Apologies

I’ve been volunteering at DMCW for 9 months now and when you’re a staff volunteer, you see the same people come through every week. First, you get to know names and faces. Then you learn things like how Stanley takes his coffee and how when Kim asks if you have noodles she means ramen noodles and nothing else. You learn that Jimmy prefers donations of black socks to white ones and that if anyone is mouthing off, Annie will most certainly have your back.

The longer I’m here, the more I learn not just about preferences and personalities, but about what happens on the other side of the street when our doors have closed for the day. I am only privy to seeing the tip of many icebergs, but it’s enough to keep me from living in comfortable ignorance of what lurks beneath the water where I float.

I can fill a plate, clean and bandage cuts, drive someone to detox, or offer my undivided attention and a hug. But all the love and good deeds in the world don’t change the fact that at the end of the day I’m the one sleeping inside when it’s below zero outside. I’m the one who can raid the fridge at night if my stomach is growling. I’m the one who can work. I’m the one with a car to take me to work. I’m the one who goes home to people who aren’t abusive or tweaking. What do I do with the privelege I carry as I attempt to live in solidarity with these nieghbors of mine?

 

There have been several times I’ve asked one of our guests a question, completely unprepared for where the conversation would go. Totally unaware that I just signed up to have my ears violated. I’ve had some real good sob sessions in my car lately as I drive and decompress from all the information I take in. I hate, hate, hate, HATE that most of the time all I can do is say, “I’m so sorry.”

I’m so sorry that your husband beat you until your eyes swelled shut and you could feel your mouth fill with blood.

I’m so sorry that you’ve been shot 9 times and can show me the scars scattered across your abdomen.

I’m so sorry that you’re finding it impossible to stay sober and it’s ruining everything.

I’m so sorry that 3 of your 4 sons died when they were just kids.

I’m so sorry that your fingers are frost bitten.

I’m so sorry that you were forced into prostitution and that you feel trapped and violated.

It feels like there are apologies constantly pumping through my bloodstream. All I know is that I cannot burn out, get cyncical, and angry. I cannot disengage. In this place where I live, contemplation and action are connected. Connecting to Love allows the community to stay engaged working for some semblance of peace and justice when the presence of pain is so thick and tangible. I believe this house is holy ground and these neighbors are immensely loved in the only way we know how: to show up, to see and listen, to stand together, and to know how they take their coffee.

God, I hope it’s felt and that it’s enough.

Love,

Taylor

P.S. I know this is kind of heavy, but I promise most of the time there’s a lot of joy and good vibes all around.

 

 

7 Things Sunday

A couple of years ago on Superbowl Sunday, four words came out of my mouth that changed everything.

I moved back to Des Moines this weekend and in the process of packing up my belongings I found all my old journals. Which might need to be burned after they’ve lost their entertainment value. Do people really keep these forever? Anyway. As I saw everything laid out chronologically, things started clicking. Obviously everyone experiences that hindsight is 20/20. But oh man. I was cringing at the girl in those pages. I simultanesously know her intimately and not at all.

I saw something on one page that caught my eye. In the summer of 2013 I wrote an excerpt from a book I had been reading and it said, “Sometimes God delivers us from the furnace, sometimes he delivers us through the furnace.” Below that I wrote, “God, sometimes I wonder if you’re going to deliver me from divorce, or if you’re going to deliver me through divorce.” 9 months later, to the day, it was Superbowl Sunday. I didn’t even know what I was writing.

I don’t know if everything happens for a reason. I didn’t want to say those words or for this to happen. But if it hadn’t, I would probably still be writing sad, cringe-worthy journal entires. Here’s 7 things I would tell the girl in those pages:

One. You will be spending more time by yourself. This means you will spend countless moments racking your brain about what happened and why. You will write yourself a list of the reasons why the choice you made was the right one, and for awhile you’ll read it to yourself every day. Otherwise your heart will grow too soft and mushy. You should take the opportunity to explore what kind of person you are right now and what kind of person you want to be. There will be a long string of nights where you’ll roll over in bed, limbs reaching for your person, and the chill of empty sheets will consistently startle you. Eventually you will relish your days and nights alone, especially if you’re productive with them. Also, you’ll get a twin mattress.

Two. You will begin to push the limits of what you thought you were capable of. Day by day, you will conquer new challenges. Especially of the emotional and mental variety. Oh, you’ll also fail miserably at some of those challenges. Like, epically fail. But hey, sometimes you win and sometimes you learn. There is nothing more revealing than divorce. You will see exactly what you’re made of. But you’re still in the formative years of self-discovery. Make the most of them. Try to impress yourself.

Three. You will sit through some laughably terrible dates. You will be in awe at how self-absorbed some can be. You will do a fair amount of robotic head nodding. But you’ll also go on some great dates that remind you of what was missing in your marriage and if nothing else, give you a confidence booster. Mostly though, you’ll figure out that a lot of dudes are very confused about what they want. Which sucks, because you’re not so much. Having been both married and divorced at such a young age, you know exactly what you don’t want. Any desire to settle for good enough or to spend time investing in something that comes with a handful of doubts is pretty much squashed by fear of history repeating itself.

Four. Possibly the most important thing you, specifically, will learn from this is the art of choosing yourself. It sounds inherently selfish which is why it makes you squeamish. However, the decision to say no to what wasn’t serving you in any healthy way or choosing you in return, was the first of many decisions that involved sticking up for yourself. You will get better at unapologetically saying what you really think. You will recognize that what you need will change and fluctuate (different days will call for different boundaries) and that’s ok. You will start to raise your voice a little bit. You will trust yourself more and more. You will learn to never try to convince someone of why they should choose you because…well because everyone is on their own path, free will to exercise, etc…but also because if they don’t choose you, you’ll choose yourself. And you’re pretty really cool.

Five. Don’t give up on the notion that God is in the business of mind-blowing. In scriptures you read stories where there are these seemingly isolated, terrible events that happen and then later on you see there was purpose in them the entire time. It gets revealed that those events were used to restore people back to their God so they could experience this crazy, redemptive love and freedom. This gets reflected in your own life. When everything is going terribly, a little bit later you step back and see all that was being weaved together to teach you and bring you to the places and people that restore your hope and freedom. But you absolutely cannot see that from where you are now.

Six. Remember that true love is action and not passive acceptance. Being truly loving requires that you define and take a stand for what you believe to be important, regardless of the conflict it may cause. It doesn’t always make sense or come easily. It’s work, it’s messy, and you don’t need to justify it. Fear of what other people think or of upsetting anyone will prevent you from taking the steps that will ultimately bring you peace and fulfilment.

Seven. You will look back at this girl who is so insecure and unable to trust her intuition. This girl full of ambivalence, taking care of everything else but herself. Eventually you will feel like you’re contemplating an entirely different person, but this is only made possible with strength, initiative, self-awareness, and support of those who will listen to your broken record- none of which may have revealed itself if you hadn’t said those four words you hate so much.

I’m sorry you didn’t get rescued from having a “worst day ever anniversary”. But I’m really thankful that you had the courage to get through the worst day ever and to discover that the worst is never really the worst. I’m proud of you for leaning in and walking through the furnace with all your questions, complaints, and doubts.

Love,
Taylor

Tenfinity

On December 31, 2005 I was in a big, beautiful ballroom watching my dad get married. To this day it is one of the best weddings I have been to, but at that time it also was one of the most profoundly sad days of my life. I knew everything from that day forward would be different. It was really, very, finally, seriously the end of what I knew as family. And what? I was just supposed to celebrate that? Put on a party dress, toss some confetti, eat cake, dance around, and give my best wishes to the happy couple? Happy. Freaking. New. Year. Life.

My best friend Rachel held my hand through the ceremony. I remember watching my tears splash onto our interlocked fingers. I remember being scared of what I didn’t know. But then the party started and I was swept up in confetti, cake, dancing, and ringing in my new year/life with friends and family.

This New Year’s Eve I felt sad and again, the last thing I wanted to do was put on a party dress, eat cake, and dance around. But I did it anyway (and I’m glad I did. Not being 15 anymore and able to drink a lot of champagne also helps). However, it really had me thinking back to a decade ago when I was watching my dad get married (HAPPY 10 YEARS, you two!!).

I was thinking about how if I could go back to that ballroom and talk to 15 year old Taylor I would give her the biggest, tightest hug. I would tell her how everything would not only be ok, but that it would be really, really wonderful. How 10 years from now she would not even be able to imagine her life without Wendy. How she would get to watch both her parents become happier, healthier, healed people. How she’d have pretty amazing relationships with all of them. How yes, the family unit as she knew it would no longer exist, but that it would only grow bigger and deeper in both quality and quantity. I mean, it won’t all be sunshine and roses, of course. But she just needs to trust that there are good and beautiful things ahead.

New Years aren’t always happy. They can remind us of what isn’t anymore.

So as I crawled into bed with my belly full of champagne and my heart feeling a bit like the ball the dropped in Times Square, I tried to imagine 35 year old Taylor crawling in to bed next to me. How she would hug me tight and tell me all the good, beautiful things I had to look forward to. I want to expect that she would tell me how everything would not just be okay, but that it would be really, really wonderful. She would remind me to trust in a God who orchestrates life and growth from death and ashes.

Oh man. Please let that be true.

Love,

Taylor

Just give me a candy heart.

Her armor is thin.

She knows how this ends: the delicate ones bend.

Oh God, thicken her skin when its arrows they send.

She’s boarding up the door.

She knows how this ends: trusting and expecting unearths the worst.

Oh God, hold the lock and key when no other is of worth.

She’s digging in the dirt.

She knows how this ends: with filthy, empty hands.

Oh God, reap before she sows in what will not grow.

It’s a struggle you know.

To hope in what you cannot see,

Through armor, though thin.

From behind a door boarded in.

Covered in dirt caked like sin.

Oh Love, if you agree,

Let no doubt intervene.

You know who holds the key.

And may you spend your days under each other’s white flags,

Holding dirty hands.

Love,

Taylor

Tattoo & Taking Heart

Even though my parents were Christians and I grew up going to church with them, they were never pushy or forceful about religion. It wasn’t mandatory and they welcomed my questions and doubts. They wanted my faith to be something that I chose and when I was twelve I decided that I wanted to be baptised. To this day, I am thankful that they allowed me to make that decision on my own. I know that twelve is still very young. Like, what do you have to think critically about at twelve? How to beat Zelda on N64? How to dispose of your vitamin shake without mom seeing? But honestly, I remember thinking hard about that decision. It wasn’t something that happened because I had reached a certain age or because everyone else was doing it. It was a commitment I wanted to make. I had periods of time where I just went through the motions or ignored my faith altogether, but when I started to do mission work, I was never really the same again. It exposed me to the enormity of the world and rocked my tiny viewpoint.

My faith, which had once seemed small and simple became increasingly challenging and complex. I went to six different countries and in each I was confronted with injustice and brokenness that sank my heart and made my blood boil. But I found it impossible to be disheartened to the point of giving up on my faith because the people who had every reason to believe that God had abandoned them were the most faithful, resilient, grateful and joyful people. Consistently. Everywhere I went. And they could tell you of all the ways God provided for them. Even when the world was dark and evil, He was still good, they told me. There was never any denying of the loss that comes from war, poverty, famine, or disease…but there was always rejoicing in hope. I think in much of the third-world there is a greater understanding of Jesus’ words, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). It’s not going to get any better, really. It seems like Jesus is warning everyone that life is always going to shit on you. It will lack logic and reason. It will be easy to lose heart but he says, take heart, people!  If you only live in the world, you’ll be full of anxiety and disappointment. If you live in me, you’ll find the peace and love you need to navigate allllll the troubles.

I have read quite a bit about the Celtic faith since being here and have appreciated this way of understanding. It developed far away from the Roman and Orthodox churches, starting around monasteries in the British Isles. It began with rural people, to whom tribe or kinship was very important and therefore living in community was essential. Being monastic, there was no real separation of living and praying. The Celts were very connected to the earth and an awareness of the elemental forces is woven through out their prayers. There is an emphasis on imagination which is emulated through symbolism, storytelling, and poetry. The monastic life is about a never-ending journey of the old into the new. It relies on a deep understanding of oneself and interior reflection, but the journey is not just a personal one…it is fundamentally about finding Christ in others, becoming a more loving person, and growth into relationships. Celtic spirituality has a deep sense of connectedness, valuing harmony and interdependence. This reflects their deep conviction to worshipping God as Trinity: three persons in a unity of love.

You know, thinking back to the places I’ve been…Christianity looked different everywhere I went. Obviously, there are core principles that remain the same…but the way it manifested and was expressed differed by culture and individual. It fascinates me that so many people possess this need to know what is ‘right’ and ‘true’ when we are all made differently. We have completely different contexts and backgrounds. I don’t understand how there could ever be one way of understanding that would work for 6 billion individuals. And this is one thing I find really beautiful about Christianity– God is bigger than your understanding. If Jesus is the way, the truth and the life…then you aren’t. And that is ok.

But anyway… In my reading, I stumbled upon a series of Caim prayers. “Caim” is a Scots Gaelic word meaning “sanctuary”, “protecting”, “encircling”. The encircling prayers affirmed the presence of God with them in the circle. Wherever they walked, God was with them, and they drew these circles around themselves as a reminder of God’s presence and protection. The Celtic way of prayer is rooted in the notion of Immanuel, “God with us.” These prayers have been so, so important to me in my time here. Carrying a deep awareness of Immanuel with me and ‘taking heart’ has been crucial to my sanity. I started out feeling extremely vulnerable when I arrived in Scotland. I was newly-divorced, thousands of miles away from home but five miles away from Clayton, beginning the most gruelling academic work of my life. My grandparents were diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and cancer. The rain, wind, and darkness (night starting at 2:30 pm is just not okay) felt like they would never let up. It suuuuuucked. I didn’t know how to navigate it and I definitely haven’t done it well the whole time. But hey, sometimes you win and sometimes you learn, right? I have done my best to encircle myself in sanctuary. I have reconnected with Jesus’ teachings and just what a badass he was. Is it okay to call him that? I don’t care, he was. Even in the darkest times, I have experienced the peace that comes from resting in His protection and love (and the bosoms of the fiercely amazing friends I have made here ;)). When I get hit with a wave of intense (insert emotion), I remember the Caim circle and am mindful of myself as a sacred space where God dwells, surrounded in every direction. I acknowledge what I am thinking or feeling and pray to keep the truth/positive within and the lie/negative without.

I drew my own Caim circle. And then I got it tattooed on my forearm.

Now it really is with me wherever I go.

Love,

Taylor

Inner|Outer

“If we give priority to the outer life, our inner life will be dark and scary. We will not know what to do with solitude. We will be deeply uncomfortable with self-examination, and we will have an increasingly short attention span for any kind of reflection. Even more seriously, our lives will lack integrity. Outwardly, we will need to project confidence, health and wholeness, while inwardly we may be filled with self-doubts, anxieties, self-pity, and old grudges. Yet we won’t know how to go into the inner rooms of the heart, see clearly what is there, and deal with it. In short, unless we put a priority on the inner life we turn ourselves into hypocrites.” – Timothy Keller, Prayer 

One of the things about being an internal processor is that it makes me more prone to over analysing everything. This was solidified last week when my counsellor said, “You process everything so well on you’re own that I’m not always even sure how to help you. Girl, you’re even good at therapy.” Can I get that skill endorsed on my Linkdin page? Ha. But really, this more or less constant state of self-reflection is something I like about myself and on the other hand, it also drives me f-ing crazy. While it involves being well-thought out and intentional, it also means that I have worried a great deal on the inside about how things appear on the outside. I have given priority to my outer life more times than I can count. After all, it’s what people see that matters, right? Honestly, would we be as content with our relationships, talents, humour, appearance, and thoughts if we didn’t post them and receive the instant gratification of it being liked, shared, and commented on? Do we alone attribute value to those aspects of our own lives, or is some part of their worth in the hands of those we share them with? I don’t know.

I can sit at my computer and write about how much I’ve grown since moving here, how much courage I’ve gained, how strong I feel, etc., and all of those are true to some degree because I have made efforts to prioritize my inner life, but they’re still simply projections. I’ve had to face the fact that what I project is where I want to be and/or where I think other people want me to be. However, that is usually not where I really am.

Facing where you really are involves moving out of your own way. I’ve had to be conscious of where my thoughts drift to when nothing is forcing me to think about anything in particular and I’m not looking at a screen. That tells me a lot. The whole world-turned-upside-down-type stuff that has happened in my life this past year has made the inner rooms of my heart a very hard place to frequent. When I’m down, I keep picturing Jillian Michaels in that 30 Day Shred workout video screaming, “Get comfortable with being uncomfortable!” That’s pretty much how it feels. Being on my own a lot…call it loneliness, call it solitude, has allowed me to see clearly what is there and I’m going to deal with it. The only thing that stands in the way of me getting to the place where my inside and outside match is me. As the brilliant Flannery O’Connor wrote in her prayer journal, “Dear God, I cannot love Thee the way I want to…I do not know You God because I am in the way…I have started on a new phase of my spiritual life…the throwing off of certain adolescent habits and habits of mind. It does not take much to make us realize what fools we are, but the little it takes is long in coming. I see my ridiculous self by degrees.”

Reading that I thought, daaaamn that woman is honest. And then it hit me…

Being honest.

That is what has made going inward, seeing, and dealing so difficult. That’s what is uncomfortable. I have become even more conscious of honesty since being immersed in a culture that is generally put off by it. I have been learning how to be brutally honest in prayer. I find it weird. Unsettling. It takes practice. I have always gone about my conversations with God in a beautifully civil manner. Sure, I’ve prayed through a good sob session plenty of times but lately its gotten real real…you know what I mean? Angry. Pissed. Gutted. Destroyed. Lots and lots of expletives. My entire life I have been keeping myself composed in front of the one from whom I can hide nothing. I just didn’t get to experience the goodness that comes from brutal honesty until I moved out of my own way. Until I abandoned composure. Until I started identifying where I am really at, venting like its my job, and processing it all without an ounce of restraint in God’s presence.

Praying is something I’ve done for as long as I can remember. Although it is the most referenced and commonly shared practice among all faiths, I think that prayer/meditation is one of the most talked about and least understood things ever.  For me, the confusion lies in that prayer is one of the ways I most profoundly experience God’s presence, and yet it is what makes me most aware of God’s absence. Keller also writes,”Perhaps we are so used to being empty that we do not recognize the emptiness as such until we start to try to pray.” Perhaps it is that loneliness which fuels our hunger; a hunger that is eventually always satisfied because ultimately, prayer is communion with God and that reciprocal love is God’s greatest desire.

Love,

Taylor

October 17

When Love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you, believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as Love crowns you so shall he crucify you.

Even as he is for your growth, so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

He assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast. All these things shall Love to unto you that you may know the secrets of your own heart.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses nothing, nor would it be possessed. For Love is sufficient unto Love.

When you Love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.” And think not you can direct the course of Love, for Love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

-(parts of) ‘Love’ by Kahlil Gibran

I saw Clayton yesterday. Today would have been our 5-year wedding anniversary. And although my stomach was in complete debate mode over the thought of being in his presence again, I’m glad it happened. Really, really glad. It ending up being one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. There was laughing, crying, hugging, happiness, sadness, regretting, forgiving, and gushing over the new. It never once felt painful or awkward. It was honestly like something out of a movie. Like a bittersweetly heartwarming ending to a romantic comedy. It was how a Bon Iver song makes you feel when you listen to it. And as I walked away from him, my heart was pounding and a smile was beaming from my face. I was in awe of how healing it was…to see each other and to know that we are both okay. That we are both incredibly proud of the other. That we are both rooting for each other with all the adoration in the world.

If it were not for the hard and steep, the wounds, the shattered dreams, the crucifying and root shaking…I would not be who I am today. Today my heart aches over the loss, but it is simultaneously overjoyed because of what I gained through that Love. It grew us, pruned us, and refined us. Where I once wanted to curse that Love for the ways it hurt, from a place of wholeness I can now say that it formed me and I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I am unendingly grateful for the Love that directs my course and for the years that course was with Clayton.

Love,

Taylor

I think this ^ sums it up. Keep going. Everything is going to be alright 🙂

7 Things Sunday

Since it is Easter…

7 (of many) reasons I think Jesus was the man:

One. Jesus a radically awesome friend to women. There is a Jewish blessing that goes, “Blessed are you, Lord God, Ruler of the Universe, who has not made me a woman.” In Jesus’ day women were essentially seen as property. Men didn’t speak to women in public. Rabbis were not to teach women.  And yet we see many accounts of Rabbi Jesus teaching women, even one-on-one. He included men and women as disciples. We see Jesus interact with women intimately and personally. They flocked to him. They used their resources to support his ministry. Jesus violated the morals and traditions of his society to give women honor and respect.

When the religious leaders were tired of Jesus’ popularity, teachings, and rule-breaking, they thought they could bring a charge against him. So they instigated a mob and drug a woman caught in adultery (which was punishable by death) before Jesus. They said to him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So, what do you say?”

Jesus has a lose-lose situation, here. If he shows her mercy, he ends up condoning adultery and getting arrested or at the very least he proves the Pharisees’ point. If he agrees with the stoning, then so much for all his teaching on mercy and forgiveness. So much for his unique and against-the-grain treatment of women. So what happens?

He bends down and writes something on the ground (what he wrote remains unknown, but I like to think it said something like, “Suck it, Pharisees!”). Then when they continued to question him, he stood up and said, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw the stone at her.”

BOOM. No takers. No condemnation. Walk away, people. Daughter: go home, live your life, don’t cheat anymore.

Who stood at the foot of the cross when Jesus’ male disciples fled? Ladies.

Who did Jesus choose to first appear to when he rose from the dead? Ladies. WHAT?! This is amazing. Women had such little standing in culture and certainly no authority to be religious spokespersons. And here Jesus is, giving them this role to be the first to tell others of his resurrection.

Two. Jesus was really annoyed by self-righteous religious people and legalism. Amen, me too. Thank God. Literally. Jesus told the crowds in Matthew 23, “…don’t follow their example. For they don’t practice what they teach. They crush people with unbearable religious demands and never lift a finger to ease the burden. Everything they do is for show.” He goes on to say to the Pharisees things like, “What sorrow awaits you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites! For you shut the door of the Kingdom of Heaven in people’s faces. You won’t go in yourselves, and you don’t let others enter either…For you cross land and sea to make one convert, and then you turn that person into twice the child of hell you yourselves are!….You ignore the more important aspects of the law- justice, faith, and mercy…Outwardly you look like righteous people, but inwardly your hearts are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness…Snakes! Sons of vipers!”

That’s pretty intense stuff. As with the parable of the tax collector, Jesus consistently and intently made it evident that God looks at each individual’s heart posture. Only he knows, only he can make judgements. The rest of us are commanded to love.

Three. Jesus understands suffering. I take comfort in knowing this. That when I grieve something or someone, he’s doing it, too. I won’t even begin to compare any of my suffering to what he experienced. But he knew the pain of being betrayed by close friends. He knew the gut-wretchingness of seeing insane injustices all around him. He knew hunger. He knew accusation. He knew the pain of giving up family. He knew the pain of death. He experienced all the emotions I experience. I love worshipping a God who’s response to human suffering was to enter into it- to endure it with me and for me.

Four. Jesus was grace. The crucifixion story amazes me because I see just how jaw-droppingly full of grace God is, even in torture, awaiting an unjust death. His first words on the cross are to ask God to actually forgive the people who are killing him (Luke 23:34). Then, the criminal who hung on the cross next to Jesus, acknowledging Christ’s innocence, asks to be remembered when Jesus enters his kingdom. He doesn’t start confessing his sins or asking how to ‘get saved’, he simply asks to be a part of the kingdom. In his last seconds of life, hanging in excruciating pain on the cross, Jesus assures him they’ll be in paradise together that day (Luke 23:43). And then his last words on the cross moments before he dies are, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Five. Jesus was a “come to the table” guy. He was known disapprovingly as a friend to prostitutes, tax collectors, lepers, and a whole assortment of social outcasts. Jesus chose to wine and dine this crew. Even the disciples were a bunch of kids who hadn’t made the cut. Jesus seemed to do a lot of his ministry during mealtimes. Jesus’ first miracle (while full of symbolism) was turning tons of water into the best wine to save a bride humiliation and keep the reception dinner party going. During dinner one night, Jesus exemplfies the servanthood of leadership by washing his students’ feet. Jesus taught that the kingdom of heaven is like a wedding feast. Then, most infamously at the last supper he first offers himself as the Eucharist using bread and wine.

Six. Jesus was a story-teller. Who doesn’t love a great storyteller? The endless parables used to get on my nerves a little. If Jesus was worried about making everything clear and not leaving much up for interpretation, I don’t feel like he did that. He was a man of symbolism. I’ve come to hold a deep appreciation for that and what I assume his reasonings are for teaching this way. Parables, or stories that parallel a principle with an easily understood illustration are for one, memorable. They also allowed him to teach controversial lessons without getting in trouble with religious authorities for heresy. They indicate people’s spiritual condition, being lost on those who are resistant to instruction, while piercing the hearts that are open. And ultimately, I think it was because Jesus wanted to show us God, not lecture us about his principles. Jesus illustrates that he wanted us to understand how good God’s kingdom is and what it means for us as broken, fallen people. Jesus was constantly confronted with ways in which God’s intention had been perverted by human brokenness. God’s way had become all about religion and rules, not about humility and love. 

Seven. Jesus meets you where you’re at and has faith in you. Obviously, there are a lot of stories where Jesus is talking to a large group of people, but I’m always most amazed by his one-on-one interactions. He didn’t use a system or have a method when it came to healing and drawing people into relationship with him. He used various methods of speaking commands, asking questions, being touched or touching, forgiveness, compassion, to convey God in the way that specific person needed to receive it. He knew where each person’s faith was at, and he got on that level to call them into restoration. To call them to follow. I love this (paraphrased) part of Rob Bell’s “Dust” sermon…

If you are a disciple, you have committed your entire life to being like your rabbi. If you see your rabbi walk on water, what do you immediately want to do? Walk on water. So this disciple gets out on the water and he starts to sink, so he yells, “Jesus save me!” And Jesus says, “You of little faith, why do you doubt?” Who does Peter lose faith in? Not Jesus; Jesus is doing fine. Peter loses faith in himself. Peter loses faith that he can do what the rabbi is doing. If the rabbi calls you to be his disciple, then he believes you can actually be like him. As we read the stories of Jesus’ life with his disciples, what do we find that frustrates him to no end? When his disciples lose faith in themselves. He doesn’t get frustrated with them because they are incapable, but because of how capable they are. 

So Jesus, at the end of his time, tells the disciples to go make more disciples. Then he leaves. He dies. He promises to send his Spirit to guide and direct them, but the future of the movement is in their hands. He doesn’t stick around to make sure they don’t screw it up. He’s gone. He actually trusts that they can do it. God has an incredibly high view of people. God believes people are capable of amazing things. I’ve been told that I need to believe in Jesus, which is a good thing. But what I’m learning is that Jesus believes in me. 

 

 

 Love,

Taylor

On Break(throughs)

I just need a breakthrough.

I keep telling myself this.

I need a breakthrough at work, where a barrier crumbles and I’m let in. I’m allowed to swim through the tormented, beautiful minds. Where I’m listened to and asked to listen.

I need a breakthrough in my creativity, where it suddenly ignites as if I were a human sparkler.

I need a breakthrough in friendships, where the awkwardness goes away. Where I don’t feel less than because of the newly missing half.

I need a breakthrough in church or spirituality, where prayer isn’t a homework assignment, but happens with people organically and in the moment. Where there is time for honest questions and room for silence.

I need a breakthrough in therapy, where I learn how to gauge whether I’m doing something caring for someone else or if I’m actually doing it for me (which, for the record, is way harder than you might think). Where I figure out how parts of my personality and character make me wonderfully amazing and wonderfully unhealthy at the same time. Where I figure out how to let go, unclench my fists and foster some sort of pioneering spirit that pushes me forward into God knows what.

Break:

separate or cause to separate into pieces as a result of a blow, shock or strain

to lacerate; to wound

to put an end to; overcome; stop

to interrupt the regularity, uniformity, or arrangement of

I’m in the process of breaking. In some moments I feel completely broken. We’ve all been there, right? There’s that overly-pinned Leonard Cohen lyric about how cracks are what lets the light in. It’s true, though. Breakthroughs must be like that- never one single break, but rather gradual shifts…tiny cracks that reveal or expose what was once unseen and intangible. And it’s an active process. To continue breaking is an option I will always have. It’s the “through” part that I have trouble committing to. That part is scary. That means I have to find the flaw and see through it. It means that I some point, in order to get anywhere, I have to shift my actions to a forward and through direction.

It means I have to take a break from the internal mind chatter that doesn’t actually benefit me. It means I have to finds ways to make use of the time I spent devoted to all these old habits and ways of thinking. And it means I must stay mindful of all thee above.

While breaking is unpleasant and disorienting, I realize that when we break…newness and freshness floods in. It’s different, but it doesn’t have to be scary. I can lean into that. I can embrace the pain of the cracking if it means I’m breaking for a good sob and surrender. For the most raw and pure form of faith. For new adventures and relationships. For the breathlessness of anticipation. For discovering that I’m capable of this. For sunflowers and sweaty yoga mats. For new eyes and a wiser heart. I can break for those things. 

Away with the notion that breaking is about isolation, gross imperfection, and all things depressing.

Usher in the truth that breaking is about movement, growth, and light. God is in the beauty, sacredness, and humble gratification of the breaking.

Love,

Taylor

7 Things Sunday

7 things I’m trying to do:

One. Save $$$ for graduate school. If all goes as planned (which almost never happens in my life…so, we’ll see) I’ll be starting a MA in Arts, Festival, and Cultural Management in Scotland THIS September. I’m enrolled, I’ve applied for scholarships, I was accepted for student housing…now I just need to apply for a visa in June and hope they’ll take me. But there are all kinds of deposits involved and a lot to pay for in general. Plus, it would be nice to travel elsewhere if I have the time or resources. Wish me luck as I depart on a summer of bare necessities. Don’t ask me to eat out, plan a vacation or go shopping, people. If you have any personal tips or tricks on living the frugal life, please do share!

Two. Read more. I’m a go, go, go person. I like to pack my schedule with people to see and things to do. But lately I’ve been a book fiend. I couldn’t put down ‘The Circle’ by Dave Eggers, which is a thrilling/disturbing novel about a woman who works for the biggest, most influential internet company in the world. As her role there becomes more public and the company grows and implements new ideas, it raises big questions about memory, history, privacy, democracy, and the limits of human knowledge. I also recently read two books by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: ‘The Thing Around Your Neck’, which is a collection of short stories that explores the “ties that bind men and women, parents and children, Africa and the United States”. And ‘Americanah’ which is a novel about a Nigerian couple who leave each other and their country to live separate lives in the West, but then they return to a very different Nigeria 15 years later and rediscover their homeland and each other. I loved and would highly recommend all of them. 

Three. Laugh every day. What is the most hilarious thing you’ve read, heard, or watched lately? I’d love to know because life is rough right now, friends. I need laughs. They say it’s the best medicine.

Four. Tell myself the truth. I lie to myself a lot. I think things that aren’t true, so then I feel things that aren’t true. And the media lies to us all the time, too. So that doesn’t help. I have found that when I’m on a slippery emotional slope or over analyzing something, I just start repeating truths to myself over and over again. Sometimes in my head, but it’s most helpful to say it out loud when I’m alone. I try to do it before I go to bed, when my mind is most susceptible to tired nonsense and unable to shut off.

Five. Meditate. I don’t know how people do it. I think shutting my mind off is unattainable. But I’ve been meditating on these words a lot:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3

“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not foresake them.” Isaiah 42:16

Six. Feel all the feels. Grieving is awkward. No one wants to do it. There’s no time for it. Everything in life is in motion, even if your insides are stuck in quick sand. When someone dies there’s time set aside for closure. There are days off work. Probably not enough, but there’s at least something. People come to you to. They say things like, “Take whatever time you need.” They bring you meals because they know you’ll be too sad to cook or feed yourself. No one says that when your marriage dies, but it’s just as life-altering. I’ve choked back tears in meetings, at the gym, talking with friends, ordering food (the most awkward one), etc. Break-downs are not becoming. No one wants to see that, right? But I’m trying not to suppress the feelings anymore. I’m not going to be embarrassed of them or feel pressured to always keep it together. I know that if I don’t grieve, I won’t be able to let go and if I can’t let go, I won’t experience healing. I’m going to stop telling everyone I’m doing well when I’m really not. I’m free to feel everything in its entirety: the emptiness, the fear, the hurt, because I know that I will survive and that the feelings will eventually pass. I know every day I can turn a little more over to Him. I know healing is a choice and it requires release.

Seven. Set more goals. My job now requires me to sit down with kids and figure out what their goals are and then follow up with them. If I’m going to make other people do it, I should probably do it myself. So, that’s sort of what this list is.