.communion.

(from October 2008)

"Tonight as we were leaving All-School, Matt said, "Taking Communion is my favorite thing in the world."

I replied casually, "That's good, it's the best thing in the world."

And then I paused.

I use the phrase "best thing in the world" often, about a lot of different things, seriously- but not literally.

It is startling to realize we can actually make a true statement:

...that yes, there is something that is the best thing in the world.

"As they were eating, Jesus took some bread and blessed it.

Then He broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, 

saying,

'Take this and eat it, for this is My body.'

And He took a cup of wine and gave thanks to God for it.

He gave it to them and said,

'Each of you drink from it, for this is My blood,

which confirms the covenant between God and His people.

It is poured out as a sacrifice to forgive the sins of many.'"

Matthew 26:26-28"

.how His messages come?.

I'm curled up watching TV with one of "my" families, their teenagers and pre-teen curled up with me, all of us in blankets around the living room. We're watching a show I fell in love with during my college years. It was probably produced around ten years ago, and for the most part the high-schoolers in it seem like they could be teens today.

Except.

A focus on one episode is the main character standing up for a friend in chemistry class- because she's being teased for being gay. A "lesbo", specifically.

A couple episodes later, it's not even the main point of the show. "You're gay" is tossed around as a casual insult. Now again, our protagonists never use the term and in fact are shown to be disdainful of those who do. But it was still considered the way kids talked. Those days.

I shift on the sofa, getting uncomfortable. I nudge Mareesa. "Weird, huh? I forgot kids ever talked like that..." She nods. "I know."

I want to say something to protect the twelve-year-old on the floor. What is she thinking, watching this? These words are likely not a part of her daily experience, thank God. I was in high school seven years ago, and we still heard "dyke". I've almost forgotten about the term... But then again, it was never leveled at me.

Two years ago, I stood in my kitchen one winter day, leaning against the counter eating pasta. He'd stopped by to eat with me. I don't remember much about the day, just that I had a long enough gap between family visits to stop at home for lunch, but not long enough to change out of my work clothes.

He was telling me about a story of a Wheaton alumni he'd heard. Honestly, tonight, two years and 2,000 miles away from that kitchen conversation, I can't remember the details of the story. But there was something in it about AIDS. The guy had died of it... Twenty, twenty-five years ago? A Wheaton kid. He hadn't told anyone. Any of it.

He mentioned this to me, then started to go on to the next point- but stopped when he realized that out of nowhere, I had started sobbing. Sobbing. Couldn't see through tears, couldn't catch my breath for crying.

He stared at me.

"Um... Em?"

I tried to breathe, couldn't. Let out another sob.

"I'm just... I'm so... glad... you're not..." Sob. Breathe. Picture the faces I love, then stop because I can't. "...that you're not dying of AIDS."

He laughed a little. "Well, yeah... me too..." Then he caught my eye. And then his eyes filled, too. "Yeah. Me too."

Twenty five years ago. A Wheaton kid. Died of AIDS alone.

Ten years ago, kids who look just like our high-schoolers tossed around "dyke" and "that's gay".

I hear arguments that make sense to me, about sin and righteousness and thoughts that are higher than our thoughts and a just God. I hear arguments that make sense to me about reading within cultural contexts and a wideness in God's mercy and a faith that has always been for the marginalized and despised.

And I see faces. And I imagine those faces being called those names, or lying with those sores on their skin, and then I don't hear or see or think anything. I just feel.

And we can say that those names and those sores are universally considered horrible, that those aren't the same thing as church membership or a wedding where everyone in attendance cries with joy. But they feel the same to me today.

Because ten years ago it didn't startle us to hear dyke or that's gay and twenty-five years ago someone who could have been my friend or your friend died scared and alone. And with every calm, rational argument about Romans 1 I hear, I can not convince myself that withholding an invitation to our table isn't the same thing.

My knowledge of God and my understanding of Scripture swirl around me, seeming to look a little different in any different light, everything I have thought I have known in my short 24 years still susceptible to mood, to cultural bias, the time we live in, the people I've been taught by and those I have loved. HE never changes, never shifts, is the Same yesterday and today and tomorrow. But what about my comprehension of Him?

Our feelings are fallen, the argument goes: no matter how much you love your friends you can't let that make your decision about what's right and true. But aren't our interpretations and our logic fallen as well? Every fear I have of blasphemy or not taking Scripture seriously enough, the frantic cataloguing I do of the Christians I respect and trying to guess who comes out on one side or another and why... that could all be fallen, too.

My desire to be a woman who loves the Word: my picture of that woman, of what she believes and proclaims. Is that so invincible to sin, to confusion, to era?

Huckleberry Finn decided he would just have to go to hell rather than turn Jim in. Joan of Arc's reply to the inquisitor who informed her that her messages were just her imagination: "Of course. That is how the messages of God come."

And for me, the horror I feel at picturing some of the people I love most in the world called a name, suffering alone.... I now believe, that is some of how God speaks to me. I have a strong hunch that in five years, or ten, I would feel that same horror, those same out-of-nowhere sobs, at the thought that they would have a family uncelebrated. A Sunday morning feeling looked at and treated with caution. A Table at which they weren't welcomed.

Maybe basing theology off of a hunch is blasphemy. Or at least really stupid. But then I remember that my loving Him started as a hunch, too.

.how You consented to enclosure.

Lord,

"...You have reminded me of my need

to anchor my soul in a place of prayer,

a place where we can come together

to worship [You].

Free me from my restless activity,

my slavery to the clock,

my habit of bobbing  along on the open sea

when You have called me to be still.

When I consider how You consented to enclosure,

in Mary's womb,

in a narrow manger,

in a carpenter's home,

on the wooden cross,

in the bread of Eucharist,

my heart is moved to seek enclosure with You.

Amen."

-gloria hutchinson,

"A Prayer of Stability"

i push against being 'enclosed' to any will but my own;

yet i need to be

to know and honor Him, to love others.

so good to remember how He has consented to enclosure

to be with us.

i find all sorts of things to do to bob along

when He has called me to be still.

this prayer was what i needed to read today.

one way He helps me get to stillness and enclosure:

prayer books. grateful for this one this week.

A day.

As this day unfolded, just a few hours into it, I realized how perfectly normal it was. I wanted to record it in its ordinary joys, these simple moments which make my life so full.

As it ended, it had become more significant, more notable. But in so many ways still so normal, and making me want to write up the normalcy even more:

so much pain, sorrow, joy, love, prayer, connection, is woven together in this life of ours.

7 am and I am out the door to the "living room" of Newberg. Grab a table in the back, wave hello to some regulars, I sip my coffee and push through to the end: 1,500 words, APA style, correctly cite all sources. I drive to campus, slip it in the prof's mailbox by 9:15, chat with the receptionist.

Back to Chapters and it is packed with full-on morning energy. I fold myself into a corner of the couch, session notes out, but first I see a family from church. This mom is hip, friendly, and can frequently be found homeschooling her three children at the coffee shop in the mornings. (Yes. This is everything I desire for my future.) I kneel down to say hello to her two-year-old, who primly turns and drops herself in my lap without a word, then reaches to play with my cell phone. I look at her mom. "I have a cold...". "Perfect. She does too." Wonderful, then we can snuggle with no harm done.

Before I start my homework, her 7-year-old brother shows off the new card game he just got. Highest numbers win, but you have to know your math facts to figure out which are highest. We play a hand. He beats me by a mile.

Two hours. Session notes mostly done. Book for dissertation ordered. A couple fun emails sent (sorry, session notes). Sipping my second mug.

My friend comes to meet me; we pray together every other week. She is in my cohort in the program but several years older than me, quiet, thoughtful, quick with encouragement, described by one professor as "a deep well". I of course adore her and wanted to make her be my friend. I asked her a few months ago if she would be my prayer partner and it's been deeper and more of an encouragement to my heart than I ever expected. We lay out our hearts. Hers is beautiful, and growing. I surprise myself by going into old familiar pains I don't want to still be dealing with. She hears them; and I know that it was good that I shared them with her. We pray. He hears us.

TA group meeting on campus. We snack as we discuss conceptualizing the relationship between client and therapist. We also plan the run we're signing up for as a group, in June: 6 miles, uphill. It's called "Hellacious". Wonderful. It will be bonding. We'll remind ourselves of that three miles in.

Long-distance phone conversation that's supposed to be on my dissertation, and turns into not only precious information and so much wisdom, but laughter, and the promise of a budding friendship that makes me feel so lucky.

A quick half-hour with another friend; I get to be the listener this time. I learn things I hadn't known. I am proud of her.

Back to the coffee shop, back to online; my sister calls as I am buying plane tickets. Purchase confirmed. I love my sister's voice so much.

I am packing up my stuff to walk down the street to church for the Maundy Thursday service; I get the text I knew was coming.

The day looks different now.

I take a deep breath, I text back. I make a phone call for her as requested. Pain and love are shared on that line, too.

Water is poured over my skin: "The love of Christ bless you, Emily." I sit with Heidi and we sing: "Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, and thorns compose so rich a crown?". I think about this coming weekend. Death. Darkness. Yes, in this world, yes. Such pain, someone I love is feeling now. Sunday is coming, He is risen indeed; what will that feel like for their family this week? Sunday is coming: hope. This world has pain, and we are called to be open to that; this world is not the end. "Such love and sorrow meet" feels so relevant right now.


"...Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."

I take Communion.

I know the people who hand it to me, and they know me. I had dinner at their house on Tuesday. We've prayed over each other's burdens and joys. I smile into their familiar eyes as I break off the bread, as I dip it.

"You may leave when you are ready, in worshipful silence."

Now I am in bed. Rain is hitting hard against the roof, the windows. I am praying.

My mattress just fell off my bedframe- this happens weekly or so- and my sweet roommate climbs out of her bed to help me lift it back up. We laugh as we struggle, and decide to call some cohort boys to come over and fix it for us tomorrow.

A day.

A gift in this year: Serving Eucharist.

"Take this in remembrance that Christ died for you,

and feed on Him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving."

"The body of Christ, the bread of heaven."

"Amen."

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

"Amen."

I pick up my tray, check on the sheet which aisle I am assigned to, walk over and take my place.

There I stand as they file down. Parents with their children, a baby on one hip and a toddler or two in tow. Young adults, and elderly couples who hold each other's shaking hands as they walk down the aisle. Little girls in twirly dresses with matching headbands, skipping more than they walk. Fellow Wheaton grads sitting together in groups. Faces I recognize, faces I don't. They file down. They pause at the deacon, take the bread. They stop and take the wine from the chalice, or they come to me.

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

"Amen."

I don't always make eye contact- I wait. I remember what Nancy, the Eucharist ministry coordinator and one of my favorite people, says about how she serves it- she takes a step back, leaving them room to meet with God, but she prays for them as they drink. I pray for each one of them- specifics if I know them. I pray "Lord, bless her today", "Bless him", as they tip it, drink and walk on. I affirm His love for them as best I can for that moment they are in front of me, meeting Him.

Meeting Him.

I get to watch them as they meet Him.

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

"Amen."

"What we... must realize, is that all our intellectual articulations about this sacrament are but feeble human attempts to comprehend the basic mystery of God's unconditional loving acceptance of us, His children."

 The mystery is unfolding in front of me.

Every week, as I stand there, it is not just balancing the tray and timing the saying and checking to make sure I have enough cups for the people in line. It is those things, but I am seeing the mystery. I am standing in front of the mystery.

"On the night He was handed over to suffering and death, our Lord Jesus Christ took bread; and when He had given thanks to You, He broke it, and gave it to His disciples, and said, “Take, eat: This is My Body, which is given for you. Do this for the remembrance of Me."

It is acceptance by Him. It is intimacy with Him, unconditional on how we feel or what we say.

It is His body, given to us.

Sometimes they're crying as they take it. Not infrequently. Oh, do I long and pray for the ones who cry; and my heart swells with wanting to offer them comfort- but more it swells with hope that they are receiving it... and with gratitude and awe that the meaning of this cup, can bring them to tears.

I love when they do look into my eyes, and I get to smile into theirs as they drink.

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

I always try to pick up the tray instead of the chalice because it holds the non-alcoholic wine and I love serving the children. They come, too. The babies, even, and I love watching their parents hold the cup to their lips and minister this living grace to them. I love praying for those babies and their sweet lives the Lord is at work in, as they drink it, too.

I love the toddlers who pick it up all by themselves, so proudly. I squat down to serve it to them, and I say the words to them, too, just the same.

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

"Say 'Amen', buddy!"

"Aaa-mennnn!"

I'm not sure I'm supposed to, but usually I whisper, "Good job!" as they carefully put the empty cup back.

I love when it's someone I know. We don't act differently, because we are all there as one family. But oh, how special it is to get to participate in that moment, that mystery, with someone I love deeply, whose life I get to share.

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation..."- I'm so grateful to get to say it to them.

"Amen."

 "The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

"The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

Over and over and over I say it, as they file down, as they take it, as they receive and as they meet Him. Over and over I get to see the mystery. Over and over I get to affirm His love and His work in them. Over and over I get to speak words that enter and comfort my heart, that are truth.

I am so grateful God gave me the great gift of serving Eucharist at Rez this year.

"Eternal God, Heavenly Father, You have graciously accepted us as living members of Your Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ;

and You have fed us with spiritual food through the Sacrament of His body and blood."

Thanking God for giving me the chance to serve communion this year.

.13.

A gift in this year: Rez.

I cannot begin to say how much the Church of the Resurrection has meant to me this year.

But I will attempt to do so.

 A few months ago at a HNGR dinner where sexual abuse was discussed, a guest asked, calmly and innocently, "Wow, so how do you cope with hearing stories like that?". I think I let someone else answer; my quick response was silence, and if spoken would have been along the lines of, "Um, you don't cope, you learn to function.".

But there are things that you do- that I did- that kept me... more than functioning. Later, chewing it over with a safe person, I found I could name a few of them. And one of them was attending Rez.

Rez was such a gift from God to me this year.

I am grateful that it kept me engaged with the Creator in a way I'm not sure I could have gotten to on my own.

I am... oh man, this is just a hard one to write. There are just too many.

I am grateful that I went to a church that believes in lament.

 I remember so vividly sitting in the Holy Week Wednesday night service last year. We sang Psalms to the tune of Plainsong, softly and somberly, for over an hour. "Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck... I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched... the Lord hears the needy and does not despise His captive people."

There is room in this church and its theology, for what happened to my girls. 

Suffering, deep suffering that does not always get better,

is not mutually exclusive with what Rez teaches.

Thanks be to God.

This year at Rez,
I could praise God and seek God and believe in a good God,
within the context of a world where little girls get raped.
They make room for that. They do not preach the prosperity Gospel. There is room in their praise services for "I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched." There is room in their worship for "Streams of tears flow from my eyes, because my people are destroyed."

Because I felt freedom and validation to lament, because I was seeing examples of people who were seeking God with that lament,

I could, over time, find my way to the ultimate purpose of lament:

"I called on Your name, Lord, from the depths of the pit.

You heard my plea."

But I had to do that lament, first. I am still doing that lament, so much.

I honestly, want to and think I should always be, lamenting, in some part.

Acknowledging before God that things are not how they were supposed to be,

and that that sucks, can and should be an important part of the Christian faith.

(Oh man... this is turning into a whole other post...)

-this world is broken. And we need to lament that.

And Rez does.

And I am so grateful for that.

I am so, so grateful I was immersed in a liturgical service and community. I wrote this on liturgy exactly one full year ago, and though prayer feels easier for me now, this still stands.

"...Prayer was and is, in an incredible gift of grace, the liturgy. It is going to church and saying and singing the same words every week, and in recent months being blessedly able to affirm them more and more. It is the gratitude that rises up in me that, in my inability to tell God these truths about Himself out of any spontaneity or warmth or even sense of friendship, I can sing them and raise my hands for an hour on Sunday mornings and get to tell Him them in that way. That I can find myself more and more knowing that I do believe these things, and that this liturgy, this church, is providing a way for me to affirm them before my own emotions or abilities are going to let me do so on my own. Oh, how grateful I am to get to praise God through words others have written and songs others are singing when my own heart is so confused and cold."

I love the liturgy.

I love what I've learned about church history. I love being on a calendar with Christians throughout the world. I love praying the prayers Christians have used to worship our same Lord for centuries and centuries.

I'm so grateful for how crazy prayerful this church is.

 I am grateful for the prayer ministers who line the sides of the auditorium every service, every Sunday, and who I make my way over to so often. I've never felt comfortable doing that at any other church but I do at Rez.

I'm grateful for the prayer services held twice a day six days a week at the ministry center. I'm grateful just for the fact that they happen and what that says about this church's dependence on prayer; and I'm grateful for all the times I went. The people are lovely and often it is fun and refreshing...
but also, often, that was a way I could meet with God when I still felt unable to pray alone.

I'm grateful for the kind woman I met in my membership class, who despite the fact that she barely knows me has sought me out on more than one occasion to inform me that she'd been praying for me that week.

I'm grateful for the prayer circle upstairs before every service.

I'm so grateful for the prayer-for-the-sermon ministry, which I got to be a part of... every single service every single week, there are people sitting upstairs praying for the pastor and the congregation as he gives his sermon. Isn't that cool? Does every church do that? I don't know, but I love that ours does. And I loved doing it once a month.

 

I'm grateful that I got a random phone call from one of the main pastors last week, telling me I'd been on his mind and naming some gifts he'd seen in me and asking me how I was using them for the Kingdom (seriously. That happened. On a Wednesday on my lunch break. It was pretty much wonderful.)

I'm grateful that homosexuality is not a taboo word or subject in our community.

I'm grateful for the warmth of the people. I'm grateful for the families I've gotten to know. I'm grateful for the sheer amount of beautiful babies and children everywhere.

I LOVE how they love that there are babies and children everywhere and they are never treated or thought of as an inconvenience or better "out of sight out of mind".

I'm grateful we take Eucharist every week. I'm grateful they make such-such-such a big deal out of the Eucharist. I'm grateful it in many ways feels like what the whole service points to.

I'm grateful for what a huge deal they make out of Easter. As well we should! And how much that has taught me about what the weight of sin is, what the hope of the Cross is, and what joy there is in the empty tomb.

I'm so grateful for the leadership of Rez. I'm grateful that they take care of themselves and each other. At the membership class, Karen said "Without a healthy staff we cannot have a healthy church". I believe that, and I have seen it in other situations. I don't know tons of details of how that's done; but I know that it is a priority for our church to take care of the staff and to be healthy in how they lead. I'm so glad for them; and I'm so glad for us. I feel secure in coming to church knowing that the leadership is taking care of itself and we can pray for and support them. There is a stability inherent in that which brings blessings which are felt throughout our community. And their evident care among themselves for each other is a beautiful model of community for all of us.

I'm grateful for how many Wheaton students go there. I'm grateful I got to worship with some of my closest friends.

I'm grateful for the music. I love the music.

I'm grateful for how there are places for every person with any gift to serve and be needed and appreciated.

I'm grateful for how gravely they take divisiveness and how strongly they work against it.

I'm so grateful I became a member. I didn't know how different I would feel, having made that commitment to a church body. I took it seriously and I feel it. When I am in that community, when I even think about that community, I know it is mine, and that I am theirs. And I want to give to it like that.

And as sad as it is, I am grateful for what it says about how much God blessed me with this church this year-

that the hardest factor for me in deciding to attend grad school out of state,

was leaving it.

(As Mere put it once,

"Rez really complicates post-grad life.")

Oh my goodness, I just love this church.

Thanking God for giving me Rez this year.

.16.

Daybook: May 2

Outside My Window

It is cold! For May. Which means warmer than it has been. And dark.

I am Listening to

Ryan in the dining room typing and whatever folky music he's playing- "Ryan, what's that music?" "Vavavoom." Ok, Vavavoom.

I am Wearing

Black yoga pants, red tank top.

I am So Grateful for

SO MUCH. It's been a very grateful few weeks.

Among other things,
-Seeing in retrospect just how much this year was exactly what I needed
-Being in such close and connected relationships
-My mother's loving voice on the other end of the telephone every time I call
-My sassy, sweet, TWENTY-YEAR-OLD sister
-Connecting so well with my families at work
-My small group
-My church
-OK stopping.

I'm Pondering

The fact that joy is a fruit of the Spirit. Which means it not only isn't be wrong to desire it and seek it, but it is in fact important that I do so. Sometimes I confuse being willing to see God in suffering with joy being wrong. True joy is not wrong. It is a fruit of the Spirit. It is something God wants to give us.

I am Reading

1,000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp. I'm really liking it so far- more even than I expected to. (I'm totally breaking my rule. Making Room is so good, but so dense. I'm not giving up on it, though, but I have caved in not starting other things, too.)

I am Thinking

About the many people I care about who will be leaving Wheaton in the next week or two, and how much I'll miss them this summer. About wrapping my Illinois life up... three months and counting. See pondering, on the practical side- how can I seek joy where He would have me find it?

I am Creating
I made a simple potato and herb soup for dinner. It felt good to use my hands to chop and stir and to touch and smell fresh vegetables. Trying to be slow, right now. Lots of unplanned chunks in my afternoons and evenings... time to read, time to walk, time to look at the outside. Not sure how that counts as creating, but it does, for me.

I am Missing
Bolivia, actually. I talked to the Albergue staff (Tino and Gladys, specifically) on Skype this weekend :-). I love those people.

(And for real... too many other people to mention. A lot of people I love live far away from me. If you are reading this, odds are good are that I miss you.)

On my iPod

Natalie Merchant's "Wonder", on repeat. Lots of Rosie Thomas. Lots of Indelible Grace.

Towards Being Faithful In This Time

*Lots and lots of prayer for other people. Man, I am lazy/selfish about this. I love praying for other people, but it is work. And right now there are a lot of ways I want to see God working in MY life. Well, one of the ways He is is that when I sit down to talk with Him He gently reminds me He has given me things to do, and one of them is to pray for those He's put in my life. And in some cases that includes praying for people when I have no idea what the results are.

*The slow-ness thing.

*"Being faithful in little things". Taking small steps of love and service when I see them.

*Writing, right now, is helping me to love Him and love others. I am tearing up my journal- I bought a new, large-ish one about five weeks ago and it's 3/4 done.

One Thing I Love About My Job Right Now

My relationships with the families. So, so much. Some of them I have been meeting weekly with now for going on a year. The moms are friends. The moms my age and I just connect so well, and some of the ones who are older than me sort of mother me . I love it.

One Thing I Love About My Living Situation Right Now

*Just the general vibe of our house. It's such a good balance of together-ness but independence. Easy interactions, a good rhythm of eating together, knowing what's up in each other's lives.

*How great they are when I'm sad.

One Thing I Love About Wheaton Life Right Now

SPRING, everywhere.

The connectedness of my life. I'm in multiple-times-a-week contact with multiple friends here. I love that. I love that I feel like their joys are my joys and their burdens are my burdens, that my joys are theirs and my burdens are theirs. I can't think of anything big I'm doing alone right now (thank You, Jesus). I hope they can't, either.

One Thing I Love About My Church Right Now

*Giving Communion three different times last week over Easter weekend, I got to see so many faces I love. Oh how I love serving Communion. I love giving it to the toddlers, their parents helping them hold the cup. I love giving it to people I love, stepping back so they can meet Jesus but praying silently and smiling into their beautiful eyes. I love thinking about what it means. I love participating in the mystery.

*Nancy, the wonderful lady who coordinates the Eucharist ministry. I get emails from her frequently about details and she's just lovely. We had coffee once and it was fantastic, I need to make her do it again.

*The fact that at Easter Vigil (and Easter morning), the kids all grabbed hands and tore up and down the aisles, dancing and spinning and jumping and grinning and rejoicing together to the music. And that everyone loves that. And that it was the kids... and some adults. (Liiiike me. Obvs.)

I am Hoping and Praying

*To honor God more at work- working harder than I "have to", to love on these families He has given me.

*For my family as a whole and for individual members.

*Gratitude, for the many things He gives me joy through.

*For Luke and Christine.

*For Steve and Tamara.

*For the people leaving Wheaton, either for graduation or HNGR.

*For love that is more like His- "...pray each day for the ability to love without anger, without possessiveness, without jealousy, and without fear. Pray to love with open hands." -Laura Smit

*...And, to be honest, that Oregon was the right decision.

From the Kitchen

Tonight, St. Patrick Irish Cheddar soup from my much-beloved Monastery Soups cookbook. Last week, the best pasta ever from the Pioneer Woman.

One of my Favorite Things

Friendship.

Spring.

Holding children.

A Few Plans for the Rest of the Week

My last HNGR small group :-(, taking a lovely friend to get her wisdom teeth out (poor girl!), HNGR graduation ceremony, going with Meg and Christine to look for C's wedding dress!!!

sore.

Tonight at church, during the sermon as my thoughts wandered (it's all in really fast Spanish, ok? I heart my Spanish, but sometimes I drift...), I realized that in the back of my mind I was mentally counting all the parts of myself that are sore at the moment.

Sore- my legs. I woke up this morning with my thighs telling me I had gone on an extra-long run yesterday. Except that, I didn't. So why are they sore? Because a beautiful group of girlfriends had a trillion fun people over to their house to drink apple cider, listen to live music, and catch up. I was thrilled to hug and laugh with a bunch of people I love and smile at their gorgeous faces and love the music. And, when it turned into a hard-core dance party? Well, was I in the MOOD. We laughed and talked and danced. A lot. So much so that today... my legs are sore. (Yowch.)

Sore- my scalp. Because all through Iglesia tonight, I got to hold one of my favorite three-year-olds on the planet. She reached for me as soon as she saw me, and wanted to be in my arms for the entire service. And during the sermon, she whispered, "I want to 'brush' your hair!". I took it down and for the next twenty minutes, she sat on my lap facing me, combing her tiny fingers through my curls and crazily looping them into my elastic, then taking it out and doing it again. Over and over. She was still hanging around my neck when I went up for Communion; the pastor grinned as he blessed her in my arms and I took the Eucharist with a huge ponytail hanging off the top of my head, a la Pebbles Flintstone. By the end of the service, my scalp was singing that it was ready to stop being pulled at. But I got to spend a whole church service holding a beaming toddler I love... what better reason to be sore?

Sore- my heart. I have truly not been able to get enough of the Word the last couple of weeks. I'm memorizing passages by accident, over how often I find myself needing to read them. "When I am afraid I put my trust in You, in God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid." "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to comfort all who mourn, to grant to those who mourn in Zion... a beautiful headdress instead of ashes." "That they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord to display His beauty." "For God alone my soul waits in silence; from Him comes my salvation." "Trust in Him at all times, O people, pour out your heart like water before Him; God is a refuge for us." "Be... giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." I am having to anchor myself in these words, and I am drawn to them right now in a way I haven't felt in months, maybe years. It's wonderful. And it will not leave my heart alone, including parts which are tender and just wanting to hide. I am sore.

Tonight I sat in church and as I counted my sore spots, I couldn't help but smile. Sore legs, sore scalp, sore heart. And I thanked God for the great richness in which I somehow get to live.

my life...

I keep wanting to write a real blog post. But here's about as real as it gets:

My Life Is...

Spanish babies babies Spanish Spanish Spanish BABIES BABIES BABIES toddlers eight-year-old shy smiling siblings Spanish babies...

friends friends friends tears of gratitude for how amazing my friends are friends friends friends long phone calls with friends out of state joyful quick refreshing times with friends in state tears of amazement at God working in my friends' lives exciting lunches with new friends friends friends...

church church taking Eucharist giving Eucharist babies at church babies babies Spanish at church Spanish Spanish worship learning humbled church families friends church...

prayer prayer prayer what the heck I think God is teaching me stuff prayer prayer on dates with God prayer on walks prayer at lunch prayers for others OTHERS PRAYING FOR ME prayer that I don't know what I'm praying prayers of thanks wordless prayer learning what to pray sitting silently alone with others deep sad tearful broken prayer prayer where I am just with God prayer prayer prayer...

conviction learning apologizing laughing feeling so lonely feeling so connected frustration joy prayer friendship bowling reading cooking eating working driving music small group deep talks missing people Christmas lights Starbucks Julian of Norwich my roommates are awesome my cat is insane joy loneliness joy connection joy frustration learning fear HUMBLEDDD trust fear trust fear friendship Spanish Spanish connection phone calls texting Spanish babies friendship prayer thankfulness prayer...

...

(did I mention Spanish and babies? :-))

"Oh, it's really good! I really like it! The wine AND the bread!"

-a six-ish year old girl at Rez when she took Communion from me today.


Joy on so many levels in that interaction.

Eucharist.

I love taking Communion- at my church we call it the Eucharist- more than virtually anything else. "This is My body. This is My blood." It is intimacy with God. And it is tangible and unconditional to how I feel or what I can say. This hard numb year, that tangible, unconditional, every-week intimacy with God was more important than I could ever express.

A couple of months ago, I started helping to serve the Eucharist at church. For fifteen straight minutes, I get to repeat, "The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation" over and over, as people drink wine and receive it- receive Him. I am strengthened by doing this more than I ever predicted.

At our church even small children can take Communion if they've been baptized. I was curious as to what the rationale behind this was, and so I picked up a little informational booklet on the topic. The explanation given moved me a ton. I may be 22, but I think this applies to adults completely as well.

"Psychologists have helped us to see that there is a level of human understanding... that is non-verbal and non-rational. We now know that this unconscious level responds to reality as it is conveyed by means of symbolic forms and actions...
Children experience much that they cannot verbally articulate. We do not delay the first bath until the child understands hygiene, nor do we require knowledge of nutrition prior to the first meal.
The child experiences many baths and many meals- really experiences them- and at the most basic human level apprehends their meaning through the experience. Children may not understand the Holy Communion, but they certainly understand acceptance and rejection.

What we as adults need to understand is that all our intellectual articulations about this sacrament are but feeble human attempts to comprehend the basic mystery of God's unconditional loving acceptance of us, His children.
Reception of the sacrament by those among us who don't "understand" as we "understand" should serve as a reminder to us that we must always experience grace before we can talk truly about it."

-from "Why Children Receive Communion", Rev. Ronald Fisher

Tonight as we were leaving All-School, Matt said, "Taking communion is my favorite thing in the world."

I replied casually, "That's good, it's the best thing in the world."

And then I paused.

I use the phrase "best thing in the world" often, about a lot of different things, seriously- but not literally.

It is startling to realize we can actually make a true statement:

...that yes, there is something that is the best thing in the world.

"As they were eating, Jesus took some bread and blessed it. Then He broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, 'Take this and eat it, for this is My body.' And He took a cup of wine and gave thanks to God for it. He gave it to them and said, 'Each of you drink from it, for this is My blood, which confirms the covenant between God and His people. It is poured out as a sacrifice to forgive the sins of many.'"

Matthew 26:26-28