't love me quite enough.

You see? My someone, well, he has to be pretty brave.  I'm quite a lot, and I know now that I shouldn't have to hide it. My someone will not make me question if I am enough. This isn't to say my someone doesn't deserve the exact same treatment, they absolutely do.

Waiting for my someone is so difficult.  Some days, it feels lonely and sad.  I could find him tomorrow or ten years from now.  I often find myself missing someone, but I don't know who.  But a part of me is missing, and I'm longing for it.  I don't know who has or where this piece of me is. Some days I don't miss it at all.  But some nights at 2am, it whispers to me.

It has taken a long time to not try to fill that void with subpar company.  It looks like you are being rude, but it feels like honesty. Why beg for attention from anyone?  Why seek attention from someone you know isn't right?  Be true to yourself.

My someone is probably not looking for me, at least, not exactly.  I don't think anyone is every quite looking for me.  I hide behind so much bluster, you'd never know how often I cry.  You'd never know that all I want is someone who wants me as much as I want them.  You'd never know how insecure I truly am.

But why do I want to cry? Because what if my someone isn't out there? Or worse, what if I never find him?  I must remain hopeful, but the thought remains.  What if, what if I remain alone?

Those insecurities were given to me by weak men.  Men who didn't understand why I didn't shine the way they wanted. So, I dimmed my shine,  I hide my intensity, I became a monochromatic version of myself.  I shine in glitter and rainbows, intense and wonderful and important.  And my someone will know that.

Almost three years since my separation and divorce...here's what I know...

Life is funny.  To quote The Doctor: “The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.” When I knew that I could no longer continue in my marriage, I was terrified.  We had three small children together, one of which was not even a month old.  I knew that it was going to be very rough for quite awhile, but I also knew that it was something that must be done.

I didn't respond correctly to the situations at hand.  I cried a lot, hid away from the world, and was generally unpleasant to be around.  I found salvation with friends who understood what I was going through and helped me find healthier ways of consoling myself.  You see, even when you are the person that wants the divorce, it is still extremely difficult emotionally.  I had my pile of bad things and I wanted to ignore my pile of good things, but thankfully that mentality didn't last forever.

Here's what I've learned, the good things often don't make themselves as known as the bad things.  I have searched off and on for a partner to share this life with.  So far, nothing has worked out for me and frankly, I'm okay with that.  It seems that living alone has had some good effects on me.  I seem to eat out less and also seem to be more motivated to clean and get out and do things with the kids.  The good thing here doesn't seem apparent does it?  I'm not stuck in a relationship that is not fruitful to my life and well being.  I am making it on my own.

I know for some, finding a partner can be very easy after they get out of a relationship or marriage.  Here's what I learned, hopping from one person to the next is just going to frustrate you and likely make you feel dejected.  Time is our friend.  Alone time with your thoughts is your friend.  Figuring out what you really want out of life is extremely rewarding.  It may seem like this person or that person is filling a void, but that may only be for awhile.  Look for someone who helps you heal your void.

I've learned mostly, that while at the time I thought my divorce was the end of the world, it has turned out to be a blessing.  I enjoy life so much more now.  And my kids now have a bonus mom, who loves and cares for them.  Maybe some day they will have a bonus dad, too.  Mostly, I'm just happy that I have the whole bed to myself (until 3am when Kellan climbs in).

On being perfect...

Riddle me this: a person has a bad experience and that person either receives sympathy or condemnation for the bad experience.  Two groups of people then duke it out to explain how ignorant the other is.  Nothing is accomplished except denigrating others for the sake of being right.  But what's the real issue here?  Well, what if we are wrong?  Then we wouldn't be perceived as perfect and as such might feel even worse.

I'm becoming increasingly disillusioned with social media and the need to rant and rave about every single thing going on in the world (world of course meaning United States and sometimes Canada or the UK, as I have a small social media interaction from other areas).  We complain our lives away.  This person isn't a good parent.  That parent is failing.  This group of people are idiots.  This group of people are racists.  While it is important to have public discourse on issues of safety and justice, it seems that a lot of what I see now is just hateful comments back and forth.

I do realize that I am now writing a blog about said complaining and ranting and raving.  This is more to come outside of all these debates and remind everyone of something profoundly simple.  WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES.  No one, not one single person is without fault.  We do the wrong things, say the wrong things, we get offended over things that are often ridiculous.  We are humans.  The most important thing we can gain from social media is learning how to accept each other despite our mistakes.

This is not a call to allow people to be treated poorly for the sake of keeping things calm.  This is not a call to stop all complaining on Facebook or Twitter or whatever app you're using.  This is not a call to ask people to step down from the great justice work that they are doing.  This is a call for rationality.

We are not perfect.  People are going to say and do the wrong things. A lot.  People are going to disagree over politics, religion, and child rearing.  A lot.  People are going to fight for their rights and seek justice in this world.  A lot.  We must find a way to interact that is less toxic to ourselves and to others.

I found myself today on several occasions reading a status or a post and internalizing feelings because of them.  The posts were most certainly not about me, but I felt I could relate to the person that the post was complaining about.  I wonder how many times I have hurt someone without realizing it, just for my stance on an issue or the way I presented the people on the other side of a debate.

We must do better.  We must work harder to think before we type.  I say we, because I know that I'm guilty of this, too.  Now, go outside and do something kind.  Lift your spirit.  Walk away from the keyboard and let something go that might otherwise make you so angry you could barely see.  Just once, do that for me and think about how that feels.  I hope it feels good.

My muchness

I've been burdened with my muchness for as long as I can remember.  NO NO NO NO! Stop yourself right now, you are wanting to say.  Never be burdened by your muchness! It is what makes you, you.  I know this and it is a burden nonetheless.  And on the converse side, this is not to say that other people are somehow less intense or passionate or important as me.

I can distinctly remember high school.  How I was often too much and never enough.  I was so intense and in your face with my beliefs and moral and interests. I was not enough with my lack of interest in drinking and dating and other shallow interests (at least I thought so at the time). I was never the right something.  My muchness always consumed me.

My muchness has transformed over time.  My passions have changed.  My intense need to be me has transformed.  Here's what I've found, my muchness is a burden and a blessing. My muchness, oh my muchness, how it makes everything so much more intense.

People are initially attracted to muchness.  They see your passion.  They see your intensity and they want a part of that. So enticing, I'd imagine. When you are looking in, it seem so wonderful.  It's not.  It's scary as hell.  It's in your face.

I often joke with friends that people stick around for less than two weeks. That's all the more it takes for most people to be "over it". I no longer mind much anymore.  Everyone says they are "different", that they'd never be sick of me, but few are right, and that's okay.  My muchness states that I can't be held back by the feelings of others.

My muchness is a blessing for those who stick, truly stick.  Not the ones who hang on by a thread to bask in my energy.  That's unfair to me.  It wastes my time, and energy and frankly, it wastes theirs too, to be partially consumed with each other, but nothing that matters too much.  While I don't think it's always intentional, it usually ends up hurting.

M muchness will fill your heart with love, your body with energy and leave your face with a smile.  I'll remember the little things.  Celebrate small victories with you.  I will have your back no matter what, to the moon and back.

Yes.  I will be intense.  I will take up your time.  I will laugh.  I will be silly.  I will cry.  I will text you at 3am when I can't sleep.  I will remember things you didn't think I could possibly remember.

My muchness isn't for everyone, I realize that now. It is a blessing for those who can handle it and occasionally a curse for me.  I will always attract people with the brightness of my flame. And I will scare those same people off with the heat of my fire.

Dearest Mom,

Dearest Mom,

Today on Mother's Day, I thought long and hard about how I could best honor you.  No gift is enough, no card quite right.  SO, I thought, maybe writing you something might be a more appropriate gift.

From a mom, to my mom, on Mother's Day, as I reflect on my childhood until now, first and foremost, Id like to say, I'm sorry!  I know you're probably thinking that there's no apology needed, but I declare it warranted.  You see, I know now, being a mom is no joke.  It's 24/7 worry/nerves/regret/happiness/love and it is INTENSE! You couldn't have possibly warned me.  But you showed me how to be a mom from the time I can remember.

My best memories from grade school and high school are the ways that you made me feel special and important.  I remember in high school when someone broke up with me and you sent me flowers to cheer me up.  I remember you sending me flowers on Valentines and remembering which soda and candy I preferred.  You bought brand specific mac and cheese because you knew I preferred it. You often were my most ardent cheerleader, while giving me space to make my own decisions.

You've always supported my hopes and dreams.  No matter how small (trying out for a competitive cheer squad, making it, and subsequently quitting) or big (shooting for the stars and ending up at seminary).  You came to every basketball game that you could.  You supported my multiple after school activities, even going from one to the next.  I'm not sure you had time to even think sometimes, and there was only one of me.

Let's be honest, I've fallen on my ass, a lot.  You've never made me feel less than for those mistakes.  You've always supported me through the tough times.  I wouldn't be where I am today without your undying support.  I hope to use that as a guide with my own kids, though you are already their biggest fan as well.

I could never put into words the amazing things you've done for me. Those seen and unseen.  I hope to be half the mother you have been to my own children. I love you until the number end plus one.

Happy Mother's Day.

I can't dance for you anymore.

I can’t dance for you anymore. I know I always have.  I laugh and smile and fill the silences.  I listen to your problems and share deep parts of myself trying to connect in some way to you.  Dancing for you can be like a drug.  You compliment me and praise me.  You think you see hidden parts of me.  And for the moment, you think, “I want to be a part of that”.

But that feeling never lasts.  Eventually I get tired.  The dance becomes sloppy or maybe I ask you to join the dance, but you are more of a wallflower.  The façade starts to crack and you realize, I’m just a normal person.  My special pieces are still hidden away, they were never part of the dance.

I can’t dance for you anymore.  It hides the pieces of me I value most.  I value my soft heart and my big naïve eyes.  I value the trust that I have in others and the need to be kind over anything else. I value the differences in everyone and the heat of a good debate.  I value my happiness much more than I’ve ever valued the dance.

I can’t dance for you anymore.  This dance was never really mine anyway.  It was pieced together from all the people who have come before wanting certain parts of me to shine or fade. I faded until the dance dulled away all that was actually me.  I was merely a shadow on the stage.

I can’t dance for you anymore. It is too tiring and my feet and my soul are hurting.  I’ve fallen away from the parts of my life that help me feel most alive.  The dance became the most important thing to me.  Just one more dance and they’ll finally care enough to make the effort.  Just one more dance and they will understand how much I care.  Just one more dance and they will smile at me the way I smile at them.  Just one more dance and maybe they will notice how much I care about them.  No matter how many times I danced, it wasn’t enough.

I can’t dance for you anymore. It kills me slowly inside, to be “on” all the time.  I just want someone to see the real me.  I want someone to not need me to dance for them at all. So, while I know it’s disappointing, I can’t dance for you anymore.

When the "enemy" becomes your friend.

I find it most interesting that I was so ignorant about so much of Islam. I say that laughingly because I was always the person saying "no, that's not in the Qu'ran, no that's not something that is taught to Muslims" etc etc etc.

I decided to take a class this semester called "Islam: History, Philosophy, and Religion". The class is taught by a religious studies professor and a practicing Muslim. She was born in Turkey, but is a US citizen. She also, until recently, was on the board for the ACLU. This is all important to her identity.

I was completely ignorant about this beautiful religion. I had no idea what was included in the Qu'ran (plenty of stories about Adam, Abraham and Jesus). I had no idea the rich history and tradition that is essential to Islam. I had no idea the racial make up of Muslim in the United States (1/3 African American, 1/3 Indian, Indonesian, and 1/3 Middle Eastern). I had no idea of the cultural effect of certain countries and the direct correlation to their ideas about Islam. I was completely ignorant. That was just weeks 1 and 2!

The story that broke my heart and really opened my eyes was a story she told about her daughter. Her daughter was 5 when 9/11 happened. Several weeks after the attacks, her daughter came and said, "Mama, Why are all Muslims so bad?" (they are of course practicing Muslims, so her daughter is referring to herself and her parents too). A 5 year old had learned through media and school that all Muslims are bad. Why do we not see the crime in this?

It's not simple enough to just say "well they have religious freedom". We need to take a stand against those who are trying (and succeeding) in dehumanizing our Islamic brothers and sisters. Learn more about Islam, learn more about people you may know who are Muslim, stop hate language by protesting or writing letters to those who use it in mainstream media or politicians who use it. Yes we have freedom of speech, we also have the freedom of speech to protest the words used to oppress people.

Am I asking you to worship with Muslims? Certainly not, unless you'd like to and you are welcomed. Am I asking you to convert to Islam? I would never ask anyone to convert or change their beliefs simply to be more open to someone else. All I'm asking is for some basic understanding and a little more love in this world.

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." -- Martin Luther King Jr.

VBS is not the faint of heart

When I signed on last year to do VBS before I started at Affton Christian Church, I had only experienced VBS in my hometown that had a joint effort with the other churches and only had a theme for the week. Certainly no book, and certainly no extravagance.... Boy was I missing out!

This year I worked with Trisha (and helped a little, she bares most of the kudos for working hard at making this go off without a hitch, I only helped where I could...) and VBS happened! This years theme was "Sky" which sounds so simple that it almost seems like it's not a theme, but the creators of this product did a great job using "Sky" as an all inclusive week of fun, games, and learning about God. We learned to "Trust God" and that "Anything is possible with God". We watched movies about Chadder the Chipmunk and did science experiments in "Imagination Station". Overall it was a great week.

Some of the wonderful things that I learned about ministry last week are:

1. Feeding children is a lot like feeding picky sharks. They will swarm when it's something they dearly want. Apparently those things are: popcorn, Popsicles, and ice cream.

2. Apparently the presence of a pastor makes me uncomfortable or feeling like they are being judged. Please please please don't feel this way! If I wanted to be in charge I would ask to be, I'm so grateful you're doing the hard work so I can enjoy working with kids that I am certainly not judging you!

3. Kids get more wound up the later it gets. By the time we reached 8pm I was ready for a nap...and my group was ready for a marathon!

4. Lay leaders are the most hardworking, caring and important individuals in the church. There were countless hours put in by non paid people to make VBS happen and I'm humbled by the amount of enthusiasm and great work that went into making VBS happen.

5. No matter how inclusive the material of all issues related to a bible story a child will always ask a question guaranteed to make most adults uncomfortable! Thankfully (?) I was there to field a couple of those question. However, adults shouldn't worry so much about the questions! Answer them if you can, or simply say "I don't know, let's think about that. or Let's ask Pastor so and so. or Let's try to find some bible stories that might help us."

I'm so thankful VBS taught me some wonderful things and taught my children some wonderful things.

Thanks to Affton Christian Church for the wonderful week!

Joplin: one year later

going to Joplin a second time was both easier and harder. It was easier because I had already seen first hand the destruction. I had already seen the devastation and met some of the survivors. However, it was also harder. Hard to see how much hadn't changed in a year, hard to see how much was still left to do. Hard to see how few volunteers were there compared to the last time.

I met some wonderful people in Joplin this time around too though. We planted trees for three families who had lost their home in the tornado. They told us their stories and were so gracious and kind to us. It was amazing to see the hope of a community come together. It's also not easy to see the overwhelming number of those still in need.


There were boards filled of people who still needed help of some sort. We were overwhelmed to find that out, only to find out that there were stacks of papers that were still sitting in a file that couldn't be even put on the board until other needs on the boards had been fulfilled. Joplin still needs us. They are a community who will rise from the ashes and has already started, but so many people still need the support of churches, people, and organizations. Let us not forget those so close to us.

When people and corporations meet...

In class this week I was giving a presentation about slow violence, specifically environmental racism and environmental violence. I was using a violence theory to explain the violence that is perpetuated by different companies and corporations and I had to step back.

Who am I to judge why or how decisions are being made within companies? How do I "know" that companies are simply doing cost/risk assessment and decided that product profit was more important than healthy families? I can surely assume that, but it isn't fair. Furthermore, if those companies (and the people who run them) did that, don't they deserve a second chance?

I was happy that I was part of a community that helped me step back from what I was thinking and say, "hey, this is something I'm fundamentally against others doing, I shouldn't be doing this either."

So here's to my second chance at approaching grace the right. I'm happy to overthrow judgement and liberate love.

What if?

What if?
--What if we lived out a simple principle? One that took some time, patience and money, but could make dramatic difference?
--What if we worked to live more simply so that others may simply live.
--So, what does that even look like? Over 1 billion people live on less that $2/day worldwide. What if we gave $2 each day to an organization working on hunger issues? That's less than the cost of most (if not all) drinks at Starbucks.
--Over 1/3 of the food on the planet never makes it to consumers. What if we made a pledge to donate one non perishable food item to a local food bank a day (or if that's too much two items per week, etc)?
--21,000 children die a day of preventable diseases. What if you donated sanitary supplies once a month (whenever you go shopping for your own supplies) to organizations who provide them for people overseas (or at home).
--What if instead of worrying about how to pay for that stellar pair of shoes or new outfit for the baby you looked at local resale shops, yard sales and goodwill. So less trash would be produced.

How the creation stories could save the world... (part I)

and other musings of a liberal white mother in seminary.

Go read Genesis 1-2:4.

....

Okay. So you read the first creation story found in the bible now. We're on the same page. At least theoretically. I know we all come from different traditions reading the bible different ways and exegeting it for our particular context. This particular story tells us something amazingly beautiful about humanity. We are all GOOD. We were created and were inherently good. This certainly doesn't mean we are perfect, but it does mean that in our core we are good.

This has profound implications and radical inclusiveness. What does it mean for the world if everything (not just humans, read that text closely, EVERYTHING was called "good" by God) is inherently good? What does that mean for relationships? What does that mean for poverty? What does that mean for ecological issues?

It starts with including people. With loving people. With recognizing and naming the goodness in the world. It starts with love and grace.

It starts with YOU.

(part II, what does this mean for creation)

God bless the world. No exceptions.

I feel like when I say this, people feel like I'm just paying lip service. That somehow I'm just "pretending" to care about the whole world. The truth is, I'm not, I mean it. At least in theory. Forgiveness, grace. They are hard things to remember. Especially on a day like today.

Today's lectionary text was the Matthew text in which Jesus tells Peter to forgive 70x7. As the preacher stood and told us that we continually forgive to get better at it and eventually achieve true forgivenss my cynical mind couldn't help wondering...How many of us actually do this? As a culture, we hold grudges, we revel in fear.



This particular image doesn't exactly represent the "best" of our society in so many ways. But it represents the idea of 70x7 forgiveness. We must continually work to forgive this image of people. We extend grace to those who both need it and those who may or may not WANT it.

This particular image was hard for me. POTSC is an amazing organization that helps me to live a better life, but I can't help remembering hurtful things in my own life. One of the last stigmas in church is "loud" children. I have two wonderful little boys (2 and 6 months) who go to church and chapel often. My oldest son "breaks the bread" during meals. However, they aren't known for being "quiet" and let's be honest, how many two year olds are awake and quiet?

*I* have the loud kid in church. THE PASTOR (well, student pastor, but you get my meaning). When I sit in chapel (at school) with my children, who are talking or whining because they want to run around, I sit terrified that someone is going to glare at me. Why? Because I'll be full of all this anger at them for their judgement and too much of a coward to stay. So I'll pack up my things and leave with the kids and that person WINS.

They don't win for God though. They aren't showing grace to my children. They aren't showing grace to me. However, that doesn't mean I can't give them the grace and forgive them. This poster reminds me of that. I hope it helps me to be able to do that.


And may God bless the whole world. No exceptions.


This post is part of an initiative by People of the Second Chance (POTSC). POTSC is launching the NEVER BEYOND Poster Series: 25 posters representing well known historical, current and fictional characters who are believed to have harmed society. This campaign consists of digital and print posters and the full collection will eventually be displayed as a touring art exhibit.

Schmucks don't ask for second chances...

I've done a lot of things that would make people cringe. When I think about my past I can't help but wish away certain moments. Then I remember that my Second Chance has brought me to here and now.

"Back then I used to tell the world “I’m Mike, the baddest man on the planet”, now I look at that Mike and say, “Hey Mike, you’re a schmuck”."

That quote is taken directly from Mike Tyson's twitter feed. This week in the "Never Beyond" poster series, we have Mike Tyson. To many he is only known for his face tattoo, role in the Hangover, or various crimes. To me, he is a living breathing second chance.



I wasn't sure if I was going to write a blog this week, because I have nothing but respect for Mike Tyson, so why would I need to write about that? Then, when I read the above quote on his twitter feed, I couldn't stay silent. Second chances aren't asked for by schmucks. People don't change unless they try.

According to Schmuck U the definition of schmuck is "
Schmuck, a Yiddish word, has a range of meaning depending on context. In its most innocuous use, a schmuck is a person who does a stupid thing, in which case "dumb schmuck" is the appropriate expression.

A schmuck's behavior ranges from pesky and inconsiderate, to obnoxious and manipulative. A schmuck's personality type ranges from jerk to bastard.

Schmucky behavior also falls within a range of intentionality. Some schmucks carefully plan their bad behavior, some only a little, and some not at all. For example, the bastard may spend considerable time planning his bad deeds. In contrast, the dumb schmuck and the pesky behave badly without any forethought."

While the definition is meant to make people laugh, I think it says a lot about who Mike is NOT. He is not a schmuck. He has owned what he has done and moved on to the future. He is a person of Second Chances. He is an inspiration to those of us who think ourselves a "schmuck". Mike Tyson helps to remind me of my Second Chance and inspires me to not look at myself as a schmuck, but admire the person I am today. I hope he can do that as well.



This post is part of a new initiative by People of the Second Chance (POTSC). POTSC is launching the NEVER BEYOND Poster Series: 25 posters representing well known historical, current and fictional characters who are believed to have harmed society. This campaign consists of digital and print posters and the full collection will eventually be displayed as a touring art exhibit.

Someday you'll thank me...

I remember the first time that my mom said that to me. "Someday you'll thank me". The first time that I said that to my son, I called my mom and thanked her. My mom taught me a lot about life and love and what being a true Christian was. She taught me a lot about grace and disappointment and trust. She taught me to give people the benefit of the doubt and to treat everyone fairly and equally.

What she probably doesn't realize is that she's the first person who taught me about second chances. When I was thirteen I lied to my mom about where I was going and who I was going with to the event. I went bowling and didn't have a ride home and had to call a family friend. When I got home, my mom questioned me and I tried to lie. She had me write out the definition of "integrity". The next day, my lies were forgotten and her trust in me returned. As far as I can remember I never really abused that trust again, at least intentionally.

Saying all that brings me to this. I love second chances. It makes ME feel renewed to be able to give them to others. It helps me cleanse myself. When I heard about the organization People of the Second Chance, I was in love. Grace is such a beautiful thing. When I read about the new campaign they were starting called "Never Beyond" I was practically jumping up and down in my seat! I love the idea of thinking about who we would or wouldn't give second chances to.





When I saw who the first week of the posters was, at first I was confused. I didn't recognize this face. I'm not much on pop culture anymore. It was Casey Anthony. I will admit that I know little about her story except what I read on twitter. I remember the day they read the verdict because that's all anyone could talk about. It seemed that the new motto for our justice system was not "innocent until proven guilty" it was "the public gets to decide if you're guilty".

As a parent I was sad to hear the story. Devastated at the loss of the life of a beautiful little girl. I was also devastated that we as a nation were judge and jury to a woman we didn't know. Casey is in need of a second chance.

I'll admit, when I saw her name, I immediately thought of all the people in my life who would be upset if I defended Casey in any way. People who would be appalled that I could let a "child murderer" "get away with it". But Casey is in need of that chance. I'm not her judge or jury. I can only offer her the love of Christ.

Maybe I'll make enemies by saying that even Casey Anthony deserves a Second Chance, but I know the definition of integrity and it requires that when asked the question "Who would you give a second chance?" I would wholeheartedly say "Casey Anthony"

(Thanks mom)

This post is part of a new initiative by People of the Second Chance (POTSC). POTSC is launching the NEVER BEYOND Poster Series: 25 posters representing well known historical, current and fictional characters who are believed to have harmed society. This campaign consists of digital and print posters and the full collection will eventually be displayed as a touring art exhibit.

Joplin: A reflection

May 22nd was a day I'll never forget. I saw the forecast for bad weather coming toward Missouri and got a really odd feeling. Because of this feeling I packed up my two kids and husband to join us for youth group at FCCE that Sunday night. Usually family doesn't come with me for this particular event, but for some reason I felt so uneasy that they did.

As we were driving back the weather was starting to get worse and worse. We started receiving phone calls and text messages from people saying that "Joplin was destroyed". Early reports had very little information, but when the information came, it was devastating! Rangeline, the main road in Joplin had been destroyed, St. John's, one of the hospitals had received major damage. We sat watching the devastating news in our living room until a late hour with our kids cuddled up, in case the same storm might come and produce the same weather here in Saint Louis. Thankfully, it did not.

When it was finally decided that the youth would go to Joplin to do mission work, I was both excited and nervous. What would we find? How would we be changed? What stories would we hear?

Our group arrived in Joplin via a road that had no destruction on it at all. As we made our way toward the distribution center where we would be sorting out donations, we saw a perfectly normal functioning town. Except for the signs "Free lunch for volunteers here" --- "Free hot breakfast from 7-10", etc etc. We arrived at the center a little bit early so we looked around the outside of the building and began to discuss the task. Many of the youth weren't sure about just working in a center sorting clothes or diapers or toliet paper or soap. I can't say that I blame them, it seems like a task that really doesn't help anybody.

As we walked into the distribution center as Mary Lin got there, I was drawn up short. Hanging on the door was a t-shirt that said, "Everything will be alright". Such a useful message for the people of Joplin and for me. It was stunning to walk into the distribution center. FCC in Joplin is a small church and as such has a small area to work with and much smaller amount of donations than other distribution centers Their gym was wall to wall with different stations of things that people would need.

Our task for the day was to sort out items and make them easier to find, as well as to mark out barcodes on items so that people couldn't return the items for cash at stores (apparently this had started happening recently). Another large group showed up to volunteer as well and slowly we worked together to bring the room into order.

Andrew and I had the task of sorting and condensing the wipes and diapers section. It took us a long time, but it felt great to finish the task and know that victims of the tornado would have a much easier time finding what they needed in the center.

We met a few of the people who were shopping during this time. I met a young mother of two (who's youngest was no more than 1 month old) who was looking for all sorts of items including something in the diaper section. I inquired about how she was doing and she told me that times were tough, made more tough by the fact that her grandmother had lost her house too. They were all living with her mother and the stress was starting to bother them.

Another volunteer spoke with a woman, asking if she could help her. She explained that she had a broken arm. She had broken it pulling her aunt out of the rumble, only to discover that she had died. THe woman was only wearing a wrap on her arm and further explained that she had cut her cast off herself because it got in the way of all the things she needed to do.

Being in this center reminded me of other stories I'd heard. Of small children, young men, the elderly and their deaths. I said a little prayer of hope for the individuals who had lost not only their homes, but their families.

Early in the day we realized there wouldn't be enough work to do for the entire group all day since there were other groups that had come to help so we decided to go and drive by some of the effected areas. What we found was otherwordly.

*I've lived through a tornado before. In my hometown 8 years ago there was a group of storms that destroyed several homes and areas. I worked with people I know to sort through their things, to move wood, to drive people around and bring them food and drinks and it doesn't get any easier.*

Seeing destruction on this scale was mind blowing. Seeing places that you might have thought were "safe" from weather that are now mere shells. Seeing homes destroyed, a hospital in shambles, debris still littering the streets and parking lots, even a month after the storms had come and gone. It gave me new perspective on what mother nature is capable of. and what humans are capable of.

We found a park to sit and eat lunch and discuss. Many of the youth were disappointed that we couldn't work with clean up and that our trip would be cut short. I explained the rules (united way states that volunteers must be 18 or older, (though earlier it was 12 and up, this is likely because of possible injury, liability, and insurance purposes). As we drove home I thought more about the issue. I felt bad because I felt like I'd let the group down, like I somehow hadn't done something right. I felt changed, i felt like the work I did gave me new perspective on what is important when doing mission work, but others seemed generally disappointed.

So when we pulled into the parking lot at home, we had a meeting. I stated an apology that things didn't work out quite as planned (leaving early, not having a good back up plan), but that we had to remember some important things. Mission work is NOT doing what we think we should do, but doing what needs to be done. While we may WANT to go and build someone a house, sometimes sorting food is more important and just as necessary. Mission work isn't about being visible, but about being helpful and following direction. That means if the group say 18 and up, we don't consider lying, we find something we can do.

overall, I felt like the trip was a success. The youth who were old enough (and adults) have talked about going back down at a later time to do what they can to help. We were able to help make the lives of the survivors of the tornado a little bit easier by sorting out the distribution center and we were able to see that God can work through us and guide us, if we only listen.