Goin' broke . . . for the Lord

Strip me bare . . .

2011-12-16T10:06:00.000-08:00

"Lord, strip me of my desire to be a people-pleaser!"

That was the prayer I prayed earlier last week and one I asked a friend of mine to pray on my behalf. I never thought of myself as a people-pleaser. I like to think that I've always been a person bent on doing her own thing, not caring what people thought or think of my decisions or what they think of me. I like to think that I have danced to my own tune, whether it was popular or not. But since becoming a pastor, I've noticed a struggle has begun to ensue. I've noticed a wrestling within myself to be approved. There, I said it! Called it out for what it is -- a sticky web you can't break free from once you get entangled in it. I'm glad to say that for the most part, I have won the battle. I've stood my ground and moved forward despite people protests. Despite the uncomfortable feelings inside my body that remind me I'm going against the grain . . . responding counter culturally . . . and that it's OK. Standing fully in one's own self and thoughts and opinions . . . and oftentimes alone, isn't going to feel good at the onset. We live in a society that espouses uniqueness, but operates on sameness and so when change enters the picture we struggle to embrace it. Because it will separate us. Put us on the outs with some. Leave us standing in a place of critical judgement. And no one wants to be judged or be the target of its darts.

It's helped that I've had many around me to keep me grounded and undergirded in prayer, because I recognize there have been moments when I may have been about to break. And that has been scary. Admittedly, it doesn't help that I am a part of a denominational system whose very structure is founded upon man's approval of whether you pass the muster or not. They alone decide whether you are able to articulate your theology and whether it is aligned properly with the Methodist theology of your training. They make the decision regarding whether you are ready and fit for ministry with full credentials that give you a seat at the table. They, for the most part, decide whether God has called you into ordained ministry. The authenticity of your call by God is pitted against their own human knowledge that says you are ready. That your call was true and they stand in support of it.

This thing about people-pleasing is funny, because who does not struggle with wanting to be liked or having the praise of men. Who does not wrestle with their own uniqueness. Their being set apart and having to take the road less traveled. Or taking a risk that may pan out or not.

For the past few weeks, we have been studying Saul in Bible Study, a classic example of what happens when a people-pleasing mentality is not arrested. You become a puppet of the people. At the mercy of someone else pulling your strings. Like a drug, you begin to crave what is merely false affection and you find yourself a slave to it, as it become insatiable and difficult to break free of its tentacles. When you begin the journey down that road, it's hard to turn back.

In 1 Samuel 13, Saul's impatience regarding further instruction on how to lead his people into battle with the Philistines, leads him to engage in an unlawful sacrifice to God on behalf of the people.
When asked by Samuel why he made the sacrifice, Saul responds, "When I saw the people slipping away from me, and that you did not come within the days appointed, and that the Philistines were mustering at Michmash, I said, Now the Philistines will come down on me . . . "
Now the Bible doesn't say, but I know people and I'm sure they were no different then than they are today. Impatient, particularly when the vision isn't clear. Hormonal. Critical. Just plain crazy. I'm sure many of them were second-guessing Saul's military prowess, just as some of them did when he was first ordained. And because he feared losing his status with them, he responded, seeking their approval than God's directive.

Every since God called me into my pastor pumps, I've found myself having to arrest my people-pleasing mentality. I've found myself having to push aside this dark desire to be given the thumbs up and stamped with the "approved" checkmark label. I've found myself heeding the words of my wisdom tellers and sharers, who say it is imperative that I uncover and recover my wisdom voice. That it is imperative I speak truth to power. That it is imperative that I preach in and out of season, for "how will they have faith in someone they haven't heard of? And how will they hear without a preacher? And how can they preach unless they are sent?" I have found that it is imperative I put away my people-pleasing ways and fear not the ordination boards, the mother boards, and the peanut galleries and critical comments of pew warmers and sideline saddlers and believe in God's belief in me. That God has indeed called and gifted me to be a truth-teller. And that I must simply preach!

Just Preach!

Journeying to a disciplined life . . .

2011-12-12T04:36:00.001-08:00

Following service yesterday a church member said, "When God gets you to where God is taking you, you're going to be something else! Her comment alluded to the fact that on I'm my way somewhere. . . and God doing something with me . . . molding me, perhaps . . . whipping me into shape. . . Hmmm. Somehow in the wee hours of this morning, I didn't think of myself as going somewhere, but saw myself as stalled . . . blind even. I even started praying aloud, "God where am I going?" having forgotten about the earlier comment shared with me. These are probably normal thoughts as it is coming to the close of another year and reflections on the life ahead and behind often dominate my thoughts. What will next year this time look like? Where will I be? Who will I be? Who will I be with on the journey, if anyone? Where will the journey take me? All the normal questions that I have asked year after year, realizing that every year before has left its own indelible mark behind, and still many questions unanswered.

But I recognize for the past three years, it was slightly different. I was in seminary and I knew for the most part what was coming next . . . another semester. There was solace in the certainty of it all, despite the challenges that I knew each semester would bring. Despite the fact that each semester I found myself crying and praying that I would make it through and gather the strength to write one more 20-plus page paper. There was still some solace there. The end goal was always in sight . . . graduation. Even though I wasn't sure I would make it, I could see an image of the finish line. I hoped. Now that I'm seven months beyond the finish line, the image of what lies ahead is not so clear anymore. The walks seem a bit longer and the road more windier. Some things are clear. Many are not. I'm in a new city . . . a strange place . . . in a new job . . . doing something I've never done before . . . wondering "Where is God taking me?" Only this time, I must think about more than just myself. I pray and ask these questions for more than just one now. I have people to look after . . . souls to care for and tend to . . . a responsibility to pay more attention to what God is saying and doing. I can't just wander off and explore on my own anytime I please . . . others can be hurt.

I recognize what worked well for me before, isn't necessarily working in the same way it has for me in the past. I'm being required to do more . . . step up my game so-to-speak. I don't hear God in the ways I used to here God before. Some things are not unfolding so easily as they have in the past. I'm having to dig deeper, stretch my eyes a little wider and lean in to hear more clearly.

This month started our church-wide fast and on the first day I clearly heard God say I needed to be more disciplined. I knew exactly to what God was speaking. I haven't been the most disciplined in creating intentional space to pray and meditate. . . .nor prepare adequately for my sermons. I have not made much room to really hear the voice of God. It has not always been easy as I often feel I am being pulled in so many directions. This fast has probably been the most disciplined that I have been . . . and I have another 19 more days to go. They say it takes 21 days to create a habit, so maybe this is the start I needed to have clearer vision. Maybe this the answer to my prayer . . . the key that unlocks the doors to God giving me a peek into what's ahead.

So, yes my member is right. God is taking me somewhere . . . on a journey to become greater than my present self. And it's starting with an admonition to Be Disciplined. The hope is then I will be able to hear and gain clearer vision to see.

Journeying into self-discovery

2011-01-19T13:37:00.000-08:00

It was like a scene from Grey's Anatomy . . . medical terminology and acronyms flying everywhere and directives on how to deal with patients, families, doctors and deceased bodies. Soon I would be staring in my own episodes each week. This was my first day of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) . . . my orientation to serving as a chaplain for the next 14 weeks at Grady Hospital, where I will find myself in various situations . . . being at the side of those in distress and despair . . . helping to make decisions over life and death . . . and praying all the while that the right words will come when I need them.

As I walked the halls to gain familiarity with what is located on each floor . . . across the street . . . . and around various corners, I was struck once again with what this experience would entail. It would require me to be transparent, particularly with my colleagues as we discuss weekly our experiences and reactions to encounters. It would require me to use the same tools I employed to produce a good story with myself. My time in CPE would require I do investigative work on me.

This was the first day to fully coming to know more about myself . . . and frankly it was all overwhelming. There is nothing fun about doing deep introspection on one's self . . . but it is necessary. Many who have traveled this path of CPE says that it will make be a better minister . . . . more competent . . . more sensitive to the needs of others . . . and more understanding of the other. . . and more knowledgeable about myself. As I shared with my supervisor, I'm not quite sure what to quite expect from this experience outside of the tears that have already began to flow from the heaviness of the day and the weight of my responsibilities.

I heard someone say of the experience that it is about learning to tell my story and learning to navigate what it true for me. That makes sense. Once I learn my own story then it will be easier to guide others to theirs and help them too, speak their truth.

116 days to graduation and counting . . .

On the last leg of the journey . . .

2011-01-18T19:28:00.000-08:00

117 days. That's all that's left on my life here at Candler . . . before I graduate on May 9. . . before I turn the tassel . . . walk the stage . . . and into a different life . . . as somebody's preacher/teacher and hopefully pastor. As a theological scholar. Today marks my last semester here at Candler. When I started on this journey three years ago, the end seemed a lifetime away. Now that I'm in the home stretch, it seems as though the end has come quickly. But it hasn't been without the heart- and headaches and uncomfortableness that accompanies any body in transition and metamorphosis. The growing pains have been great. The temper tantrums have been many. And God has been relentless in God's quest for me. Yes, this is what this journey has been about . . . a metamorphosis. I can clearly see I'm not the same young woman who entered Candler unsure, doubtful of my intellect in this setting . . . at this age. I'm not the same woman who came in without clarity of her identity . . . her skill . . . .her purpose. I'm not the same woman who fought against God's plan and put my hands over my ears trying to drown out the sound of the voice that continues to call me toward some new adventure I didn't seem equipped to take. . . or even wanted to take.

I admit there is some anxiety about what is in the unknown, but there is also peace these days that it will come together. I used to fret over how I would remember all the stuff that has been dumped into my head over these last three years. I used to fret over whether I would be able to adequately explain the Trinity or engage in conversations with my parishioners about why evil exists and where did it originate from. I used to beat up myself for not paying more attention in Old and New Testament and doing all the required readings and often cried over whether I would be able to adequately lead and care tenderly for the souls that will be in my care.

But now, what I'm beginning to learn is that what I need will come back to my remembrance at the right time and all that I don't know, I can simply look it up. Candler has taught me how to research. All that I didn't read, I can finish reading. The answers to certain questions are no longer elusive to me nor are the questions themselves a frustration. While I would love for things to happen in my time and the way I want, I know that will not be case. Change has been in the air for many years now and it will continue to be whether I like it or not. But what I do know is it will come together. . . that even as God led me here, God will lead me from here . . . even through the darkness of the unknown.

In an interview with Holly Robinson Pete on The Talk, Oprah Winfrey shared how she had read in a Vaniety Fair article Michael Jackson's continual quest to recreate "Thriller", a feat that he was never able to do. Oprah shared that in the moment she read that, she realized she too was afraid to move forward following her decision to end the show after 25 years. She too struggled with how she would create another Oprah Winfrey Show . . . how she could recreate these moments of her past. "Then I thought, I don't want to go the rest of my life saying Oh, I wish it was the Oprah Winfrey Show," she said, "cause it won't be. I have to let that time be. Now let's move on to this moment. Let's not try to hold onto that moment."

When I came to seminary, I began to shed my identity of journalist. Like Oprah, I toiled over how I would be able to recreate the success I had as a writer and editor and expert in my field. And like Oprah, over these last few years, I've begun to learn that those moments will never be again. I must create new moments. I must be willing as Jay-Z said, to "climb to the next mountain." Afterall that is what re-inventing one's self is all about. It's about answering the call of God to move when God says move. It's about having the courage to become who I really am.

For some time now, the Divine has been saying that I'm one of the chosen as God's mouthpieces. For some time now, God has been preparing me to become a greater self than the self that previously existed. And today, I choose to no longer fight it.

God, help me to understand . . .

2010-07-30T08:35:00.001-07:00

On July 23, I woke up after a restless night where the power had been out during the night and penned this before it would go out again:

This week has not been a good week as it has been filled with power outages that occur multiple times without warning during the day and night. It seems to get worse every day as the power is more often off than it is on – maybe two to five hours during the day and another four to five hours at night. These old wood houses, which are not insulated, become hot very quickly when the fans no longer blow and the air conditioning has stopped running And for someone who has only had her computer to keep her connected to the "outside world" so-to-speak, -- considering that I have no television or radio -- it has become an extremely stressful situation. The power outages have affected my broadband connection. I've had no connection. Today it doesn't help that it is a torrential downpour. This week we cancelled Tuesday Bible Study because of the power outage. "It will be difficult to find someplace to keep cool," said Mrs. Margaret, the church's organist and one of two members at Epworth Methodist who faithfully attends the study. Although the lesson I had planned for that day was still on my computer as I didn't get a chance to print it out before the power shut off at 10 a.m., I was open to pulling another lesson that I already had put together for the Wednesday Bible Study class at St. Andrews. But it wasn't needed.

I read an essay earlier this week from a pastor who described a trying and challenging situation in his life as God's way of not trying to destroy him, but bring him in closer relationship through the means of daily devotion. I have thought about this in relation to my own situation and my time spent here in Abaco this summer. I can agree that this summer – with all of its challenges – has brought me into closer relationship. Being here has forced me to be more focused, helped me to hear the voice of God more and moved me to become more disciplined in my work. But I can't help but wonder at what point does an experience cease to be a divine attempt on God's behalf to get me to a certain place in my life. At what point do power outages just become what they are: power outages?

Do I, could I, have the Naaman spirit?

2010-07-05T18:52:00.000-07:00

Since I've been here, every sermon -- off of the lectionary mind you -- has miraculously dealt with some issue that I've seen arise within the week, leaving me with little worry over what I should preach or concern about what issues have taken root within these congregations. Not once have I had to do some extensive exegesis of a congregation to get a handle on what message God wanted to get across. My lectionary text, so far, has hit on them every Sunday. This past Sunday's sermon was no different . . . but yet it was different . . . disturbing really.

I am well aware that I can't preach a sermon I haven't lived so I wasn't surprised by what the mirror showed me about myself through the message "Misplaced Focus" on judgment and condemnation. Nor was I bothered by the revelations from "How Hungry Are You?", a sermon on discipleship and priorities. But this recent sermon out of 2 Kings 5, "Can't See for Looking" on the army general Naaman has had me wrestling in my skin. It's had me really taking a look at myself and posing the question: "Do I . . . could I have that Naaman spirit?

I started examining whether I was Naaman in the story shortly after arriving last week at another settlement, Hope Town, another island within Abaco. The plan was for me to stay there in the Mission House with the youth minister and her husband over the weekend since I would be preaching two services at St. James Methodist Church there on Sunday. No sooner than we had pulled away from the Marsh Harbor dock headed to Hope Town, do I hear they are without power. As the boat pushed further into the ocean headed to the well-known tourist village, I silently prayed the power would return by the time I reached the boat dock. That would not be the case. There was no power. . . hadn't been since the day before . . .and there was no idea from anyone when it would come back on. And it was another sweltering day! Why had I decided to wear blue jeans? Thank goodness I opted for a strapless halter top.

My first thought after hoping off the boat: "Are you serious? I didn't sign up for this. Can I go anywhere on this island where the power isn't going out every hour or so?"
Needless to say, I wasn't happy. (I was careful that my face didn't betray me). It was as though I had arrived on the day of a pending hurricane. People are moving about trying to figure out their own game plan. Everybody is looking for a cool place to hang . . . preferably with someone who has a generator. . . and not that many on the island have one. There is really no time to be concerned about the visiting minister-in-training who had come in. This was clearly apparent. I mean I didn't even get a phone call that the power had been out and my number was sitting right beside the phone.

But then more bad news follows: there is no water, which means no way to cook . . .no way to flush . . .no way to bathe. As I sat with the youth minister, her husband and his mother (she had come to visit) . . .and the dog in the Mission House, praying for a cool breeze to filter through the room . . .praying the conditions would get better. . . thinking of an alternate plan of how I would depart and get back to my own more comfortable surroundings, all I could think was, "I know they really don't expect me to live like this right? . . . sleeping in a house where there is no power, no water, and a dog roaming about. Surely, one of the church committee members will suggest I come to their home or they will put me up in a place where the accommodations may be a little better . . . not as stress producing . . . a bit more peaceful . . . a bit more fitting for the minister-in-training."

After all, I was preaching on Sunday . . . I had a sermon to write. I needed the Internet. I needed peace and quiet to meditate . . .hear from God and prepare myself for Sunday. I needed some familiar comforts. Not long after, it starts dawning on me, "I think I might be sounding a bit like Naaman in this text I'll be preaching from on Sunday." In the story, Naaman, a well-respected army general learns he can be healed of his leprosy by the prophet Elisha in Israel. He travels there with his entourage only to be met at the door by Elisha's servant who tells him to go dip in the Jordan River seven times. Naaman is enraged by what he perceives to be a lack of respect. The prophet never come to greet him and at that -- told him, a general, to dip in the dirty small Jordan River. Naaman almost doesn't do it because his pride is bruised. He almost misses his chance to be healed.

Here I was in this community that had no power and no water, surrounded by people who attempted to show me the best hospitality they could under the circumstances and I, like Naaman, was complaining to myself about what was not being done for me . . . how I was not being treated . . .how I should be treated. It was a disturbing internal exchange. . . one I'm embarrassed by and I'm still grappling with. I've since replayed in my mind what a resident here told me on my first night in Cherokee: "Remember, you are not in America." In other words, don't expect here what you get or find there.

I've come to the realization that I'm not the kind of pastor yet who is always ready or will always be that comfortable going into any situation and be able to handle the living conditions of that place with grace. I've come to realize that I'm not going to always respond and handle situations the way that people probably think ministers should. And maybe that's alright. I don't need to have reached an "Aha" acceptance moment in each situation. I think it's just enough right now that I had an "Aha" moment and recognized who I was . . . that I saw myself with all my growing edges still in need of being shaped and trimmed . . . and admitted it openly. That alone is progress. That's growth.

And it just may be another limb being cut away.

So I did hear right . . .

2010-06-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

It never fails . . . just before I'm about to preach, I get an extreme case of nervous butterflies in the pit of my stomach . . . the most painful anxiety headache that seems to pound with every drum beat played during praise and worship . . . the feel of cotton balls in my mouth even as I drink bottled water after bottled water . . . and I experience extreme doubt about what I'm supposed to say. Over and over in my mind I'm asking, "God are you sure this is it? God are you sure I heard you right?" Then once the sermon is over and I've resolved that I did as best I could . . . I may get a message from someone saying, "You know I been thinking all day about what you preached. It really got me to thinking."

That's what happened on Sunday. After pulling an all-nighter and part of the morning trying to get the sermon written, I learn later in the day that my sermon, "How hungry are you?" was on target. I learn that the lectionary text, Luke 9:51-62 which was planned some years ago, was just what needed to be preached on this particular Sunday. Funny how that works. It was just the text -- one that deals with the issue of discipleship -- that the people needed to hear. . . that I needed to hear. I was already pretty confident that it was a message for one of the churches, as earlier in the week, I saw signs of what John in Revelation calls a "lukewarm" congregation. I learned that if some of the dedicated few -- which are 3 or 4 could not or would not be making Bible Study, then Bible Study wouldn't happen.

Admittedly, my spirit grieved that day as I cried over whether the people were really interested in going to the next level in their Christian walk. I was thinking here was an opportunity to up the ante. . . to get a better handle on this Christianity thing . . . and they didn't have time. Other issues were more of a priority. What I had heard them speak seemed contrary to their actions. When given the opportunity to "follow Jesus" as the text says, here they were offering excuses. I knew right then I needed to tackle the issue on Sunday. But as I shared, I had no idea if it would resonate. . . no idea of the people would think me too harsh . . . no idea of what to expect.

Then later in the day after I had preached two services . . . after I was winding down and going over the coming week . . .I get an instant message from one of the congregants saying how moved she was by the message. . . so much so that she posted on her Facebook status: "I'm hungry for a mighty move of God . . . use me Lord any way you choose!"

Unbeknowest to her, God had already done so. Her worldwide posting was my confirmation that I had done as God had requested . . . that the nervous butterflies in the pit of my stomach . . . the head-pounding headache . . . and feel of cotton balls mouth . . . and extreme doubts about what I had heard . . . was not for naught.

It was just as God had ordained.

On to next Sunday.

Pushing through my peculiarities . . .

2010-06-23T08:26:00.001-07:00

I'm learning something about myself – the older I get, the more introverted I become. I've always known that I have introverted tendencies and it may be the result of being an only child where I spent most of my time with myself and never really longed to need or be with other people all the time. (I wasn't one of those children who begged my parents for more siblings or more playmates. I had plenty in cousins and that was enough.) While I have more extroverted personality traits and function well, I still find that I do not always want to hang around people every second. I actually treasure my alone time. . . look forward to my alone time. . . even become agitated if I feel as though someone is attempting to barge in on my alone time. I have a friend who says she is more energized by people and find she needs to be around them for that energy. I, on the other hand, become drained by people after a while and look forward to solace and spending time in my own space. I guess it should not be surprising really. After all I was a journalist and most tend to be slightly introverted, if not full introverts. They are slightly more comfortable with their writing, reading and sitting with their thoughts and engaging in stimulation that way. So as you can imagine this has become somewhat of a challenge as I attempt to do ministry here . . . in a community where people look forward to getting together with each other . . . and are with each other seemingly all the time . . . going between house and house . . . sitting for hours with each other's company . . . and asking questions when the pastor isn't out all the time every day.

I came across an article a few days ago entitled, "Hospitality for Introverts". It was written by a pastor's wife who classifies herself as a full-on introvert and how she has manages to share the gift of hospitality in spite of her introverted personality. After reading, I felt some of the suggestions could be applied to pastoral care. The writer suggested concentrating on reaching out to one or two people. I've done that. I allot different days that I will do pastoral care visits and plan out early who I will visit on those days. Usually it is two or three people.

The other suggestion is to set boundaries on time. I'm not so good at this. I usually find myself sitting for hours -- usually two or more -- with some in the community. I find myself feeling guilty if, after I have drank my tall glass of water, wanting to leave. This happened recently and the couple got me another glass of water, saying, "Now you can't leave until you've drank your other glass."

Pastoral care is essential in doing effective ministry. I did it last year, on a smaller scale. While it was one of my responsibilities as part of my pastoral internship, it wasn't a key responsibility as it is here. In a community like Cherokee Sound, where many of the 200 residents are older and the culture is one where visiting is a norm, it is a non-negotiable. Many of the residents are not able to get out as much and look forward to the visits. . . the conversations. Granted, once I'm out and about, I'm fine and enjoy them. It's just the initial getting up and going out to be with other people that sometimes challenge me. There are times my introverted self wants to take over.

I enjoy hearing the stories and learning about the lives of the people here, just like the recent story about the visit of one's grandson. This grandfather, who had never seen his grandson, largely because he had disowned the child's father years ago, saw his 22-year-old grandchild for the first time on his 84th birthday. He said to me: "He called me up and said he wanted to come see his grandpa!" I could see the emotion and joy on the man's face as he told me the story and proceeded to tell me more about his life in Cherokee and Marsh Harbor. I'm sure he hadn't told those stories in a while and my being there was a chance to live in his memories . . . recall a life of both joy and sorrow and blessings and regrets.

At that moment, I was glad I had pushed myself to make the visit . . . stop and even sit for a while. Apparently, so was he.

"Thank you for talking to me," he said, after about an hour or so, and after I got up to leave and head to the next house.

I have to remember that God knows all the peculiarities I have and knew them when I was called and knew there would be some things in ministry that would be more challenging to me than others. I have to believe those things make for a much richer ministry experience. The encounter was a reminder that what I do or attempt to do is so much bigger than me and that the ministry of presence is sometimes all that is needed. It was a reminder of why I have to, at times, push through my moments of introvertedness. . . cause in the end it'll be a blessing to all involved.

That cell phone was talking . . .

2010-06-17T12:21:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday night I went to teach and also got taught:

So I led Bible Study at St. Andrew's last night. This is the congregation in Marsh Harbor that I will also be working with, although not with as much frequency. The night before, I led the lesson at Epworth Methodist Church in Cherokee Sound, where I live and spend most of my time. The turnout there was small -- only two people and the pastor and his family. Needless to say I was slightly disappointed. A few others said they were coming, but never showed. I'm glad I listened to the Holy Spirit earlier in the day and made the decision to have it in the manse. . . it was much more personal and intimate . . . a good atmosphere to talk about prayer . . . simple prayers.

Apparently the lesson was a hit. Pastor Joseph asked me to teach it to the members at St. Andrews. I'm glad he did. The members there loved the class . . . so much so that when the power went out, no one moved . . . no one gave an excuse of why they couldn't' stay. . . conversation didn't stop. Members simply pulled out their cell phones and illuminated the darkness and continued sharing their own experiences of prayer time . . . conversation time with God.

I'm not so sure that would have happened in church in the states . . . maybe if we were used to blackouts as often as they have them here during the summer months, but again, that might be a stretch. I think what was so amazing for me was that the members were so engrossed in their conversations and so hungry to learn about how to deepen their relationship with the Divine that the darkness didn't even matter.

That night my simple prayer was answered -- the lesson was relevant. And what I had been hearing was confirmed -- that I was on the right track concerning the mission God called me to carry out here this summer. The vision was clear -- I needed to turn a certain amount of focus to the spiritual needs of the adults here. Many are hungry. . . thirsty and interested in seeking an oasis from the drought.

They even asked if I was on the schedule next week.

There is something about being hungry and committed . . . nothing gets in the way. Even when you can't see your way clear . . . you continue on . . . press in . . . knowing that eventually light will shine through . . . even if it's from a cell phone.

My simple prayer: God make me just that hungry.

One in the bag . . .

2010-06-13T17:39:00.001-07:00

Sunday reflections . . . a little late. . . oh well.

I pulled off my first church service today . . . the first service where I helped organize the order of worship for the morning and evening service . . .the first service where I preached. And I must say, I think I'm getting the knack of being a minister. That's what this experience is all about . . . more intensive training in the ways and means of handling congregations and leading God's people. It's an opportunity to begin to walk out who God says I will be . . .who I am.

The congregation said I'm off to a good start. That was encouraging considering I wasn't sure about the message. You never know what to expect when you tell a group of people they are hypocrites, especially on the first day you stand in the pulpit.

But hey, I blame it on the text. . . on Jesus really. That was the message he was getting across in Luke 7 in regards to Simon's view of the "sinner woman" . And that was the text I was called to preach and the message God delivered in the midst of my exegeting. I included myself in it of course, but a message about judgement and condemnation is not exactly the one I thought I would have been preaching on my first day . . . it's definitely not one you'll hear people shout about . . . or one that elicits "Amen's" and "That's Right!"

And if they do, as a friend says, it's more than likely because they think you're talking about someone else other than themselves.

Nonetheless, the word went forth. But it's my experience in the midst of the proclamation and the entire service, really that I reflect on. Something happened. . . something that I notice happening more and more as I take my place behind the pulpit. . . in front of congregations. I seem to stand a little more taller. . . with more confidence . . . and speak a little more authoritatively. More and more, I notice God taking over in those moments and I hear my voice saying things I didn't even think I knew or remembered and I hear it in a tone that sounds unlike my own. (That's exactly what happened during the alter call for congregational prayer.) And I feel a sense of urgency to say what I need to say . . . and I have a strong desire to do -- absent of fear and doubt.

A change is definitely taking place. And I may have -- in part -- my favorite Public Storage manager to thank. She prayed with me before coming here. While I can't remember all she said, I do remember her praying for God to build my confidence. And I remember her looking me straight in my eye saying that I would return changed . . . better . . . more self-assured.

Funny, she didn't even know that I struggle with my confidence. Nor was she aware that during that same week another friend had been praying the same thing concerning me. And I had been praying myself.

I can't speak for the days ahead, but I can say that on today, that boldness manifested. I surrendered . . . got on the passenger side of the car and allowed God to slide into the driver's seat. And what unfolded was a beautiful exchange between me and the people God called me to serve that day. What began to be unveiled was the "minister self".

And if I must say, it wasn't a bad look.

Is this another branch broken? Not quite. . . but there is at least a crack in the wood.

God provides . . .

2010-06-12T01:00:00.000-07:00

Remember I said an adventure usually includes details for the making for a good story?
Well, here is one: Just as I'm walking up the steps, returning from dinner with one of the families . . . determined to finish this sermon (After all, they are expecting me to preach in the morning.) . . . the power goes out. Not a glimmer of light in sight. The house is completely dark . . . that dark like you can't see your hand in front of your face dark. So of course there is no way I can read books and type . . . no way I can even think . . . or hear God speak. I have only one flashlight that I stumble into the bedroom, groping to find . . .hoping to find on my nightstand.

Then God speaks. . . just before full panic sets in regarding how I will ever get this sermon done . . . tells me to call the only family that has a generator. Just as I call, Eleanor says she was about to call me and tell me to pack a bag and come over. She knows I have to finish my sermon.

So, there I go . . . venturing into the black of night with black bag in tow and flashlight illuminating the way toward my God-sent blessing . . . feeling more of God's love . . . recognizing God in the faces and actions of this family . . . knowing that I am not alone . . . but that God is directing every step of this journey . . . taking me from the darkness and into the light.

God does provide.

Food for the journey . . .

2010-06-11T04:33:00.001-07:00

So today makes a week that I have been here on the island. And my, has it been a week. A trying one. A contemplative one. Power has gone out almost every day as I come to learn that the power system can only take so many generators and air conditioners running each day. And it has been extremely hot here . . . hotter than I'm used to in Florida/South Georgia and Atlanta . . . hotter than it's supposed to be this time of year . . . hot like as soon as you step out of the shower and dry off, you need to dry off again hot cause the sweat just keeps on popping up. I've been battling bugs . . . attacked by mosquitoes . . . and just struggled overall to get adjusted to doing ministry here in the Bahamas. . . in a small rural older community where there is not much to do and expectations are high.

Admittedly, I've been distracted by these minor inconveniences.

But I have survived thus far. Truth be told, what has aided me on the journey has been the hospitality of the families here. Just when I was having a "wits end" moment, a rainbow would emerge in the form of what I call this radical form of hospitality. And maybe it's not really radical at all, just a form of neighborliness that I am not used to.

Earlier this week, as the clouds started to gather and lightening flashed across the water, I prepared myself for what I knew would be a heavy downpour. I didn't expect the power to go out and continue to be out as night fell. I attempted to sit on the back porch and read a bit, but the mosquitoes were just to much for me to take. Inside it was just unbearable, but I had resigned myself to just lying down, thinking that if I breathed slowly and remained still, I wouldn't feel the heat as much. But just as I was trying to figure out how I would endure the heat that already had sweat rolling down my back and across my brow, I get a phone call from a couple from the church to pack a overnight bag and come to their house. They had a generator and air was in plenty supply. They even had leftovers I could enjoy, since loss of power left me with no way to cook or warm leftovers I had in the refrigerator.

As I strolled down the street, pulling my little overnight bag behind me, I saw neighbors gathering at each other's home talking to one another and enduring the blackout and heat together. And I was reminded of the communal tradition that many of us have long left behind as we have come to value our privacy and live individual lives.

But not here. Here in Abaco in the Cherokee Sound community, every family -- whether related by blood or not -- is connected to each other. They rely on each other and look after each other.
Two days ago, a neighbor dropped by to bring me lunch. She had no idea I had awoke to meet ants in my cereal and was having another "wits end" moment. That night I was invited to dinner at her nieces house. And her niece had no idea that I had simply planned to eat some leafy greens and tomatoes or something because it was just too hot for me to cook.

These are the moments I have had here. These are the moments God has created to show God's self in the midst of the frustration. On Wednesday, a friend reminded me that God manifests in every situation and we have to open our eyes to see how God is revealed -- even in the most trying times. She asked how I could see God in the situation of the "ants invading my cereal". At the time, I couldn't see God anywhere.

But now that I look at the picture in its entirety and at these collection of days, I see God's attempt to show me love through the many acts of kindness of God's people here. I see God calling me back to simpler times . . . to times of reflection and introspection . . . to remembering what God said to the people of Zion in Isaiah:

"and provide for those who grieve in Zion -- to bestow on them a crown of beauty for their ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for a display of their splendor." --Isaiah 61:3

So even on my worst day, I see the promises of God and am given a glimmer of hope of the best that lies ahead. I see that I matter and God always has me in mind, particularly when I find myself captive by a myriad of experiences and trials I rather not endure, but are necessary.

In these moments -- like now -- when my mind and spirit is quiet enough to hear . . .I hear another dead limb being cut away.
The pruning continues . . .

Watch what you pray for . . .

2010-06-07T23:02:00.000-07:00

I have no doubt now that God is trying to get my attention, while at the same time answering my prayer to hear more clearly . . . pray more deeply . . . and help me to focus. Not only do I not have television and am unable to connect to programming online, but I just learned I can't access music on pandora.com or rhapsody.com. This pops up: "We're sorry. We have detected that you are outside of the United States. This service is only available to residents within the United States."

Hence my posting on Facebook: "Okay God, I know what I prayed . . . but really?"

It's not that I don't have enough to do: three churches to contend with, sermons to write and prepare for, youth ministry activities to plan, Bible studies to lead, sick and shut-ins to visit, classwork to complete for this internship and papers to write for my commissioning packet to become ordained that's due in two months.

There's just something about having access -- or not.

All I know is that when God is serious about getting alone time, nothing gets in the way. However the pruning needs to happen, will happen.

So, I just gotta suck it up and count it as part of the adventure.

Bahamas blues . . . .

2010-06-05T12:48:00.001-07:00

I'm back where it all began . . . in the Bahamas . . . on one of the family islands where I believe some of the intensive shaping and molding into a minister began . . . particularly one who will be living the life of an itinerant minister. One's who's life will be on the move . . . one who will enter into a congregation and at some point depart . . . one who will come to understand what it really means to be called to go! And what it means to answer.

How apropos that I would be reflecting on what it means "to go" as I believe I was called to come here -- to the Cherokee Sound settlement on the island of Abaco, where residents number about 200 and sleep with their doors unlocked. This is a community where modern conveniences such as electricity didn't come to the island until the early 90s. Up until 1987, I'm told all residents went to the community operator to make phone calls. I don't know if I can quite explain it, but I believe the preparation to come here -- to be isolated so-to-speak -- began when I made my first trip to the Bahamas in January 2009 as part of the World Methodist Evangelism Institute's Conference in Nassau. I say that because on that trip, I was also isolated. Soon after my arrival, I found myself whisked away to preach on a smaller island from the rest of my traveling companions.

I know that I must accept that in saying "yes" to this call . . . in saying "yes" to coming here at this time to hone my skills as a minister, I was saying "yes" to the adventure. And like any good adventure there will be much on the journey for the making of a good story. There will be unexpected twists and turns for the creation of a good plot. Already this story is shaping up to be life-changing and unforgettable.

Just as I believed then that God needed to pull me away to do some heart, soul and mind surgery, I believe the same rings true this time around. But it still doesn't stop me from feeling the "God why here like this blues".

And honestly, the only answer that comes is, "Why not here!"

Yes, pastors are human too . . . fun and sexy even!

2010-06-03T06:33:00.000-07:00

So I'm coming to recognize that I am not a traditional pastor . . . you know the one that people have in their mind of what a pastor is supposed to look like, supposed to sound like, supposed to act like. Well, I'm not that pastor. I wear funky, stylish outfits . . . sexy even. I tell funny jokes . . . use slang sometimes even. I bowl, dance, go to the movies (even the R-rated ones), listen to R&B, read books other than those centered on theological topics or talk about Jesus . . . play pool even.

So, you might say I'm slightly off center of those visions -- at least trying to be. For the most part, I'd like to think I live outside of some of these wild, crazy notions and expectations that we have about ministers -- like the one I heard from a fellow preaching sister who said that someone was shocked that she actually went to the movies.

Really? God forbid we see our preachers or pastors going to the movies! Some would have proclaimed us Hell-bound a long time ago . . . oops! I said the word, "Hell".

So of course it probably isn't appropriate that I like to shoot a game of pool every now and then or sing karaoke or listen to Rick James and Teena Marie sing "Fire and Desire" (which I just heard minutes ago). I started thinking about these notions we have our of spiritual leaders after wresting with myself over whether I should have even posted this picture of me in all of my beauty with a pool stick in hand. I started thinking about what people would say and how they would wonder, "Is she really a minister?" or mumble "She isn't like any preacher, I know!"
I got even more nervous when someone referred to the pose as "Hot"! (By the way, can a minister be "Hot"?Of course not, especially if she's a female. What was I thinking?).

Actually, the question is "Where did this thinking come from? Since when did I cease to be less holy, less spiritual and less than capable of carrying out my duties as a minister? Since when did I cease to become less than human? None of these aspects of who I am are lessened by the fact that I hold a pool stick in my hand, sing karaoke and simply have fun. A friend of mine quoted that she and I and some other women she knows in ministry, "walk by the beat of their own drum".

And that's what I'm doing . . . strutting in my peeptoe pumps and high heel slingback sandels with my funky, eyecatching toe pedicure design in only the way that I can . . . in a way that I believe is not offensive to Jesus . . . in a way that I believe liberates me and others from this bondage we have been held in and hold other people in . . . in a way that I believes helps me proudly proclaim that a decision to follow Jesus is a decision to live in freedom from the world's social constructs. There are still many things or aspects of my personality in my BC (Before Jesus) days that I can hold onto now that I'm a member of Team Jesus!

It's crazy how we fall into these realms of thought . . . most due to years and years of being programmed to think this way. It happens almost unconsciously and only when we begin to speak some of the thoughts aloud or find ourselves in conversation with others do we ask, "Where did that rule come from?" or "Who said that?" do we begin to realize how asinine some of these streams of consciousness really are. Clearly I've been a victim too. I started believing the criticisms and living in a way that prohibited my authentic self from shining through, but quickly realized just because I'm pastoral, doesn't mean that I'm not sexy, pretty or as a friend said, "hot". God made all of me and I encompass those qualities. This is who I am and I must embrace it. We have to begin to redefine how we come to think about ministers, remembering that they are human too. This, however, does not give us a free pass to live recklessly and "on our own terms" in a way that "causes our brothers to stumble" or turn away from God.

The truth is that while I am a preacher, proclaimer of the Word of God or however you want to define it, I am not perfect. I will fail. . . I will make mistakes . . . and like my friends and family and future congregants, will find myself struggling and wresting, while working and striving to become better each day!

And as I journey into each of these coming days, I will take all of what makes me ME, with me . . . my beauty, my fashion sense, playful nature and all!

With that said, I think I'm ready for a game of Spades now!

The going is tough . . . but necessary

2010-03-25T09:05:00.000-07:00

A Candler colleague of mine said something today that struck me: "One thing I've learned about ministry is that it teaches you to go!" I think he's right. "Going" is one of the premises of ministry. Hence the language about "Go ye therefore and make disciples, yadda, yadda yadda."
I think you get the point.

But I must admit I'm not always ready to go. . . not always ready to take the leap . . . take that step . . . go where I'm called. Basically because it means that I'm leaving something behind . . . leaving people behind . . . leaving a life that was started behind . . . leaving even a part of myself behind. The reality is, this is the life that I am called to now -- a vocation where my greatest joys and purpose meets the world's greatest need. At least that's how theologian Frederick Buechner describes this vocation of ministry. It is one that requires service to the "other", where ever they may be. This is where the tension lies: You have this life of new promise before you, but a wrestling in the spirit over the journey that must be taken.

It's interesting that I find myself thinking about this now . . . during this season of Lent . . . on the eve of Holy Week . . . approaching the days when we will reflect on the journey Christ took to the cross. It leaves me wondering whether Jesus ever wrestled with the going. Did some of those questions come to mind as he embarked on his ministry? It's possible, even though he knew he should "be about his father's business." That's knowledge I too, have, but it doesn't stop me from being apprehensive or giving "the going" a second thought. I have to believe that in Jesus' humanity, the questions came to mind too . . . as the end was drawing near . . . as he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane for the cup to pass . . . as he hung on the cross, seeing the face of his mother Mary and "John the Beloved" in despair. In Jesus' humanity, I have to believe that "the going" was tough.

But in the end it is necessary.

As I approach the end of my second year in seminary and face the reality of having to go again, I'm already becoming nostalgic. I am admittedly apprehensive, but yet I understand why I have to go. . . be willing to go. It is necessary. I came across a quote by Gwendolyn Brooks that I think makes it even more clear why my "going" is essential . . . why it matters. According to Brooks, "We are each other's harvest, we are each other's business, we are each other's magnitude and bond."

Now if that ain't a good description of what ministry is, I don't know what is.
So, in that vain, I go . . . am willing to go . . . will be ready to go.

Second year blues . . .

2009-12-30T14:41:00.001-08:00

A friend of mine from seminary called me today -- just to say hi! She said she had been praying for me. She had been praying for God to mend my brokenness. At first I thought, "I'm not broken." But then just as quickly as that thought occurred, I heard, "Yes, you are!"
And I am. And not just broken, but shattered. That's just how bad this semester has been. That's just how trying this semester has been. That's just how exhaustive this semester has been.

I shouldn't be surprised. I was warned my second year would be this way. I was warned this would be the year of my Crucifixion -- the year I would die. I feel like I've died. It's taken everything within me to just make it through these past four months. And it's taking everything within me to gather up the strength to press forward toward the next.

At least twice today, I had someone tell me what I good decision I made to pursue a life of ministry. And both times I responded that it wasn't my decision. No, this bright idea to become a minister, wasn't mine. It was God's all along, even when I didn't see the signs. There are times, I still question, "What was God thinking?" These are the days when I find it would be so much easier for me to just get a job at Home Depot, Lowe's or a book store. These are the days, when I feel death the most -- when I don't want to be so extraordinary.

But yet, here I am -- halfway through seminary. Halfway through earning my Master of Divinity degree and so many miles away from the young woman who thought, ate, drank and slept newspapers and bylines and front page stories. I'm not that woman anymore. I'm fast becoming the woman who reads and studies the style of preachers and who takes notes on how to establish various ministries and who cries at injustice and the plight of those less fortunate. I'm the woman who now instead of picking up the latest newspapers, picks up the latest theological textbooks and study Bibles wondering how they will better inform my sermons. I'm becoming this "preacher person".

Some days I like the journey. Some days I don't.
Today is one of those days, where I'm not sure how I feel.
I'm just glad I don't have a class to attend.

I journey on . . .

2009-10-16T08:47:00.000-07:00

I had to be reminded today that life is about journeying . . . waiting . . . living a number of experiences that build upon themselves to provide lessons -- if we grasp them -- that allows us to move with more wisdom into the next phase of our lives. I'm just coming off some hellish weeks of mid-terms with a sad disposition because I'm not doing well right now. The last exam, I struggled through it this week (It was a take-home exam that should have been completed with 20 pages of answers. I only turned in 12 or something like that after staying up all night trying to finish.)

So, right now, the grades are not good. I'm behind and in trouble in the bulk of my classes and I'm wondering once again, "What is the lesson? God where is this going? Am I really equipped for this? Who in the hell thought they should let me through the doors of this place?"
And I've yet to really hear all the answers.

I would love to run away, but sadly I cannot, because I recognize that there is nowhere else for me to go. Candler is where I'm supposed to be . . . even on the days when I'm frustrated about being here. . . even on the days when I have more questions than answers about my life's direction and capabilities.

So, I'm attempting to regroup and establish a plan for how to move forward -- one of which is to hone my synthesizing skills to better understand the information -- and I'm trying to live in the many questions I have right now. I'm preparing for a girl's night featuring a movie documentary showing and discussion with members of Sistah Circle, a ministry group for women of the African diaspora that I head up at Candler. And as I have been preparing, I was reminded of a reading from Rainer Maria Rilke's fourth letter he wrote in the Letters to a Young Poet I want to share with them about being in the midst of life while grappling with the questions about an uncertain future. I think all of us find ourselves in that place from time to time. But Rainer Maria Rilke has wisdom to share:

"be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

So, with that sage wisdom I journey on . . . trusting and believing that I will live into the answers at the right and appropriate time. In God's time. I journey on, carrying with me the words God spoke to Jeremiah, when he too was not certain about the mission he was called to take up: For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope." 29:11

Liberation bound . . .

2009-09-06T18:04:00.000-07:00

I started at Spelman today . . . attended my first worship service in Sisters Chapel . . . four days after Spelman sophomore Jasmine Lynn was shot and killed as a result of an altercation between two men that sent bullets flying in the direction she was walking on Clark Atlanta's campus. The service was about her. . . the life she lived . . . and the memories and impact she left behind on those who knew her. What a way to start my ministry there. When I heard the news on Thursday morning, I knew my experience at Spelman, coming in as an assistant chaplain this year would be marked by much more than I expected. So, I'm praying God will prepare me for ministry within this context -- one where a university complex exists within the urban core of a community struggling to survive. A community that is riddled with this type of crime. A community where some of the countries brightest, shining black students -- some who are part of a legacy of Spelman women come to come into their own. I question how my experiences here impact where I go next? How they will shape my ministry?

The preacher for the day reminded us all of what Ephesians 2:10 says about us: that we are masterpieces of art God created to do good works and those works were created well in advance for us to carry out to perform.

Jasmine Lynn, say her friends, performed those good works, even though her time seemed short. She lived life freely and showed love to those who did not always show kindness to her. She encouraged those whose path she crossed to live their life purposefully. And she challenged all of us to consider: "What gifts will I leave behind?"

Ephesians 2, as the preacher pointed out, reminds us that we were all created to change and transform the world. And so I pray over this next year to discover why God called me to Spelman and what gifts I'm to leave behind in its halls that will hopefully change and transform a small part of the world of the girls I come to meet. And I pray that within the process, I come to understand the changes God needs to bring about in me.

Ten on Tuesday

2009-08-04T09:49:00.000-07:00

1. I realized this morning, I'll be heading back to Atlanta a week from today, finished with my three-month internship at Harvest UMC in Sarasota/Bradenton. . . with a clearer perspective on where this journey in ministry is taking me and feeling a bit more comfortable about the trip. I learned this summer, I'm meant to be a pastor . . . I'm meant to preach and teach, inspire and empower and set the captives free. Wow! That's so far from where I was when I started seminary.
2. A week from this Friday, I'll be flying on a non-stop flight to Johannesburg, S. Africa. I wrote this on my list of 100 things I'll like to do before I die about 1 1/2 years ago and the dream is coming true. I think there is something to be said about the "bucket list".
3. I started my research and prep work on the sermon I hope to give in S. Africa on the 16th. Still got a lot of work to do, though, but excited I may be sharing the word some 7,000 miles or 16 hours by plane away from home.
4. In less than a month, the new semester starts and I'm not sure if I'm ready. The thought of it tires me out, but I'm also excited about working at Spelman as an assistant chaplain.
5. Speaking of, I already know that I'm preaching there on Feb. 14.
6. A Web site I'll be writing for TheOlio.org has launched. I know my bio is already there, so check it out!
7. I'm looking forward to moving into my own apartment this fall, just not the act of moving right after my S. Africa jaunt. Can we say jet lag. God help me!
8.I've seen this place here called heavenlycupcakes but have missed them by 20 or 30 minutes after they've closed. The plan was to go there last Saturday, (after I missed them on Friday) as a treat to myself following a day of shopping and store browsing, but alas, they closed as 4 p.m. just as I was leaving this boutique with a new sweater and pair of Nine West wedge heels. So, I'm making a point to head there again. . . this Friday. Right now, my flavors are between Love Ya Dolly (lemon cupcake with buttercreme icing), Red Velvet Delight, the Double Stuff (a cookies and creme, Oreo lovers cupcake) or the Rudy (a carrot cake with cream cheese icing). Or maybe I'll get one of each! Heck I think I deserve it!
9. It would be just as I'm leaving Sarasota, I find the rib and fried fish man on the corner.
10. I'll probably hit that corner too this weekend before I leave. Got ribs last week. I think fried fish is calling me this weekend.

So what is prayer . . .

2009-08-03T08:14:00.000-07:00

I preached on prayer last Sunday. It was the second part of the Prayer series that we kicked off here at Harvest. The week before, I opened with "The Goal of Prayer" answering the question of why do we pray by examining why Jesus prayed. Last week, we discussed the "Spirit of Prayer" by taking a look at how we define prayer. This is a snippet of what the Lord had me to say about prayer:

Prayer. A word that we hear frequently. Some of us have heard it since the time of our birth, since the time we were children:

Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Prayer. An act that we carry out every Sunday – at least five times during each service: at the beginning, during the prayers of the people, before the message, after the message, during Holy Communion.
Prayer. The thing we feel we can’t do until our lives are “just right.”
Prayer. A six letter word that the Harper Collins Bible Dictionary describes as “an act of petitioning, praising, giving thanks, or confessing to God.”
Prayer. Something we assume we should master like a difficult math problem or playing the piano.
Prayer. A word that manifest butterflies in our stomach and slight sweat on the brow at the moment we have been asked to do it – publicly.
Prayer. An experience that we participate in daily, but often fail to recognize.
Prayer. A word that baffles us, but yet amazes us with the power it generates.
Prayer. A word that attracts us, but yet repels us.
Prayer. A word that calls to us, but leaves us speechless – at times.
Prayer. A love relationship we have with our creator.
Prayer. The key to God’s heart.
Prayer. The solution to our sorrow.
Prayer. Sometimes a moan.
Prayer. Sometimes a groan.
Prayer. A mind reliever.
Prayer. An invitation.
Prayer. Simply, a conversation with God.

Coming into acceptance . . .

2009-07-27T07:42:00.001-07:00

A new member at Harvest referred to me as Pastor Juana yesterday . . . . and I didn't cringe . . . didn't wince . . . or turn my head to see who this person was. I just accepted it as such . . . rested in the knowledge of this new emerging person and thanked God for using me.

Forever a child . . .

2009-07-23T04:02:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how God talks even when you don't want God to talk . . . even when you have made it clear you're not in the mood for a conversation . . .God talks anyway. Now whether we listen, that's a different story. And yesterday evening, I wasn't in the mood to listen -- at least not at the time God was trying to get me to talk. I could hear God asking me to pray . . . talk to him, but I didn't feel like praying. And God didn't push. He just walked with me, kind of like the tag along kid that you wish would go away.

I was just coming out of a conversation with someone who had my brain so overloaded with these thoughts of how ministry should be approached in this age of IM'ing, Twitter and all of these other electronic forms of gathering information instantaneously, that I began to think that maybe I'm not fit to do ministry in this age. I started to wonder why would God pick this 38-year-old woman who rather write her notes in class in her notebook than on her computer or listen to the lectures downloaded and who'd rather still listen to her music on CD's than on an ipod and who'd rather comb through books in the library to research her text for her sermon. How do I do ministry that captures those who respond to information so differently?

I was preparing for my prayer class last night and I knew I needed to focus. The topic was Prayers of the Heart . . . the prayers that move us to become more intimate with God . . . the prayers that moves us into the presence of God. . . the prayers that the Jesuit priest Jean-Nicholas Grou says is the prayer the heart prays and the voice that God listens and responds to. Prayers of the Heart are the heart-to-heart talks we have with God. As I sat there listening to the other members talk about their heart experiences or lack thereof, I found myself drawn in by one revelation that was lifted up. It was the reminder that: "You don't have to be grown up with God!"

The woman who shared this took this from the image of God who is a nurturing parent . . .a God who is described in Hosea as a Father who takes his children into his arms, and leads them with "cords of compassion" and with "bands of love" and bends down to feed them. A God who is described in Isaiah as a mother comforting her child. A God who invites us all to crawl into God's lap, receive his love, allow his healing and strength to overflow onto us. A God who allows us to laugh and cry freely in arms that wrap around us tight.

I like that image. I like knowing that this "big kid", who still struggles and is often frustrated with the twisting, turning, winding roads in her life, can still snuggle into the arms of her parent and be loved on, hugged and caressed until all is better. I liked that even though I wasn't talking to God, God still chose to talk to me.

And it was what I needed.

"Just being" in the presence . . .

2009-07-20T10:08:00.000-07:00

I was supposed to attend a yoga class on the beach this past Saturday. I thought it might be a good way to relax and calm myself before Sunday's sermon, but a communication snafu with the woman I was going with resulted in us both missing the class. Still, I decided I would head to the beach anyway. I was already dressed -- at 7:45 a.m. -- and in the car in the direction of the beach and wide awake. I hadn't been to Anna Marie Island before near Bradenton Beach and thought that maybe I could find the class. If I did, that would be great! If not, that would be fine too. I figured I would have at least found my way to the beach. Suffice it to say, I didn't find the class. But I decided to park and walk a little bit anyway.

As I was walking along the beach, I just knew that some revelation to something would come. I was even looking for one. I just knew God would talk to me and tell me some secrets that I hadn't been told before. Because what better place to share than on a semi-isolated beach with the waves lapping at the shore. I remember even asking, "Okay God, don't you have something to say to me? Shouldn't I be thinking of something right now or shouldn't you give me something profound to share in a sermon or something? Shouldn't I come away with something great to write about about my time on the beach?"

Then, in a still small voice, I heard: "Just be."
I didn't even know what to make of that at first. How do you just be?
But as I sat on the rocks a little longer, playing with my camera, it dawned on me: God just wanted me to enjoy his presence, enjoy being a part of what he created. I had passed a sandhill crane earlier standing at the water's edge looking out into the surf. It seemed to be taking it all in. It was just "being."

So, I followed suit and did the same.

How amazing that the following day in church, right before I was to preach, the worship leader invited everyone to participate in a centering prayer that called for us to "just be".

I guess you could say that was my revelation!

Sit down, take a load off

2009-07-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

Why is that we have trouble just relaxing? Resting?
I'm always amazed how much clearer my mind is afterward. But yet, I still have trouble doing it.

I got a text message from a good friend this morning who graduated this past May from seminary who tells me she is having the most wonderful summer, even though she is completely broke. In her words: "I recommend EVERYONE do this: Nothing for the summer after graduating."

It sounds enticing. . . even appealing . . . and like a plan I should follow after these next two years left in my Masters program are up. But what quickly comes to mind is how easy will it really be for me to do that? Just do nothing and life free for a few months. Without any planned days or feelings that I should be doing something.
It'll definitely be a challenge.

My friend's pronouncement took me back to the days after I graduated from college. I was frantically running around trying to convince some news station or news organization to give me a job. All of my friends had graduated with jobs and I had not one prospect. After spending two additional weeks in Charlotte on the job hunt, I returned home just as panicky and frustrated as the day I was when I crossed the stage to get my degree. Then I remembered I had read this magazine that featured this beautiful black meteorologist who worked at the Weather Channel. I decided to call her up. I actually felt as though something was telling me to call her. Somehow, I felt she would understand and give me some insight on my next move.

Surprisingly, she called me back and gave me the most shocking advice:"Take this time and rest. You've just spend the last four years working on this degree and there is nothing wrong in taking some time to relax." she said. "I wish I had done that. The fact is, you'll have the rest of your life to work."

And she was right. We're so used to just going and going like the Energizer Bunny and feeling like our time needs to be occupied just about every minute of the day doing something meaningful that when it isn't, it registers in our brains that doing absolutely nothing is just unacceptable. It's not normal.

But yet it is normal. Psalms 116:7, "Be at rest, once more my soul, for the Lord has been good to you," is a reminder that our soul actually yearns for rest. And it's only in God that our soul can rest easy and be at peace. Whether we know it or not, God and our souls are like magnets constantly drawn to one another. When we're weary, tired and burdened our soul instinctively knows where it can be refreshed and revived. I've gotten some amazing revelations when I've taken the time to take it easy. And I suggest you do the same.

Never know what that rest may birth forth.

A hug, a touch . . . priceless!

2009-07-08T18:30:00.000-07:00

I think by now Harvest knows I'm a hugger.
I do it every Sunday and even encourage them to do it too.
I say what I always say when leading worship: "As we prepare to meet and greet each other, I want each of you to get at least three Holy hugs, cause hugging does the body good!"
The first time I did it, I think it caught the congregation off guard, but they did it just the same, although cautiously. They had never been invited to hug their neighbor before, even though the neighbor might have been their husband, wife, daughter, son, grandchild or the church member and friend they see each week.
But they accepted the challenge and commenced to hugging.

And in doing so, I began to notice something as the weeks progressed. I began to see members expect it, maybe even look forward to it. I started to notice the heightened laughter, wider grins and more outstretched arms beckoning for an embrace or open to offer a slight squeeze or even a full on bear hug. I started seeing more people scurry across the room to greet a face they had not seen before. I noticed a more receptive spirit, an unencumbered spirit.

I started noticing this eclectic bunch from all sorts of backgrounds, including those who had been churched, unchurched, Catholic, Presbyterian, United Methodist and United Church of Christ, transform into this bubbling group of what I now call, "happy huggers" who find that a simple handshake just won't do. One church member shared that she felt it gave them permission to do what had become somewhat of a socially unacceptable practice. I think she's right.

Needless to say, I love kicking off worship this way. I think it puts everybody in a more open frame of mind ready to receive what God has for us to hear that day. Because after all, hugging does release those brain endorphins in our body -- said to be more powerful than heroin or morphine -- which generate those feel-good, happy feelings.

Now, mind you, I haven't always been a hugger. Nor was I always receptive to the embrace, particularly when it was introduced by one of my former pastors. It just wasn't something I grew up doing. But now that I've read the reports and practiced it myself, I've been converted. I guess you could say I'm on a mission to convince others they too should become a happy hugger or at least one who is a bit more open to sharing a simple touch.

I was reminded this week of how powerful a simple touch can be. I was visiting a woman in the hospital who told me she has no family here in Sarasota, save for her husband, who is suffering from dementia. She has no children to speak of or family that is remotely close to Florida. They all reside in Michigan. As we talked, she shared with me how alone and deserted she felt. "God has forgotten about me she said," as tears rolled down her cheeks. "After all I have done. I was a nurse for more than 30 years. I helped people and was a good person and now God has left me!"

She shared her feelings of hopelessness with me and doubts that she would survive her illness. She suffers from bad kidney's, which were beginning to shut down and had water around her heart. She feared she would die in the hospital without seeing her husband again and worried who would care for him in her absence. But more than anything, she said," I just wish someone would come by from time-to-time and hold my hand!"

In the midst of all her complications from a body that was badly bruised and seemed to be turning on her, she wanted most to feel the touch of another human being. She needed to be comforted and reassured. She needed to know that someone cared. That's when I was reminded of the healing power of a touch. And that's when I reached out and grabbed her hand, caressing it gently.

I read in an article that a touch is "like the Internet," in that "it allows high-speed access to another soul." That's what Jesus calls all of us to do, provide that access to soothe another's soul.
Jesus did it when he reached out and physically touched the man covered with leprosy, who had likely not been touched in years. And it was the same touch Jesus gave that restored the sight of the two blind men and healed Peter's mother-in-law.

Sometimes the healing, be it physically or even mentally, is in the touch or comes by way of a simple hug. Because it is often in the touch that someone receives compassion, has their dignity restored and comes to understand that they are of value.

Jesus constantly affirms that we are of value and if we are modeling our life after him, we should affirm that in others too!

Sunday heart talk . . .

2009-06-28T14:09:00.000-07:00

It wasn't more apparent than later this week, following the news of Michael Jackson's death that I began to really understand what it means to have the courage to listen. It requires a selflessness attitude and pushing aside our own voice and yearnings to follow the call to our spirit. This was the message I knew would be preached today, but didn't really understand it until now. So often we are consumed by the world's voice that we fail or even miss that of creation . . . the voices of those who need our help. . . the voices of those whose words have been muted . . . the voice of the one who calls us back to himself . . . thus missing the voice of our liberation and insight into who we really are. Somewhere along the way we as a people have missed the voice of the Michael Jackson's of the world. We have missed opportunities to pull them out of their exile. We have missed the voice that frees us from our own exile. From that, my heart murmurings, crafted this as our prayers of the people today:

PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE

God you talk to us throughout the day,
But somehow we don’t hear.
We find it hard to listen
To that still small voice
That may come as one rustling as the wind through the trees,
Or as the clouds opening up and the sun hitting our face
Accompanied by a gentle breeze.
Or as the cardinal outside our window singing your praises
Or in the gentle face of our children, laughing, playing.
Or the touch of someone’s hand that says “I understand” or “I am here for you!”

Perhaps our minds are too focused on the world that is in despair
A world that reflects the messiness of our lives,
A world that that does not seem to offer hope or promise of a better future
A world that our hands have distorted to look far from the one you created.
A world that does not love you freely.
Or heed your commands.
A world that does not even recognize your existence
Or acknowledge the miracles of your healing hands.
A world that is so busy, it doesn’t have time – to listen.

Forgive us today, God for turning a deaf hear towards you,
For making all else a priority, save for you.
For living not as we ought, with a concern or ear bent toward
the hurts of our neighbors, our family members, our spouses
our friends.
For assuming we have another day, another 24-hours to get it right.

Lord, we admit that we have lost our moral compass
And struggle to find our way back to you.
Guide us, O, Lord, back to you.
For we long to hear your secrets
We long to hear your voice
We desire to see your glory manifested in our lives.
We desire to be more than just “good people.”
We desire to your obedient children whose Word
is etched upon our hearts.
And becomes a part of our daily lives.
Here we are, O God!
We’re ready to hear you!
We’re ready to listen.
Speak to us today!

AMEN.

Friday Frolic . . .

2009-06-26T19:43:00.000-07:00

As one minister reminded me this week, "Sunday comes early" and it always comes. So with that in mind, I decided to make Friday count for something. I headed to MOTE, the aquarium on the coast, hung out with the fish, turtles, mesmerizing jellyfish, sharks, manatees and dolphins for the day. Then I winded down here:

At the Salty Dog enjoying a blackened grouper sandwich and fries . . .

and this beautiful view . . .

And this delicious key lime pie!
These are the times when I really miss being in Florida and realized how I blessed I was to grow up here!

Ten on Tuesday

2009-06-23T09:50:00.001-07:00

1. Woke up Sunday morning and didn't have one drop of vinegar in the house for my science experiment for the children's moment to show how a tarnished penny dropped in the vinegar/water solution is a illustration of how baptism works -- it cleans us up and makes us shiny and new. Had to go with some boiled eggs and crayons instead. I used the crayons to color marks on the egg shell to illustrate mistakes we make or sins we commit as we grow older, but when we are baptised, the old shell or our old selves are peeled away and we become all clean and pure again. The egg illustration worked right up until it was time for me to crack the egg and peel the colored shell off. I couldn't crack the egg! But then one kid spoke up with a solution . . . Give it to me," he said, "I'll just step on it and smash it!"
2.Went to pray with a church member this morning who was having a heart catheterization to check on why her mitral value wasn't working. Doctors initially thought that she may have a blocked coronary artery, which would require bi-pass surgery. We prayed. I remember asking the Lord -- if it was God's will -- to perform a miracle and knit her back together the way God originally formed her. Got word later today the tests were clear.
3.I made it to Zumba last night. . . making plans to head to kickboxing tonight . . .I hope I make it . . . I need to make it!
4. Realized something this weekend at the beach . . . in that scorching hot sun: 1.) I don't like being in the sun. 2.) I don't like being in the sun. 3.) I don't know how I'm going to survive South Africa this summer. I will be taking lots and lots of hats!
5.Crazy as it sounds, I haven't cooked or had spaghetti in forever . . . actually in more than a year, that is until last night when I made it Italian night at Juana's summer estate. And it was so good! Leftovers tonight will be even better in front of TNT's Hawthorne.
6.I'm really trying to hold off from eating Five Guys Burgers and Fries until I get back to Atlanta. . . hence the need to adhere to #2, if I can't hold out.
7. I saw a Japanese Steak House today and thought of my friends in Tally town. I miss them!
8. Miss girl's nights too!
9.Still trying to figure out which scripture will fit my sermon on prayer and why we pray. Suggestions are definitely welcome!
10.Got a coupon for a $20 massage for 50 minutes this weekend . . .you know where I'll be headed Saturday morning.

Reality check . . .

2009-06-22T20:38:00.001-07:00

I had another strong dose of the reality of what I'm doing today . . . well it actually started yesterday when I had the opportunity to sit in on the memorial plans -- on Father's Day of all days -- with the family of a former member who committed suicide over the weekend. The gravity of my position hit me when I saw his step-daughter's face -- she was lost, overwhelmed and devastated. The only father she knew was gone. And in that moment, I was reminded of what it means to say that you're a minister -- the one who is called to hold it all together for those who need a steady place to stand and someone on which to lean and help them make sense of their disrupted world.
There is something about standing in that type of call. It's a humbling place to be. A position that, if you're honest, shines a light on your own weaknesses, inabilities and insecurities and reminds you that you alone can't make things better, only the one who you stand on behalf of.

I received a letter from a new minister friend of mine the other day who reminded me of who I am -- at least this summer. In the letter, my friend pointed out that I am Harvest's "pastor" for the summer (the senior pastors are gone on vacation for a month) and I will have some good opportunities to deliver pastoral care -- some that will be easy, some not so good and some that may be hard and painful. But that in the midst of all of that, I won't be alone -- that God will be along for the ride and in place to handle whatever comes.

I'm glad she reminded me of that, particularly on a day when I find all of these yellow slips of paper in my inbox -- prayer requests . . .for all kinds of issues . . . that a missing granddaughter would be found . . . that a healing would come to cancer-attacked bodies . . . that God will bless the healthy arrival of a new baby . . . that families who have lost loved ones will be strengthened. . . that God will accompany the doctors in surgery. The concerns are many. And they bring into full view of how real all of this is. It brings into full view how many people really need a safe place to park their fears and doubts. And how many people need someone to speak, petition and fight on their behalf.

It's not so much different than being journalist.

Having a heart talk with God . . .

2009-06-22T13:36:00.001-07:00

These penned prayers are becoming one of my favorite assignments . . . one of the times when I feel even more connected to God and seem to be able to hear just a little more clearly to the murmurings of my own heart. Here is what it spoke this past Sunday:

Prayers of the People

Most merciful God, the lover of our souls,
The caretaker of our hearts
The custodian of our being
The curator of us, your masterpieces
We praise your name!
We sing of your bountiful blessings!
We extol all that you are.
The great I AM!
The Lilly of the valley
Our bright and morning star
Our strength and our redeemer
The one who saves us.
The one who washes us anew.
The one who calls us to die to the nastiness of our sin.
Cleanse us again, O Lord!

On this day, bring to our remembrance
the day of our baptism,
the day we united with you to walk in a newness of life,
the day we surrendered
the day sin ceased to hold us bound in chains.
The day Jesus proclaimed us as shiny and new.
Worthy of grace
Worthy of mercy.
Worthy of everlasting love.

Lord strengthen our faith so that we may live this free life in you.
Without fear of condemnation and criticism,
Without fear of being rebuffed and rejected,
Without fear of being deserted and discarded,
Without fear of standing alone on our convictions.

Help us, O God, to live as we have never lived before for the good of others.
Help us to choose to live boldly and unswervingly in the belief of your Word.
Help us to be your living Word.
Look upon us with compassion as you mold us to be compassionate.
Help us to remember that we are ambassadors of this movement of Christ followers
Called to a mission to bring more into the fold.
Called to a mission to continue what Jesus started.
Called to a mission to simply serve.

AMEN.

Ten on Tuesday . . . later in the week

2009-06-18T18:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, this was supposed to be done by last week, but I didn't get it posted in time. Here is what I was up to . . .

1. I finally got a cleaned up version of my story in the East County Observer. The editor must have sent me at least three different versions before "Juana Johnson" was thoroughly removed from the story. The sad thing is I know exactly how this reporter/editor feels -- totally embarrassed and horrible. You're writing the story, looking at your notes, but thinking about this other name.
2.The pastors are leaving out for a month long vacation with the family after Sunday . . . Juana the intern left in charge . . . priceless!

3.I attended the staff appreciation luncheon today. . . had a great lunch . . .heard why I was appreciated . . . shared what I appreciated about others . . . and got a great gift . . . handmade. A church member here designed this, even putting HUMC beading on it. She's also designing me a matching honey spoon to hang on the side of my tea. See: 4.I'm really trying to get back into this exercise thing. Went to Zumba on Monday . . . trying to make an effort to go back tonight.
5. I still gotta write a Prayers for the People for Sunday.
6. I think I've figured out my moment with the children for Sunday. Since we're talking about baptism, I'm going to use the image of a tarnished penny as an example of how when it's dipped in vinegar and water, it's washed clean, made all shiny and pretty. That's what God does to us through Baptism, washing off all the dirt and yucky stuff in our lives and makes us clean again and shiny and new like the penny. I hope it works. Got at least 80 to 100 kids coming up on Sunday.

7. I'm heading out to Clearwater Beach this weekend to hang out with a girlfriend and her family at their family reunion. The time away should be nice . . . relaxing . . . rejuvenating for Sunday.

8.Trying out a new hairdresser . . . we're starting with a wash and set first . . . then maybe chemical application if all goes well. I really hate looking for new hairdressers.

9.I really need to learn how to swim. What good is it to live in this great home for the summer and not really take advantage of the beautiful pool outside my door . . . well, I do dip my feet in after I workout sometimes.

10. I just learned how to use DirectTV . . . not sure if that's good or not!

In the news . . . again

2009-06-13T05:55:00.000-07:00

Having been a reporter, I know the barrage of questions we ask can oftentimes be disturbing, make one somewhat uncomfortable, but evoke excitement at the same time -- more so because you come to realize that someone is actually interested in you and your life. Sounds great, but the bottom line is: I'm used to doing the asking, not answering.

But, I got a chance to sit on the other side of those feelings and the following story below is what was birthed. I was giving this interview about a month or so ago while driving down I-285 on the way to take a friend to the Atlanta airport. So, I was kinda paying attention to the phone call and the road. It wasn't until after I finished the interview, which had to be cut because I wanted to see my friend off properly, that I began to panic and question, "What did I really say?"

Well, apparently here it is in black and white!

http://www.yourobserver.com/news/east-county/Front-Page/06112009866/Harvest-welcomes-pastoral-intern

His faith, my faith, our faith . . .

2009-06-11T12:57:00.001-07:00

I had lunch today with the man who said on my first Sunday here, "I wish I had faith like you have!" This was before he told me that he wasn't sure if he believed in God, but felt it necessary to continue to come to church to be around "people like me."

In that brief moment, I shared the true story of a pastor who had once lost his own faith and was so broken he felt that he could no longer preach or be an effective minister to his congregation. He asked his church board to accept his resignation. The board declined, saying instead, they wanted him to continue to go into the pulpit every Sunday and preach to them his doubts and his struggles. So, that's what the pastor did and months later, through the preaching and teaching, the pastor realized his faith had been restored.

My lunch date, this white man in his mid-60s, recounted this story to me today and right then I was reminded of seed planting and harvesting. I was reminded that God's word doesn't return void and that at some point, if it has been planted and watered properly, you'll begin to see little buds peeking through the earth. You know, honestly, I had forgotten that I shared that story with him. But he didn't. Apparently there was something there that struck him, stuck with him and had him evaluating his own faith struggles. In that moment I was both honored and humbled that he would want to have this conversation with me. That he thought there was something I could offer. It wasn't until my reflection on the lunch that I was reminded that God reveals himself in many instances and today, at that very moment over plates of breakfast and lunch, God sat and helped me walk through that pastoring moment. I remember sitting there praying that God would tell me what to say if I needed to say anything. And of course, God did. God helped me navigate the conversation -- which included stories about my childhood, his grandchildren and children, my beliefs, his struggles with belief and his view of himself in the world --in such a way that it prompted my lunch date to inquire whether we could meet again.

He wants to talk about the purpose of prayer and the benefits of praying as our next table topic.
How fitting! We will have a conversation on the very topic I'm teaching in my Wednesday night class and will be preaching as part of a series on July 19 and July 26.

I remain constantly amazed how God uses us. How God makes it possible for a simple get-to-know you lunch to become a ministering moment that serves both parties at the table.
My lunch date doesn't know it, but talking about my faith that day in all actuality helped strengthen my own a little bit more. Cause sometimes just in talking about it, you're reminded of what God has already done.

Praying penned prayers . . .

2009-06-07T20:43:00.000-07:00

So, I've been tasked with writing and praying the Prayers of the People. This has been my second week at it. The purpose is not so much to take the spontaneity out of the praying moment, but to become more proficient in using different language to pray. Oftentimes, we find ourselves saying the same thing, sometimes omitting the larger world and environment at hand. So, this is good practice . . . gives me time to really get my thoughts together and be more deliberate in what I want to say to God. Plus it will be a great help when I take my liturgical writing class this Fall.

Here's what I composed and prayed this Sunday. It's centered around the Trinity -- the three-in-one Godhead. I would love to hear your feedback!

Prayers of the People
God of all generations who brings forth your light
In the image of your son,
We praise you.
Who brings forth truth of your Word
And call him Jesus,
We praise you.
Who brings forth your spirit
and calls it Holy
We praise you.
Holy, Holy, Holy are you, Lord
Whose earth is full of your glory.

In the midst of the gathering of your people today
We call out to you.
For our families and our children
We call out to you.
For those who suffer and are in need – here and in countries some of us may only see
color-coded on a map
We call out to you
For this nation, its leaders and our people.
We call out to you,
Pleading for the safety of those who fight for our liberties and the rights of others.
We call out to you,
Seeking peace,
Begging for relief
Needing clarity
Desiring understanding
Longing to hear your voice that says everything will be okay.
Knowing we haven’t always been worthy.
But thankful we’ve been given another chance by your grace.
Even though, we at times, like Thomas, doubt you.
Even though, we at times, like Peter, deny knowing you.
Even though, we at times, like Jesus, accuse you of forsaking us.
We are thankful that you still find us worthy of your love.
Thankful that you came in the image of your Son.
Thankful that your spirit blows as the wind throughout a world
In constant need of your redeeming power.
And we are so ever grateful that you give it all freely.

AMEN.

When God steps out of the shadows . . .

2009-06-07T19:34:00.000-07:00

So, I led worship today . . . gained a little more experience of how they do things here at Harvest . . . got an opportunity to share how I experience God . . . how I experience the Spirit's dealing with my soul. When I came to this congregation I wasn't sure how they would respond to me . . . this United Methodist who isn't really a traditional United Methodist, who worships quietly. . . who worships without having intimate engagement.

I'm somewhat different. I'm a shouter. It's not uncommon to hear me shouting "Amen" or "Praise the Lord!" I'm a jumper -- depending on the service -- I'm fully engaged and moved easily by the Spirit's leading. When I came here, I wasn't sure how to react in the service, made up mostly of congregants who were Catholics or who had no or little history of attending or participating in church until they came to Harvest. So on my first and second Sunday I was reserved. I felt like backing the ministers when they said something I agreed with, but didn't. I felt like clapping more and jumping to the worship songs, but I didn't. And I felt in bondage -- that was until I had a conversation with the pastors and one of the District Superintendents for the UMC church here who convinced me that I wasn't doing anyone any good if I failed to be my authentic self. My being there is an opportunity for me to share me with the people I am in ministry with . . . it's a chance for me to share my worship tradition . . . an opportunity for them to see and experience God differently than they have before. . . an opportunity for all of us show God in our own unique way.

Today, a woman's husband told me his wife cried when she heard me pray. And she herself, said, "When I heard you say continually, 'Thank-you, Lord!' It made me want to say it. I felt it!"

Another shared that they love the vitality I bring to the worship service. And many others have shared their joy in having me there.

What a wonderful testament of how faith works. God tells us to do things and trust. When we do it works out far better than we could have imagined. That's how these past Sunday's and weeks have been -- a realization of God's answered prayers and some pleasant surprises in between, such as confirmation that apparently I'm on the right path. In fact, more than one member lately has said I should consider work as a minister.

More and more, it's not sounding like such a bad idea. So maybe I will!

Still in the waiting room . . .

2009-06-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

Just got the word . . . the fellowship committee is still in deliberations . . .decisions won't be made until Friday. So that's got to count for something, right? It means I have two more days to offer up prayers that the decision is in my favor. Since my prayer class kicks off tonight, I think I'll throw my fellowship application on the table. Doesn't hurt to pull in more praying people. Scripture says, "Where two or three are gathered in my name, I will be in the midst . . ."
Sounds good to me. In the meantime, I'll get back to my sermon. I'm still trying to pull it together . . . at least now I hear God talking. Had me nervous there for a while.

Ten on Tuesday

2009-06-02T08:58:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a while, but I'm trying to make a comeback: Here are my ten for today!

1. When I got up at 4:30 this morning, the plan was to finish the prep work to write out my upcoming sermon. I finished up this other blog instead and then prayed I could finish building the curriculum for my prayer class that kicks off tomorrow night. By 6 a.m. the ideas of how to build the 9-week class just started flowing and within 1 1/2 hours I had lesson plans to present to the pastor for our 10 a.m. meeting, complete with movie clips and songs to use as examples.
2. I'm determined to finish this sermon . . . well I gotta finish it . . . draft due tomorrow!
3. I hear Bruce Almighty might offer up some great lessons on praying -- at least that's what my pastor here at Harvest says. So, I'll check it out. I really love how the church never misses an opportunity to incorporate some different form of media into the service to deliver effective timely messages. I'm working on an activity calling for congregational participation during my June 14th sermon so we'll see how that goes.
4. Speaking of media, I just got turned on to spoken word artist Amena Brown's "You". Check her out on this YouTube clip. I'm going to use this during one of the sessions in my prayer series. What you think?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJXVllJkKtE
5. I was on a roll with these free workout sessions. Now maybe I've worn out my welcome . . . the phone has stopped ringing from the gym managers vying for my business. Is it just me or is $216 for the next two months a bit pricey? Sad thing is I need to do something . . . school got in the way of me working out.
6. I found my $1.50/$2 movie theater. . . reminds me of Tallahassee.
7. It's free ice-cream day on Friday at all Friendly restaurants! I'll stop there first before heading to the Aquarium. A church member gave me a free ticket and $20 bucks to have lunch at this cozy restaurant across the street. They really know how to treat a intern here!
8. I'm moving into my own summer home next week. Pool included. Like I said, they really know how to take care of an intern here.
9. Tomorrow is D-day -- hopefully my email will say I got the fellowship.
10. Now, if I only knew how to start this sermon. Excuse me, I gotta go hang out in the bathroom. God always talks to me there.

Catching the spirit's fire . . .

2009-05-31T11:49:00.000-07:00

Today we celebrated Pentecost Sunday -- the Biblical account of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit talked about in Acts 2 that fell so heavy on the people it had them speaking in different tongues! Had them doing things -- performing acts they probably wouldn't have done on their own. This is one of the two paintings one of the members, Callie painted while Pastor Catherine delivered the sermon. (She painted during each service) I've never experienced a service like that before. It kind of reminded me of being at a spoken word sect, which is where I would expect to see something like that -- an artist painting to the rhythm of the words being spoken. But it was church. And it was nice. . . out-of-the box! What made it even more spirit-filled were the 20-plus doves that were released after each service as a sign of the Holy Spirit going out into the world. (I'll try to get pics posted soon)

Interestingly, before the service started, a parishioner told me he wished he had courage like me. This was the second time I had had this conversation with someone at Harvest and I found it interesting that they automatically assumed I had this character trait.
So I asked, "What makes you think I have courage?"
The man replied, "You must, to do what you're doing. To follow this call."
I guess some would think that. But the truth is I don't really have that much courage. I actually have that much fear -- fear of what would happen it I didn't follow it. Fear of what my life would look like -- mediocre at best. Definitely unfulfilling. (I had seen glimpses, got a t-shirt and wasn't interested in revisiting.)
But just like I shared with that parishioner, most of what I do these days surrounding my foray into ministry also has a lot to do with the Holy Spirit's influence. Just as one of my professors pointed out in her book, there has to be some higher calling that would have one open themselves up to being castigated as an impostor or pimp, or giving up their jobs and homes to go back to school at nearly 40. There has to be something higher operating that would have someone go places they never thought they would -- sometimes into uncharted territory.

So I can't say whether it's really courage that I have, but there is definitely some level of faith.

Waiting and anticipating . . .

2009-05-30T19:28:00.000-07:00

So I've been back from Atlanta for about three hours now -- had to make an impromptu trip to interview for this fellowship. I'm praying through Wednesday that God will have the judges give me favor. Wednesday is D-day, the day the committee will decide whether I will be one of the recipient's of the Black Women in Church and Society Black Women in Ministerial Leadership Fellowship. I don't feel the most confident that I did well . . . the ministry project I proposed to do in conjunction with my work at Spelman next year needs a bit more work. . . I also needed to articulate more clearly what I could bring that is different than what the women at Spelman have now . . .I've really been thinking about that. All I know at this point really is that God told me that I am needed at Spelman. And I'm in need of the experience Spelman will offer me. Honestly, it was the only place where I felt called to do ministry next year outside of my work with the homeless. Now this committee has me wondering what my purpose is there. What among my passions will meet their greatest need?

But there was some good news to emerge from the meeting . . . the team that grilled me during the interview thought I could bring a lot to the ministerial leadership program . . . so let's hope they scored me high enough to get in.

I'll find out on Wednesday.

I've been re-affirmed . . .

2009-05-26T12:35:00.001-07:00

So we just celebrated Confirmation Sunday -- when 17 of our 6th graders and a few 7th graders confirmed their faith. The celebration was a first for me. I had always heard about confirmation ceremonies, but never quite knew what they were or what they were about. Now that I've seen them, I think they're more like "coming out" parties. Kind of like the debutante ball, where we young girls are introduced to society as young ladies. Only this coming out party says a bit more than just I'm moving into a more mature phase of life. This one says, "I've made a decision to follow Christ" or "I'm riding shotgun with Jesus and that's my story and I'm sticking to it."

As I watched the kids -- barely in their teens -- answer questions about prevenient grace -- the grace that is given to us before we were born . . . justifying grace -- the grace that we are given when we accept God's call on our life and sanctifying grace, which sustains us as we continue to walk with Christ, I was reminded of how big of deal it was for these youth to take this public stance. There they were dipping their hand in the bowl to douse water on their forehead as a sign of remembrance of their baptism, then kneeling before the church to have hands laid on them by their parents and family for prayer, symbolically saying that they too believe in this God of their parents. That they too have a foundation in this Christ who died for them. That they too wanted to live for someone other than themselves.

And I thought, that's a big deal. A huge commitment -- one that takes courage to admit. It was sort of akin to the the day (in my early 30's) I put the "God's girl" sign on my car, which too was a public proclamation of who I am and what team I play for.

Now I'm not naive enough to think that they'll always live accordingly. I mean part of being confirmed is agreeing to turn away from evil, work against it and accepting whatever call God has over your life. Frankly, that's a tall order -- one I haven't always adhered to. But at least somewhere along the way seeds have been planted and at various times I'm reminded of what the sign reads on my truck. Sunday was one of those days. It was their confirmation ceremony, yes, but I left service that day thinking it was most definitely my re-affirmation ceremony.

Making rounds . . .

2009-05-21T13:00:00.000-07:00

I visited the hospital for the first time today . . . as a minister. And it's quite a humbling experience. At least it was for me, a newbie to the whole chaplin experience, who was welcomed with open arms by families who didn't even know me. You have to understand being the only African-American at Harvest and in this congregation, I can't help but wonder what the socialization has been of those I now worship with. If race had been an issue, it wasn't in that moment, where all that seemed to matter was that their minister was there. The one who could get a "line" through to God and usher their loved one through a safe surgery. The one could share words of encouragement and help them shoulder their fears and handle their tears.

And it seemed to mean more that the minister-in-training had come along.

So, I should not have been surprised when the families bypassed my handshake and went straight for the bear hug and thanked me profusely for my presence.

Sometimes, that's all one needs -- for someone to be there. And I'm glad I could oblige.

That God . . . quite a comedian!

2009-05-19T13:17:00.001-07:00

For the past few days I've been in awe of this Creator of ours . . . simply astounded by how he just puts things in place. Here I am, my third official day on the job as a pastoral intern at Harvest UMC down here on the Florida coast in the Sarasota/Bradenton area, being constantly amazed at how God lines things up. I must admit, at first I thought it was "all about me" and the impression the pastors and worship ministry team wanted to make on the new intern -- the new African-American intern at that. It had to be for that reason that on my first day (this past Sunday) the youth choir would be singing a Swahili worship song, "O Sifuni Mungu" with drums included and all. I thought, I must have shared at some point my affinity and love for African dance and drumming. I must have indicated that I have been dancing for nearly 10 years to the beat of the Dijimbe. How nice it is that they would incorporate this song in worship just for my liking. As part of my welcome to Harvest party!

However, the pastor knew nothing about my love affair with African dance. So I chalked it up to a God-thing!

Then there was the message: The Power to Embrace, which focused on racism, sexism, classism and all the other ism's we battle that keep us from fully accepting each other as brothers and sisters in Christ. The pastor urged parishioners to be aware of the Holy Spirit's nudge, which could take "them places they may not want to go." I mean that message had to be about me, right? It had to be about laying the foundation of acceptance and training the congregation in being more diverse-friendly so the new intern -- the only black woman in the congregation --would feel welcome and a part of the family.

But, this too, had nothing to do with me. In fact, the sermon was the continuation of a series being preached from Acts. Again, another God-thing. Or maybe more of a God-incidence. Just like the talk I had with one of the parishioners who shared with me his work with homeless populations. I figured the pastor had shared with him the work I had been doing at the homeless shelter for the past year.

The parishioner knew nothing of my volunteer history. This was definitely a God-thing -- one that confirmed I'm in the right place. I'm where all my passions can be further explored.

As one parishioner put it, God did just enough to keep me humble and more than enough to make me feel comfortable here. He brought me all the comforts of home while I'm away from my home. And he reminded me of just how 'Big' he is. And how small I am.

He's quite a comedian when you think about it!

Whatcha call me?

2009-05-12T11:30:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness! It just dawned on me. . . people will probably start calling me Minister or Pastor Juana! So that means I have five days left (up until the wee hours before the first church service starts) to get over the name change, accept it and be ready to walk in it.
Sunday is fast approaching. On May 17, I'll officially be the pastoral intern at Harvest UMC in Bradenton. And for the next three months I'll be emerged in all things pastoral. So yeah, I'll probably hear Pastor or Minister Juana more than a few times.

A few days ago at Candler's graduation, one of my former high school classmates -- who is also a pastor -- approached me saying, "Hey Reverend, how you doing?" My eyes got wide. My head turned from side-to-side and I wondered for a split second who he was talking to. Then last night I get a call from another high school classmate who wanted to know how he should address me this weekend at the class reunion. "Should I call you "Bishop, Reverend, Pastor, what?" he asked me.

"Juana is fine, " I said.

As I've shared before, the reason I struggle with the title is because of the weight of the responsibilities and expectations it carries. I'm in a insulated environment inside Candler where it's normal to hear Minister this or Reverend that. It's largely outside of that bubble that I squirm uncomfortably in my skin when I hear the prefix added. You never know what's coming behind it -- a joke, a snide remark, or a challenge to see whether you know what people think you should know. "So, what are apostles and are they still in existence today?"

What does that have to do with what's happening in the world right now? Nothing.

But more than anything, I often think it just doesn't sound like me. Every now and then, I go rounds with God, like Moses, offering objections to why this idea of being becoming a minister possibly won't work. Of course these are the days when I am extremely frustrated and overwhelmed by it all. Overwhelmed by what God is saying I must do. Moses gave 5 objections. I've probably given about 10 to 15 (some probably repeats) and none of them have been able to stand up in court. It's amazing who God calls. I still wonder sometimes why God chose me. Being a pastor was not what I wanted to grow up doing. I just wanted to write a few books and travel the world telling people about the liberation I've found in my relationship with Jesus.

Uhhhh, kinda sounds like a minister, huh? Yeah.

I have to remember that I prayed for God's will for my life to be my will. And God's will is for me to walk this road. And his gift in this obedience is to help me meet my greatest passion with the world's greatest need. Sure, I fight from time-to-time and wrestle with this. I'm told I probably always will. But there are the in-between times when I remember that I have been called "for such a time as this" to aid a world that hurts in a way that it didn't when I started this journey. God must think me some kind of special! And that's pretty cool.

So, Minister and Pastor Juana it is!

Reflections of a first-year graduate

2009-05-11T02:00:00.000-07:00

Today is graduation day and honestly I'm dreading the sea of people I'll be forced to wade through -- more than 3,800. That's just the graduates. So you can imagine the burgeoning numbers with the families following behind. But I'm putting all of the anxiety of the day aside to celebrate the ending of a three-year journey for a select group of those 3,800 -- new friends at Candler I've met whose business card now reads with Master of Divinity (MDiv) behind their names. Today is about them -- about their ending of a chapter in their life story and the beginning of another.
But I guess it's also about me and where I have journeyed from and where I'm going.
Today officially marks my ending as a first-year MDiv student who came here wondering if she would even understand all the theology jargon. I still don't although I've picked up keep words here and there: christiological, eschatological, hermeneutical, homiletics, pedagogical.
Now if I can just use them all in a sentence!

Then there are the names of ancient theologians -- some who haunt me in my dreams -- Arius, Athanasius, St. Augustine, Cyril, Ireanaeus, St. Gregory of Nazianzus, Nostorius, Origen. All of these now make up who I am becoming -- a theologian. Just saying that sounds strange. Me, a theologian! Not what I grew up wanting to be -- but who I am becoming. And when I reflect on the journey thus far, it's not so bad. Sure, I now approach the Bible differently, look at it differently, and sometimes even wonder what I believe. Because as a friend reminded me, in seminary we don't embrace the Bible, but rip it to shreds, tear it apart to examine its skeleton, to make sense of that which oftentimes can't be explained.

Some of the knowledge is rich. Some, quite simply, is troubling. But in it all, I am becoming a richer minister, preacher and theologian for it. And in some way, the doubts I have, the questions I ponder over are becoming the places where I am finding God.

A few weeks ago, I scribbled a note about how even after a whole school year, I find myself wondering why Emory let me through the door. At the time, I was reminded of what a dancer said to me following our dance class. She told me that there would be some dances I won't get no matter how hard I try because my body isn't made for that dance. So, all I could do is simply study the movement and go through the motions as best I can. But there would be others, she said, I would pick up quickly and move about gracefully as if the dance was made for me.

I thought about that and compared it to my seminary experience. There will be aspects of my learning that I simply won't get. My brain just won't compute. But that's okay, because there will be some theological dances I'll pick up with little effort.

And those I don't. . . well, I'll just have to rely -- like I did much of this year -- on my dance partner to sashay me through the ending of the song.

Happy Graduation Juana! One year down. A lifetime of learning to go . . . .

Potpourri

2009-03-28T12:56:00.001-07:00

Okay so here is the latest --- I got the internship at Harvest UMC near Bradenton, Fl. Yippee!!!! I got the call yesterday afternoon from the pastor and it looks like I will be back in Florida for the next 12 weeks after I finish this semester. My first day will be May 17. (The only thing about that is I will miss my classmate from high school preach that Sunday. That's also the weekend of my 20-year high school class reunion.) Let me just say this is what I prayed for. I prayed for God to help me to make connections. This pastor, Catherine Fluck-Price, is the chair of the Board of Ordained Ministry for the Florida Conference. Now if that ain't a connection, I don't know what is . . . Keep me in prayer. This promises to be an exciting summer. Maybe I can get some of my friends to drive over and come hear me preach. I'll preach at least twice while I'm there, possibly more . . .

. . . Speaking of preaching, I delivered my third sermon yesterday preaching on the 2 Samuel 1:1; 17-27 text which was about the lament or song that David wrote about Saul and his best friend Jonathan when he learned that they were killed in battle. The gist of the sermon focused on how David was able to stay focused on the heart of Saul even though Saul sought to kill him. I'm always amazed how the sermons manifest, particularly when you stay up all night. I say that because most often I am not really aware of the process to compose them, nor do I have a particular structure in mind for putting them together. But of course my classmates seem to think so. It's only after their careful analysis and critique that I am able to see how the sermon came together. I didn't even look at as a sermon that explained how David became "a man after God's own heart." But I guess that's exactly what it was -- at least that's how my classmates saw it.

. . . I participated in my first communion service this past Tuesday and that was interesting. Of the many things I have done in the church, giving communion wasn't one of them. I believe I have a whole new reverence for the Eucharist and ultimately what it means to share in the Lord's Supper. It feels quite different to be on the offering end.

Ten on Tuesday

2009-03-17T20:30:00.000-07:00

1. God granted favor on the Christian Thought mid-term, which by the way wasn't the easiest open book, open note test. Today, I earned two more points to the 24 I already had. There were 30 questions in all. Blame it unclear wording. The answer I checked could be right, but then so could one of the others. Either way, at least now I may have a high B.

2. It's bad enough to hear the word, but to see the word nigger written on the front cover of a book can be just as jarring. The word is the title of a new book I'm reading by Randall Kennedy. It's part of a discussion about language I will be having with my TCP group (Transforming Community Project), which meets every other Monday to discuss race issues at Emory. The author takes a look at the racial epithet and the controversy surrounding it. On Monday, one of the facilitators encouraged us to observe people and their reaction when they see the book. I took it the homeless shelter tonight where I minister and it certainly turned quite a few heads, so much so, a few guys want to purchase the book for themselves. It's not a bad read.
I'm looking forward to the dialogue, especially with my white brothers and sisters.

3. I am loving the new duds I got for my computer. Found out about these laptop skins and ordered one from this artist in Singapore. This is a Lily Pang original. Check it out! Also, check out her Web site: http://www.lilypangart.blogspot.com/

4.It never fails, just when I think I'm going to the Elizabeth Inn to minister, the guests there minister to me.

5. There are about 55 days left in this semester.

6. I learned today that I can actually write a precis on an ancient theologian's writing in 30 minutes. I hope I don't have to do it again, but at least I know I can.

7. Seminary is like pledging -- you know you won't get any sleep! Got two hours last night.

8. It's nearly 1 a.m. and I still have two assignments to finish. One's due at 8 a.m.

9. My favorite consignment store is calling me -- I just got an email it's holding a $10 bag sale as part of a charity event this Saturday. How many ever pieces I can stuff in a bag will cost me only $10. So, African dance class may have to wait until next Saturday.

10. Let me get back to work. It'll be time to wake up in a few hours.

Just a thought . . .

2009-03-16T18:52:00.001-07:00

So this question was posed in Sunday School class on Sunday: How is it that Jehovah Witness and Mormons are able to witness and evangelize daily without being affected by the rejection they receive from those they witness to?

The woman who asked this wondered how we even witnessed, if we witnessed at all. Her point was that even though she knew it was not her the people would be rejecting, rejection, nonetheless, is hard to swallow.

I came across something this evening that may answer how the Jehovah Witness and Mormons do it. St. Gregory of Nazianzus (an ancient theologian I'm studying whose known for his writings on the Trinity) beliefs may explain it best as well as present a challenge to us all as Christians:

True Christians don't accept failure but merely see it as an allowance that God permits; for we only experience setbacks, not failures, which are designed to enable us to become more successful in the art and science of serving God and others.

Something to think about . . .

So now I'm a teacher . . .

2009-03-15T20:40:00.000-07:00

On at least two occasions this weekend, someone asked me if I were a teacher. Both times I was told that I had "the look" of one. Both times, I found that baffling. What does a teacher look like? Of course I certainly didn't think I possessed the look, whatever "the look" is. But funny thing, this isn't the first time I've been asked if whether that is my profession.

Maybe it is. Maybe it has been all along. And now, I'm growing into it.

A friend of mine this week shared with me and another friend how important it is when a man gives the woman he is seeing, a name. How she takes on a different role in his life when he introduces her as "his girlfriend" or "his woman." My friends and I mulled over that and concluded that sometimes we don't always recognize when our name is being called, largely because we haven't really been paying attention or come to accept our name. It's kind of like the first time I saw Minister next to my name on a program and heard it called out loud. I didn't recognize it as being me. Still don't. It's a work in progress. Why I've toyed with this in my head, I don't know. I mean, Jesus was called teacher -- Rabboni. And so being called that can't be a bad thing. And I am going to "Jesus" school.

Nonetheless, I reflected on that conversation today and it dawned on me, people are calling me by a name I didn't recognize as my name largely because I haven't wanted to accept it, even though it's been an answer to prayer. Gotta be careful about what I pray for. As I have shared before, I've wrestled over who God is calling me to be and my prayer has been that I began to see myself the way God and others see me. Apparently this past Saturday and Sunday, two men saw me as a teacher. They didn't ask me what kind I was. They just figured I was.

Guess what? They're right. I am. And today, I feel good about walking in that name.

Taking a break . . . kinda

2009-03-13T20:39:00.001-07:00

So today officially ends my Spring Break! And before you ask the same question that everybody asks, "How was your break?", let me quickly clarify something -- it wasn't really a break, not in the real sense of the word or at least not what I envisioned. I didn't go anywhere special, do anything special or even dream about doing anything special. I kind of feel like I didn't have an option to do any of that. I mean how can one plan when there's a mid-term exam to finish (which I just finished up at 11:20 p.m. I had 90 minutes to take it.), and papers to write, a debate to prepare for and assignments to read -- some of which require multiple readings in order to understand it. I haven't even started on those yet. But nonetheless, you can probably understand my disappointment. A Spring Break just doesn't seem like such a break if you can't take a break from the work you were hoping to break away from.

I was actually feeling that way about an hour ago. And in the midst of all of my complaining I didn't realize that maybe this time actually did afford me a break from the norm. Again, it wasn't like I would have envisioned. But a call from a friend a few moments ago put my week into perspective. My classmate was sharing details about her quiet retreat experience. Candler made it possible for a few students to get away on a silent prayer retreat. (Of course you know that I wasn't doing that!) Now my classmate didn't actually follow all the rules. She had her DVD's and computer in tow -- distractions which weren't really encouraged on the retreat -- after all it was meant to be a time of prayer and reflection. "I didn't know I wasn't supposed to take my things," she said. "I didn't even know we weren't supposed to talk, but I had my own room, so I could sit up in my bed and watch movies and paint my toes."

She said it was great! Just the break from her hectic schedule was enough to rejuvenate her.
I thought about that. This time off hadn't been all bad. I had somewhat of a quiet prayer retreat of my own. This past week, I slept past 5:15 a.m. sometimes to almost 10 a.m., didn't leave the house if I didn't want to, although I had dinner out Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday -- I was invited to a birthday party at this swanky chic restaurant that's become my new favorite place -- http://www.twourbanlicks.com/ and on Thursday I had a girlfriend's brunch at my other favorite spot, The Flying Biscuit Cafe.

You know, it's funny how the simple things bring joy and a measure of freedom. And it's funny how easy it is for us to overlook these moments as just another day, instead of an opportunity to take a breath and enjoy the scenery, enjoy the time. Spending those few hours with friends was just what I needed. Having that time alone during the day was just what I needed. For a moment I was reminded of aspects of my life before the demands of professors and classwork. I was reminded of the times when I just enjoyed being.

And it was a wonderful memory. But more than that, for a few hours during my so-called Spring Break, it was my reality. And I thank God for that!

Ten on Tuesday

2009-03-10T09:32:00.000-07:00

1. This is the second day of Spring Break and I'm still wondering where the break is . . . gotta take a mid-term this week, prepare for two papers due on Tuesday, a preaching assignment due next Wednesday and Old Testament readings to catch up on.

2. The North DeKalb Mall parking lot takes on a whole new meaning for me and two of my other seminary friends now that the Lord led us to pray there last night following our dinner at Applebee's. It was amazing to say the least. There we were praying for one another -- loudly I might add -- and God shows up answering all kinds of questions each of us had and killing doubts we were wrestling with. Funny. One of the messages that came straight to me was, "Juana, stop wrestling with me! You won't win!" What's so amazing is that in my Monday blog I had just written about things I wrestle with. My sister, who shared this message with me through her prayer didn't even know I had been wrestling. Now that's God! Who said he doesn't speak?

3. Today was just a beautiful sunny day. Already hitting 80 degrees and it's just the beginning of Spring.

4. I'm missing my kickboxing class in Tallahassee.

5. So I just got the word that the pastor of Harvest UMC in Bradenton wants to interview me on March 23 for an internship this summer at her church near Bradenton, Florida. I'm hoping I can land this. I'll get the full ministry experience and a chance to preach at least twice while I'm there. They'll also take care of my housing and give me a stipend . The good thing is that the pastor called me and reminded me to apply. So, maybe God will grant me favor!

6. I didn't study anything today, just looked at the cover of the books . . . tomorrow, I have to get on it.

7. I started this list around 10 a.m. today and it's now after midnight.

8. I interviewed with the chaplain at Spelman College to see whether she would take me on as a chaplain assistant next semester for my contextual education class. Unfortunately that means I have to leave behind the work I do at the homeless shelter. I'm really bothered by that. I like working there.

9. So I went to see Madea Goes to Jail last Friday and still can't tell you about the entire movie. I feel asleep midway through . . . guess I'll just wait for the DVD now. Never fails, lights go out, I go to sleep, but that's the life of a seminarian.

10. I'm going to bed now. Getting more than 2-3 hours of sleep a night is a privilege I gotta take advantage of before classes resume next week.

Tests, tests, tests . . .

2009-03-09T08:39:00.000-07:00

I should have known the first sermon -- well, really the second -- I preached during my preaching class was a set up for God to teach me a lesson. And I should have known the test would come sooner than later. It came the next day -- that Saturday, Feb. 28.

The day before, during the 8 a.m. hour, I had just preached the sermon, "Check Yourself, Before You Wreck Someone Else" taken from the I Corinthians 8:1-13 text, which essentially challenges Christians who are farther along in their faith walk to live in such a way that it doesn't cause those who are "babes in Christ" to stray away from their faith. The text is a letter from Paul who uses the question regarding whether it is still appropriate for the members of the church at Corinth to eat the leftover meat that is used for sacrifices to idol gods as a larger lesson on moral behavior. In essence, the church is asking, "Can I still go hangout in these questionable places now that I have turned my life over to God and am no longer affected by what happens in these places? Don't I have the right to do that?"

In the letter Paul basically says that we do have the right to do what we want, but as a Christian must be mindful that our actions, while not harmful to us, could be harmful to someone who's faith foundation isn't as strong. The message is really a more comprehensive take on being "our brother's keeper". We are. And that's the bottom line.

So on that Saturday, I found myself wrestling with this revelation. Wrestling with the fact that I was asked to attend a function at a place that I knew was questionable and just not the proper environment for me to be in. Wrestling with this new role that God is prepping me for. Wrestling with the fact that what I do could cause someone to turn their back on God. Wrestling with the fact that I didn't want to disappoint my girlfriend and be seen as this "self-righteous", all holier than thou Jesus fanatic.

Wrestling with the fact that God is calling me to be a minister.

Sometimes the lesson has to be learned after the fact. After the experience. And so that was the case with me. I took the coward's way out and obliged my friend. I could have stood my ground, but didn't. I'm sure she would have understood. But maybe a small part of me didn't want to have to reflect on the fact that I am different. In Christian speak, they call it "set apart." I don't always like that phrasing -- it's loaded and carries much responsibility. It's the mirror image I don't always want to see. But I'm beginning to accept.

That night, it became much clearer that I do have to be mindful of how I walk and where I'm walking. Even the people in the place knew I didn't belong there. They may not have know the why's behind it, but they knew it wasn't my scene. Normally when I'm in places where I shouldn't be, God tells me, "You don't belong here." God didn't do that this time. Didn't have to. I knew before I left, before my car rolled in the parking lot, before I stepped in the place, that I was in the wrong place.

And after I left, I knew I would have to take a stand for what I know is right for me. As I heard a minister say earlier that day, "There comes a day that it's undeniable who God called you to be."
She's right, cause on Friday, he called me to remember that I am my brother's keeper.

Back in the news

2009-02-21T00:05:00.000-08:00

My blog made the Candler Admissions page! Check me out:

http://candleradmissions.blogspot.com/

Behind the cold piece of steel

2009-02-20T15:28:00.000-08:00

I found a new way to relieve my stress on Wednesday: I picked up a Glock 22 and 35 and commenced to firing.
Yes, seminary has driven me to pick up the cold steel of a firearm. All the tension it brings and frustrations of classwork that I can't seem to grasp left my body and flew straight toward my target. He got it four times to the head, once to the neck and a few to the chest area.
And that was the first time I ever shot. My target was definitely dead.
My frustrations, my anger and depression I found myself under were definitely dead . . .at least for a day.

This was my first excursion to the firing range, at least for the purpose of learning about gun safety and usage. I figure if I ever find myself in a situation that requires I use the weapon for my safety, at least I'll have some knowledge of how it works. The trip was one that I had added to my list of 100 things that I wanted to accomplish in my lifetime and so when my cop and seminary friend offered to take a few of us girls -- we're now dubbed the newer, prettier version of Charlie's angels -- I hopped at the chance to go.

The firing, while scary, felt good. Kinda. I had a mix of emotions. Funny thing happened. As I stood behind the firing line with my arm extended out and my Glock aimed toward my target and started to think about how powerful I felt and how I "could get used to this feeling," the Lord spoke. And in a quiet still voice he said, "You should never be comfortable behind the back of that gun.There should always be a feeling of discontent."

I thought about that. And as I pulled the trigger to see the bullet escape the chamber causing a mini volcanic explosion, I thought about the many young brothers on the street who have become comfortable being behind the arm of that weapon. At that moment, I gained more of a reverence for the power that I was wielding. At that moment, it became very real that I could take a life -- decimate one with a simple pull and "Click". Just like I had taken my anger and frustration and killed off the demons I had been battling for the past few weeks.

In those moments I stood between the stalls of the firing range, I became aware of others who hurt and have no way to express themselves than through the cold steel of a piece like the Glock I held. And I silently weeped for them because no one saw their pain. I was reminded of how desensitized we have become to the suffering of others around us. And it was in that moment I prayed for eyes to be opened to pain other than our own.

Lift ev'ry voice . . .

2009-01-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

I was back in the Bahamas yesterday . . . not physically, mind you. I'm still trying to rest up. But I was there via the radio airwaves. I, along with a few of my other seminary friends, Michael Hunt and Quentin Samuels and some Bahamian Morehouse students and a Spellman sister got a chance to be a part of the live radio show: The Audacity to Hope: Do Dreams Really Come True? The show was a part of the Matters of the Heart radio program, http://www.myheartmatters.com/ my new friend Kirk Johnson broadcasts internationally from the Bahamas. This past weekend, however, he took the 2-hour show on the road and headed straight here to Atlanta to do the broadcast live from the place he felt the dreams we're now realizing in President Obama's election began.

Kirk and I met when I was at the zns station, http://www.znsbahamas.com/, finishing up a radio interview two weeks ago. Once he realized Michael and I were from Atlanta, he shared how he wanted us to be a part of his broadcast and invited us to bring others along.

So there we were sitting in the Martin Luther King Jr. International Chapel on Morehouse's campus, surrounded by the thousands of photos of the Great Dr. King, Jr. and glimpses of the civil rights movement expounding on how one takes their dream from just the "concept" stage to reality. I was honored to be there, be a part of the conversation. I felt particularly esteemed to be in the company of these young black men who spoke their convictions and shared their insights of what is now being demanded of them in this moment and time in history. There were only two of us women at the table. At first I wondered if Kirk failed to find others. But as I sat there, it quickly became apparent that that time on the airwaves was really moreso about the men. It was their time to speak.

We women have always shared. Our men, more specifically, the collective voices of our black men, have not always been afforded that opportunity nor have they always taken advantage of it when presented. And Kirk's show was their time to be at the table and share their knowledge and relish in the fact that they do have something to say and it's not only their responsibility to share, but their responsibility to encourage their other brethren to do the same. Many others are waiting to hear what they have to say.

And on Sunday, a portion of the world was listening, including me. And I couldn't have been happier and more thrilled to have a front row seat.

God in the details . . .

2009-01-15T21:16:00.001-08:00

A funny thing -- funny ironic thing -- happened in Old Testament II class today. I think I got a glimpse of the Holy Spirit hanging out in there. Yes, I said it, the Holy Spirit. This class may turn out not to be so bad after all. The fact that the professor shared tidbits of his faith foundation (giving indication that he believes in God) and we started the class with prayer tells me there is hope for Jesus to show up in class this time. I know for some it may even sound strange that I would write something like this. I mean, I'm in seminary. It would stand to reason that the Holy Ghost would be in every nook and cranny of this place, practically hanging from the ceilings ready to pounce. But sadly, that isn't the case. Like Jesus, the Holy Spirit only comes by invitation. And sometimes I think that even if an invitation were sent out, we might find that the Holy Spirit's address was no longer valid.

It's only the first day -- Introduction Day -- and already I'm thinking . . . hoping . . . praying that this class will actually live out the truism the professor proclaims: that "scripture is he word of life" and that there can't be proper interpretation unless there is empathy and evaluation in dealing with the text. One without the other either lends itself to superficiality or cynicism.

I saw enough of that last semester. And frankly, I wasn't sure I would see too much of anything else. But God always gives us a glimpse of a shining light. This semester his name is Dr. Mark Strawn.

Ten on Tuesday . . . a day later

2009-01-14T09:26:00.000-08:00

1. I'm back stateside! Yippe. I'm connected, once again! My phone was the first thing I grabbed when the plane touched down on the tarmac Tuesday night. And when I got my bags, I headed straight to the nearest Waffle House to grab me a waffle. Just can't get that kind of good cooking in the Bahamas. I'm not saying my Bahamian brothers and sisters cooking isn't and wasn't good, but let's just say I've had my share of peas and rice . Besides there's nothing like a good waffle over great conversation. That was just what I needed.

2. I decided I'm not leaving the house today -- especially not to head toward Emory. I'll be there soon enough tomorrow. So, in the meantime, I'll just hang with myself and enjoy my solitude. I may finish up my reading, maybe not. This trip has really worn me out and today I just need to rest. God know there will be little of that once classes resume . . .

3. Well, it's back to classes tomorrow. My Spring semester begins. I'm barely finished with my January term (we call them J-term) courses. I still have three papers to write, two books to read and updates to do to my journal and organize my notes. The work never stops. But such is the life of a seminary student. Pray for my endurance.

4. Speaking of endurance, I'm resolving to get back to my kickboxing classes this year. In fact, I'm starting tonight. Found a free cardio class at the hospital.

5. I still can't believe that one of my professors assigned or "strongly suggested" a week ago that we begin assignments for his class. I didn't realize this until after a friend who was also in the Bahamas with me shared this tidbit of information this past week. Get this, not only did he want us to read the books for the class, but watch some John Wayne movie, "They Were Expendable" and "In Which We Serve" with Noel Coward (I don't even know who that is!) to prepare ourselves for the "struggle that lies ahead". Then he tagged on the end, "Time to join Netflix . . ." See why I'm going to kickboxing class!

5. At least I don't have to work tomorrow. I'm not sure I could make it anyway.

6. Okay, can I just say, I'm now a huge fan of all things Conch -- fried, stewed, in conch salad. That conch's some good eating!

7. Pastor Catherine Fluck-Price of Harvest UMC in Bradenton, Fla. is interested in possibly taking me on as an intern for the summer. She suggests I throw my hat in the ring for the summer position. I'm considering. It's either there or the Bahamas. Only thing with the later opportunity is I'll definitely have to have the phone situation worked out. This woman can't live off of IM'ing or email alone. I wasn't connected for 10 days and nearly lost my mind. Imagine two months!

8. One thing I like about the Bahamians is they really know how to live within their holiday's. They still have Christmas decorations up-- nativity scenes and all. I didn't see not one Valentine or red-colored nothing anywhere. Maybe they'll display those things in say . . . February, right after they take down their Christmas trees and lights. Apparently that's about how long they keep them up!

9. I might find myself on another Bahamian radio program. A talk show host I met there, Kirk Johnson is heading to Atlanta to do a live broadcast this Sunday from the King Center on "The Audacity of Hope: How do I make my dreams come true?" He invited me and other friends of mine to join and share our thoughts. You know I'm really feeling this is not a coincidence (which I don't really believe in anyway) that I'm coming face-to-face with all these radio personalities and meeting up with these radio opportunities. A friend of mine and I have been talking about putting together our own show. Maybe these opportunities are the open door we have been looking for . . .

10. Call me crazy, but I'm glad to be back home . . . cold weather and all. Something just didn't feel quite right with me wearing shorts and summer dresses in the middle of January!

Dreams revealed . . .

2009-01-12T07:24:00.000-08:00

Imagine taking a sabbatical from your cellphone. Well, I did -- not by my own accord, mind you. It was forced. Altell doesn't work on this side of the ocean and for the past nine days I've been without the ability to make or receive phone calls or text. I was so distressed that for the first few days, I would just turn on my phone to see if it still worked. I secretly hoped maybe a text would find its way through or I would see the bars light up on my phone saying I could make a call if I wanted. No such blessing. (Cost for just a minute would have been too high anyway). For a while, I couldn't even link up to the Internet. By all accounts, I felt as if I were a woman without a country to connect to. The ironic thing about that, is that that's how I've felt since being here. In that in-between place, where I struggle to find out where exactly I fit in the grand scheme of what I see taking place here.

I shared with my fellow seminarians and workshop participants that I'm beginning to see what God is doing with me here. This seminar is the fulfillment of prayers I have prayed in regard to my ministry and and a fulfillment of the promises God made to deliver on my desires. I didn't realize until a few days ago that the list I have been compiling of the 100 things I would like to accomplish in my lifetime is dwindling somewhat as God is crossing some of those things off the list. Here I am beginning to see the marriage of my journalism skills with that of ministry and I am in awe of how God works. I've desired to connect with people of other cultures and have the opportunity to speak and minister internationally and have them share their faith with me. This trip has allowed me the chance to do that.

I prayed that I would be able to travel and fill my passport with stamps. This trip is the beginning of that dream. I have also prayed to be able incorporate my love of radio within my ministry. Since being here, I have networked with people who may be able to offer advice and help in that area and have even asked me to be a part of their radio broadcasts. I've done two interviews since being here. And been asked to speak at other future events and churches.

All of this happens and I have no one to immediately tell. Maybe that is where the lesson lies. Maybe I'm just supposed to sit with something and bask in the Glory of God's goodness alone. Being without my phone has forced me to look within and rest with God awhile. It has forced me to really take stock of my surroundings and ask God, "What's next?"

It's prompted me to live my life with the expectation that God has so much more in store for me.
I must say, this isn't a bad start. Today the Bahamas, tomorrow . . . maybe South Africa.
I'm praying!

Answered prayers . . .

2009-01-11T13:40:00.000-08:00

I'm so behind on my blog posts for this week. There has just been so much going on -- the seminars that last all day and events into the night -- that I haven't been able to keep up. But I did want to get this one in. That radio show that I was on this week . . . well it'll be streaming live tonight on http://www.znsbahamas.com/ at 9 p.m. So if you get a chance, log on.

It so happened that I, and two of my seminarian colleagues, Michael Hunt and Lance Eiland were asked to be on the radio program Vision, which is a broadcast by the Methodist Conference of the Caribbean and the Americas all over the Caribbean and even in New Zealand. The show, which is a 30-minute weekly program gave us an opportunity to share a little of who we are, how we were called into ministry and our thoughts on this past weeks seminar. For me, it was a answer to one of my prayers to God. And it was evidence that all my skills and desires to use my journalist tools and pursue my radio dreams in ministry have been heard.

I didn't think I would go international so soon. But that's what I get for putting God in a box.

My heart was strangely warmed . . .

2009-01-05T22:34:00.000-08:00

I've experienced the unusual gift of hospitality here. I say it's unusual because it's just a type of hospitality that I haven't really experienced before. It could have something to do with the fact that I'm in a tourist town and tourist towns know how to keep its tourists coming back. It could be the fact that I am a minister and ministers are given special privilege. But I would like to think it's something more -- it's just who the Bahamian people are.

Upon hearing that I was coming to the island of Eleuthera, the Methodist ministers between that island and the island of Spanish Wells and Nassau worked out a plan that would allow me to stay overnight in Spanish Wells. Now get this: Spanish Wells isn't exactly a place most blacks hang out. Now you will see a few on the island. They have students who attend school there. But they don't live there. In fact, many years ago, blacks weren't even allowed to spend the night there -- at least that's what the native Bahamians tell me. I guess that's why some of the Bahamians looked so shocked when I said that I would be staying over on the island until Monday, when I would meet up with the rest of my group. I've learned that Spanish Wells, which got its name from the Spanish ships that used to stop over at the primarily white settlement to get water because of the islands many wells, is pretty much still all white. Fishing is its dominate trade. In fact, it's the Spanish Wells fishing house that provides lobsters to the U.S. Red Lobster restaurants.

But I can now say I stayed there. One of the pastors, who also welcomed me into his home for dinner and conversation later that night with his family, put me up in his apartment. Even offered to rent a golf cart for me so I could get around the next morning. I was even asked to speak to school-age children on their return back to school at their morning assembly. As I sat in that apartment, (which was really nice!) I wondered what this opportunity was all about. I so much wanted to share it with my other colleagues. I wanted them to be there. I wanted them to experience the Bahamian people within their own communities and on their front porches like I had the opportunity to do.

But then I was reminded that there are some things I must do alone. This was one of those times.

For the Bible tells us so . . .

2009-01-04T12:32:00.000-08:00

I didn’t even have to tell him I was a minister. The Bible I was holding did it for me. And I didn’t even deny it when the gentleman asked. I said I was a minister-in-training. But that didn’t even matter. He heard minister and that sat well with him. I was someone who could pray for him and that’s what he wanted – Prayer. I had seen the gentleman on the Bo Henghy, the ferry that would take me to the island where I would spend the day, and noticed him watching me as I talked out the sermon I would deliver later that morning. It so happened he too was riding on the smaller fast ferry to Eleuthera. He wears the title superintendent. He’s in charge of a number of law enforcement districts around Eleuthera. He has about 160 people he’s in charge of and he wanted prayer for his continued safety. I have this thing about taking requests to pray later – I don’t like to do it. If you ask right then, why not do it right then. So I did. Right there on the boat as we prepared to head to Eleuthera. At that moment, I remembered Professor de Souza sharing how we should look for opportunities to share Christ. The funny thing about this is that I really didn’t do anything. My Bible did it for me. It opened the door . . . and I walked in.

PREPARING FOR 11 a.m.

I really didn’t want to sing. I never do, least all by myself. Remants of the proclamation from Sister Lillian telling me in front of the entire second grade class to stop singing with the rest of my classmates, still ring in my ears. She said I was just that bad. I threw the whole class off key. Words do sting and the sting is still being felt some 30 years later. So when the Lord told me that he wanted me to sing again before I went into the message, I was not happy. But I slowly walked over to the pianist and asked her if she knew the song that was ringing in my head. Sanctuary. It is my favorite and it does calm the fears . . . a little. But getting started, gets my pulse to racing and my mouth began to get dry and cakey, like I got cotton balls. But I did it, right there in front of this congregation of Bahamians. And they joined in with me. God really does give us courage to stand when we think that we cannot and like the scriptures say it is in our weakness that he is strong.

Bahamas-bound and still no sermon. . .

2009-01-03T13:20:00.000-08:00

Okay, so my friend is driving me to the airport when he asks whether I am excited about my trip -- this journey that I will be taking to the Bahamas for the next 10 days to study evangelism and mission. I say that I am, a little. Honestly, I’m still stressing over the message I am to deliver tomorrow. It’s not done. I have snippets and bits of information that I feel God wants me to share, but the overall message, I’m still struggling with. “Seeking Jesus in the Midst of Chaos” seems to be the theme that God has me dealing with. I'm trying to figure just how the Magi in Matthew 2:1-10 teaches us how to look for the light and hope in the midst of darkness. I'm pretty certain this is what God wants me to talk about. For one, I can relate being that I too am in sort of a dark place. I'm a firm believer that the message is always for the messenger first and the people second. But yet, I struggle. Am I understanding the text the way I should? Will it speak to the people and meet the needs of what they are dealing with as they move into this new year? Will they receive me?

A weeks ago, another friend told me that knowing my audience really didn’t matter. He said that I simply needed to trust God. Easier said than done. Even a friend of mine who has strayed away from the Lord told me that. I’ve been trying. I’m usually done by now and have the outline of the message pulled together. By this time, I have rehearsed the message a number of times and even read it to my mother to get her feedback on its delivery and flow. On this one, my first international ministering experience, I feel alone. This uncertainty makes me nervous as I want to deliver the message that will meet the people’s needs. My colleagues tell me things will be fine. It’s going to be a long night . . .

PROBLEM SOLVED . . . AROUND 9 p.m.

As it would turn out, the night wasn’t as long as I thought. Instead of me not going to bed at all, I fell in around 3 a.m. (I had to be up and ready by 7 a.m. to take a 2-hour ferry ride to Spanish Wells so I could catch another ferry to the “Bluff” to get to the church.) Had it not been for Rev. Charles Lewis, I can’t rightly say what would have happened. I was so moved by his offer to welcome me into his home so that I could finish and print out my sermon for Sunday. It was just what I needed. As soon as I got there it was as though the message just poured out on the pages. God does work behind the scenes and goes before us. Now why I can’t seem to remember that or why that doesn’t just rest me with me, I don’t know.

Grace and mercy following me

2008-12-22T19:31:00.000-08:00

There is something to be said about grace and mercy. I truly give it credit for helping me through my first semester. Cause it really wasn't me! I'm glad to say I ended it -- a week ago -- with two A's and a B- (you know this had to be Old Testament! There was that time I went on that reading strike, remember? Never really did quite recover. When you lose ground here, it's almost impossible to regain your footing. You just pick up from where you are.)

Just four short months ago, I was wondering if I would even make it through. My head was dizzy from trying to remember the two accounts of the creation and flood stories and how they relate to the Ancient Near Eastern accounts, the make up of the Holiness Code, the Sinai and Davidic covenants and which Biblical scholar said what about Joshua and the battle of Jericho and whether the walls of the city really did come tumbling down. The teachings of Martin Luther King, Jr., Ghandi, Walter Wink and his perspective on the Powers and their place within the Domination System fought for space in my brain as I struggled with doubt, battled insecurities about my intellect, my writing ability (if you can believe it) and waivered in my faith.

I sat in classes not knowing what the hell people were saying, barely slept at night and produced papers, almost consistently, at the 11th hour. And even now, I wonder if anything really stuck. Some say it'll make sense by my third year. Let's hope so!

In the midst of all of that, I've attempted to make sense of where my new found ministry -- the homeless and destitute -- will lead me. I question how my experience there will manifest itself in my overall ministry. I wonder if I should already be designing some sort of ministry. And I battle with feelings of angst and disappointment at the current systems which seems to perpetuate what I see rather than offer solid solutions. The encounters prompt me to want to act. Maybe because I've come to realize they could be me. Maybe because I realize they -- at some point in their life -- was someone like me. They just fell on hard times. In seminary we recognize these calls to action as an epiphany of recruitment -- the point at which you feel compelled to respond to a need of humanity. And lately, my sensitivity meter has been so keen that it's had me nearly crying in Publix at the site of deli workers tossing hours old Rotisserie chicken in the trash.

Now that I think about it, maybe that's what part of me being here is all about -- learning how to recognize the voice of the world calling for help and me being prepared to respond. Maybe it's not really all about which stories in the Bible are fables, sages or short stories, a narrative or whether the event happened in the postexilic or exilic period. Maybe all of this is really about the overall ministry experience, a preparation for what is to come. I used to think I knew where God was leading me, now I'm not so sure. But after what I witnessed this semester, I know at least grace and mercy will be on the heels of my tennis shoes.

I'm counting on it to be there when I stand in that pulpit on January 4 in the Bahamas. Cause at this point, only God knows what I'm going to say.

Breezing through the night . . .

2008-11-07T15:47:00.000-08:00

People think when you're in school you have time on your hands. You really don't, but I took some time last night to do something out of the ordinary -- at least for me. In the late night hour, around 10:30 p.m. (after I left work) I took off on a motorscooter with one of my seminary friends flying . . . or riding high through the streets of downtown Atlanta and it felt GREAT!!! There I was in the cold of the night making my way, rounding curves down Ponce de Leon when I thought to myself, "I am actually riding on the back of this thing on my way to I have no idea where." For a moment, I thought about the reading assignment I had to complete for my 9:30 a.m. class and the radio interview I needed to listen to. I thought about how this had to be one of the craziest things I've done. And in the next moment, the thoughts vanished. This ride, which was supposed to last 45 minutes turned into a 2 1/2 hour adventure. We stopped by a place to watch the rest of the Cleveland Browns football game and the Portland basketball game. We later drove to Barley's to shoot two games of pool (I'm pissed that I lost!) before jumping back on our bike to ride out again.

It was a freedom I haven't experienced in a while since being here. For just those few hours, I forgot about the responsibilities, the obligations, the late night hour and even the cold breeze of the dark night and just lived. For just a few hours, as James Baldwin suggested in his novel Fire Next Time, I took notice of what everybody else was doing and went in the opposite direction.

And it felt sooooo good!

Obama win means . . .

2008-11-05T13:45:00.000-08:00

Here is what I know for sure now that Obama is President:

That today, I ceased to be invisible because when the world looks at Barak and Michelle Obama, they will see me.

That today, I ceased to be irrelevant.

That today, my voice is no longer inaudible.

Just another day in midterm hell . . .

2008-10-31T18:07:00.000-07:00

It's October. It's mid-term season. I've had even less sleep than I was getting -- so you know I'm worn down and a little cranky. I woke up at 3:30 a.m. this morning to write a 5-8 page paper for my Unlearning Violence, Learning Non-Violence Class. I had to critique a movie that had elements of violence and write a lesson plan from the movie that I could use with youth. I chose Save the Last Dance. Although I have seen it probably more than 20 times, watching it for critque is different. I found myself falling asleep on it last night, hence the decision to get a few hours of sleep and wake up at 3:30 to get the work done.

And that's what I did. Turned in the paper, via email by 9 a.m. It was due at 9:30 a.m. I didn't make the class, but probably wouldn't have stayed awake through it anyway. I did drive all the way to the campus to hand over the hard copy only to realize it didn't save to my thumb drive.
Thanks to the inventors of email!

My mid-term Old Testament test is behind me and I'm still wondering what were all of those questions and essays were on that exam! Let's just say, I've been praying seriously for God's grace and mercy. Not sure if my explaination of the Holiness Code will hold up. (Hey Lord, it's me down here, don't forget to look out for a sister!)

Now, it's on to paper #2, the 8-10 page literature critical essay. Still got to finish the second book for that one. But that won't be happening tonight. I'm going to sleep.

Such is the life of a seminary student.
Thank goodness mid-terms are almost over.

Ten on Tuesday

2008-10-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

1. I've realized something: It's not a good idea to have me or anybody flip the lights in class to watch any documentary of the sort. Why? Cause I'm going to sleep. Never fails these days, lights off = me knocked out. The sleep demon falls on me kinda like it used to in church -- right when the preacher begins to preach and by the time the message is over I'm fully awake. I probably need to have an exorcism!

2. Remember when I said seminary is just a microcosm of the larger world we live in? Well, I just learned how much like the world it is. Can you believe one of my peers popped a brewski during one of his classes and another told me how she would down glasses of Sherry before getting into her theological discussions? Wow! I mean I eat snacks in my class all the time, but I've never thought to bring a Smirnoff to go with them. Hmmmm.

3. I'm off of my reading strike now. For a few weeks there, I just stopped reading. No reason other than I just felt like it! Now this week I'm paying for it. But hey, sometimes you just gotta make a stand.

4. I gave my first speech at Emory last Tuesday and it went extremely well. I almost cried and so did the audience. I even got a possible internship out of it. Seems Harvest UMC in Bradenton is interested in having me intern there this coming summer. I'm praying about it. And in the meantime, I still am hoping to land a spot on this evangelism tour to the Bahamas in January.

5. I ended up getting an "A" on this paper I wrote for Urban Ministries. I didn't think I did that good of an analysis of the book we had to read. But I'm certainly going to take it. Now if I could just land a similar grade on this 8 -10 page critical literary essay due next week.

6. I found my hats!!!!!!! Hallelujah! My hair is a mess and I'm still looking for a hairdresser.

7. I hate I'm missing my homecoming in Charlotte this weekend. Oh well, I guess Morehouse will have to do.

8. Since when did convenience stores sell white tee's, thermal socks and shoes and boots? I remember there was a time you could buy a pair of pantyhose, which was great for the woman who had a run in her stockings on the way to church, but a whole line of shoes is a new phenomenon. And sitting out on display like in a shoe store at that. I went to get gas at the Texaco the other day and noticed this sign on the front door advertising shoes and boots on sale for $19.99. Only in Atlanta. I wonder if this is just in Lithonia.

9. I haven't hit the club scene in a while, but I'm sure dancing it up in chapel these days. I'm performing in the morning and for this dance, I need stamina. Running and steps are part of the routine. Pray for me.

10. Next Tuesday, mid-term exam in Old Testament. What is a suzerainty treaty again?

Pushed to the forefront

2008-10-12T19:27:00.000-07:00

I just got one of the biggest compliments Saturday -- a member of the Uhuru Dance Company, here asked me if I would consider joining the dance troupe. Needless to say, I was blown away. I mean, this was my second class and it's not like I was trying to bring attention to myself. I was actually hanging in the back, trying to get back into dancing regularly, be more of an observer than anything. But the invite brought a few things to mind -- that's it's not really neccessary for us to do the work of bringing attention to ourselves or the hard work we do. God, in his own, way, will put us out front and introduce us to the right people at the right time.

That same hanging back I had attempted to do in that dance class was the same thing I have been trying to do at Candler, but to no avail. It seems as though people have been seeking me out to become a participant in this, that or the other. So what I thought would be a year of getting acclimated to being back in school is turning out to be a year of leadership building. I'm now a member of the Sister Circle Coordinating Committee, a member of the Candler Women Coordinating Council, a participant in the chapel's dance ministry, the black student caucus dance ministry and a member of the intercessory prayer team. And this doesn't include the ministry I'm building at M.U.S.T Ministries, the homeless shelter where I minister and council residents every Tuesday. (Whew, that's a lot, particularly when you see it in print!)

My aunt says it's Proverbs 18:16 being fulfilled: "A man's gift makes room for him and will bring him before great men." Maybe. I am speaking at a banquet Tuesday night to members of the committee that gave me my scholarship. I'm told about 100 people -- that I should get to know -- will be there. I am honored that I am among those asked to speak and share the story of my journey to seminary.

Wish me well. They gave me 3-minutes. And anybody who knows me, knows talking for only 3 minutes will definitely be a challenge.

God visited Room 252 today . . .

2008-10-09T13:17:00.000-07:00

I just experienced one of the most emotional chapel services today since I've been here. I mean it was one of those services where I just wanted to Shout "JESUS!!!!!" from the top of my lungs and run and jump up and down. The spirit was just that heavy, but I held back. My tears didn't. For a few moments, my eyes were like a running faucet. I just couldn't seem to turn them off. And we weren't even in the chapel today. We were in the lecture hall where I take Old Testament and that was the strange part. I felt God there more than any other time I've been in chapel. (Now, I don't necessarily feel him in Old Testament, but he was hanging out in the room today.)
I felt God through the liturgies, through the confessional prayers recited openly and through the singing -- even those in languages I did not understand, but knew were being shared with the same God I serve.

And the good thing about it was I wasn't the only one feeling what I felt. In talking to my other sisters following the service, they too, expressed their urge to jump and shout and call on the name of Jesus in foreign tongues. They too experienced a deeper, more intimate worship with Jesus today.

I think we all agree we needed it. I know we felt better after it, lighter and less burdened.

I hope that won't be the last of those classroom services! Who knows, next time, I just may break out into a full sprint or at least a shouting dance. Let's hope when I do, I don't scare my Anglo brothers and sisters or worse knock them down and run them over!

Ten on Tuesday

2008-10-07T22:03:00.000-07:00

1. Is it just me or does Tuesday's come by really fast these days? Oh, well, now it's here and as usual I'm wondering what to say . . . Oh yeah, I choreographed an African dance piece for chapel today and while it went well, the heavy breathing afterwards reminded me that I'm definitely 37.

2. Speaking of African Dance, I finally found a spot Saturday to get my drum and dance fix on -- I'm hanging out with the Uhuru Dancers in downtown Decatur. If you get a chance, drop by sometime on Saturday from 9:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m., I can get you a pass for a $1 class. What workout can you get for $1? The best thing is that I met a former Tallahassee resident who I used to dance with. I guess I do know a lot of people . . .

3. Got my reflection paper back from my Urban Ministries class and happy to say I got a 4 out of 5, or a "B". I was supposed to do a critical analysis on Intimacy and Mission, the book written by my professor. I got a B because I spoke more on my convictions and didn't include enough information on his book and how his research formed my thoughts. I thought I did a great job throwing in comments from M.L.K. Jr.s comments from a A Letter for A Birmingham Jail. You can bet I won't be making that mistake again -- professor/author work trumps M.L.K. Jr. insight any day!

4. First gas was $3.79, then within a two-hour period, it dropped to $3.69 today. Maybe by week's end, we'll be below $3.50! A girl and her gas-guzzling truck can only hope.

5. Okay, how crazy am I? A friend and I went to Atlantic Station Friday on the MARTA after classes to hang out at the Cheesecake Bistro. We didn't know any other way to get there other than walk across the 17th street bridge. I found out on Saturday morning a shuttle runs to Atlantic Station every few minutes. Now, I understand why people thought we were tourists and gave us a map of Atlanta.

6. When we got there, I got this great art piece, "Eargasim" by David Patterson. And it was $5. You know I love GREAT DEALS! Brotherman said "Economic times are hard, I'm trying to get all I can get!" His pieces are done entirely by pen. Check him out at www.myspace.com/Pitchblackart or email him at pitchblackart@yahoo.com.

7. How do good people turn evil? What transformations are at work when two 10-year-old boys kidnap a 2-year-old from a shopping center and kill him in cold blood? (That actually happened in England) Those are the questions we are pondering this week in my Unlearning Violence and Learning Non-violent Strategies this week. The Lucifer Effect is the book we're reading to gain some insight.

8. Got two more days until I get my Old Testament test back. Just learned about 60 people got 100s. I know I wasn't one of them. But I'm still hopeful for an "A".

9. Still haven't managed to find my hats in that storage unit. You know I'm going crazy, right? Me, without my hats, just isn't normal. Besides, it's getting cooler by the day.

10. I'm going to bed. It's already after 2 in the morning.

Ten on Tuesday

2008-09-30T21:54:00.000-07:00

1. Of course this had to make the top Ten on Tuesday: My house sold, y'all!!!!!! In less than 30 days and before it was even put on the market. That's right. At 1 p.m. today in Tallahassee, 5500 Green Meadows no longer belonged to this chick. Just after I signed the papers earlier this month to release it to be sold, owners put a bid on the house, although there were at least four other houses on my street that had floor plans like mine with signs in the yard -- some had been on the market for at least a year. How do you explain that? If you're standing on faith, you just say, "That's God and that's how he works!" If only I had listened to him earlier when he told me to put on the market. So, what's the lesson for the day: When God tells you to do something, get like Nike and "just do it!"

2. I felt peace when I went into the Old Testament test today and peace when I came out. That has to mean something, right?

3. There is no way to read all these assignments and read them fully. So, I've stopped trying.

4. How is that I moved to a state that has no water and no gas?

5. Speaking of gas, somebody needs to send me a care package -- no food, just gas, please!

6. While we're on the gas theme, it was almost rare tonight to not see lines at the gas pump. I guess we're back on the mend.

7. I'm bewildered, excited and frustrated by this journey through seminary. I think they call this adventure.

8. If words could flow from my pen like Donald Shockley I would be one bad writer and storyteller. His work just lets me know I still have a ways to go.

9. I still haven't figured out what was going on with the dizziness on Monday. It felt like my equilibrium was off. I'll blame it on being in seminary. Seminary gets the blame for everything these days.

10. I'm feeling this Bahamas travel seminar sponsored by the World Methodist Evangelism Institute in January is calling my name. I'll work on the essay this weekend.

What was I called into?

2008-09-27T08:58:00.001-07:00

I struggled earlier this week not so much about whether I was called, but wrestled with what I was called into. And on Monday, I wasn't so sure I could endure this pursuit of my Master's of Divinity degree. Yes, the work, the theological concepts thrown at you and just the transition into this particular graduate program is just that heavy. Or at least it can be, particularly because it is on a much higher level of any graduate program. Here, you're trying to make intellectual sense of one who can not be fully explained within the contexts of the human mind.

I mean, he calls himself, "I am." How do you wrap your brain around that?
You don't!

Of course the thought crossed my mind to maybe leave the program -- but only for a split second. I mean where was I going to go? It's not like I could go back to my old life, lest I lead one of unfulfillment. At the time, I just felt that I had to get the hell up out of here. But like the child running away from home with his little sack thrown behind his back, who only travels as far as the curb in front of his house, I too had no other place to run, save to the curb and stairwells of Candler.

So here I sit, pondering and praying without ceasing for the Lord to bring me through. I'm only about a month in and got three years to do.

But I was reminded last night and today of what it really means to accept this call. First and foremost, it means releasing my will for my life to do a greater work that only God knows I will do. It means availing myself to the journey and what it will reveal. And it is a calling I must submit to daily as I'm subject to waiver back and forth on whether I am willing to go the distance.

Today I am, but there are other days, I'm not so sure. And that's because the burden is so heavy and the responsibility so great. I'm caught in that space as one theologian describes, the confusing nowhere of in-between.

But around Candler they say this is normal.

What I'm thankful for today . . .

2008-09-25T13:34:00.000-07:00

* Friends who don't even really know you, but notice when your spirit is broken and give you their legs to stand on.

* The random card from a friend that says, "I believe in you!" just at the time when you're having trouble beliving in yourself.

* An Almighty God who delivers and showers favor at will.

* Family who steps in to take you in when you have nowhere else to go.

What I meant to say on Tuesday . . .

2008-09-24T15:15:00.000-07:00

1. A funky $17 faux black leather crop jacket and $10 hobo bag is the perfect cure for Old Testament blues.

2. I tried out my first hairdresser on Saturday and let me say, just because it's Atlanta doesn't mean that every hairdresser got skills. That visit was another stress altogether.

3. I experienced my first worship service in the park Sunday and I'm still on a high. The morning was crisp, the praise team was singing and jamming and we were all up and praising while the Mallard Ducks were swimming on the pond in the background, creating a scene reminiscent of the one in my First Bible Story Book of how the Garden of Eden looked. The only thing missing from the service was a good old fashioned baptism. I just knew the pastor was going to have us don some white sheets and head wraps and start singing, "Take me to the water. Take me to the water. Take me to the water . . . to be baptized!" We had a cookout instead. That was great because I love a good barbecue!

4. I think there is a theme emerging now that I'm here in seminary . . . and it's always centered around food. Hmmm

5. Kudos to the cute guy at the gas station who helped me get closer to the pump. I could have waited an entire hour for gas instead of 45 minutes and missed the season premier of "Hero's". I hope I can take at least an hour out to see my favorite show this season.

6. I'm finding seminary is a cure for many things -- like television addictions. I don't know what Nikki and Victor are doing on the Young and Restless, Stephanie and Eric on Bold and the Beautiful or Clark Kent on Superman or who Tyra is cutting from America's Top Model. Somebody needs to give me an update or better yet. . . I'll be paying a visit next week to the woman in Emory's Student Union. She at least has the soap opera update.

7. I noticed I'm becoming one of those stressed Atlanta drivers, who either forgets to use or uses her turn signal too late. (I gotta change that quick!) The traffic here just begs for you to grip the wheel and hold on for the ride -- especially at 6 a.m. in the morning. And don't let there be construction going on. . .

8. For a young lady who didn't want to be assigned to the homeless shelter to do ministry work (I wanted to go to the women's prison), I'm now finding my way and niche at M.U.S.T Ministries in Marietta. And I'm loving my assignment. The ladies and I are having a ball talking and praying with each other, so much so, they want me to start a support group for them. So, in two weeks, every Tuesday night, we'll be lighting our candles, sipping our tea and having real talk as we kick off our Waiting to Exhale Women's Support group.

9. My first Old Testament test is coming up on Tuesday.

10. The sound of the African drums are calling my spirit. Let's hope I can make the jam session on Saturday. Still need to find a new lapa. But my feet are ready to dance!

Seminary 101

2008-09-20T07:34:00.000-07:00

When you tell people you're going to seminary, inevitably the question comes up regarding what it's like. Well, let me tell you what it isn't: all these spiritual, God-loving holy rollers walking around with Bibles in their hand -- well, actually they do, but everybody's got a Bible in seminary. We need them for class. But it's like I said a couple of days ago, the study of the Bible ain't nothing like Wednesday night Bible study or Sunday school. Scholars study it from a historical and literary point of view. It's a piece of work that theologians have picked apart and given commentary on. Some you may agree with. A lot I don't.

And seminary, well, it's the place where some of those theologians are born.

This place is really a microcosm of what we see in the much larger society. Unfortunately, what you see happening in the world, happens between these walls. I say it's unfortunate, but I have to reconcile that everybody doesn't come to seminary with the same intentions. Those of us who are here aren't perfect, but definitely in need of change. We're heterosexual, homosexual, transgendered, black, white, African, Asian, Latino, a melting pot of the face of America. Some of us know God and have a relationship with him and others of us simply know about him. Some of us are searching for God here. And many of us are grappling with this concept called faith -- trying to gain it, trying not lose it or trying to build upon it.

I'm going for the latter and let me tell you it's hard.

There is a running joke that seminary is really a cemetery and I guess in a way it kind of is. Old doctrines that you may have grown up with can die here. You die here -- at least levels of you. But new levels of you can be born here too. For me, this place is becoming a place of transformation. My theology, whatever it was, whatever it is, is deconstructed daily only to be reconstructed into something -- and not necessarily in a bad way. God is dealing with my biases here. I find myself meeting him in the most unlikely places and seeing him in the most unlikely faces.

Seminary is challenging my beliefs and definitely rattling my faith. But more importantly, it's pushing me to seek God even more. It's a constant reminder that the journey through this place isn't easy.

Three years. Three years.

Ten on Tuesday

2008-09-16T21:35:00.000-07:00

1. Who doesn't love getting care packages? One of my best friends from Tallahassee just sent me one on Monday. This is what showed up in it . . . this cool T-shirt! And in my favorite color . . . HOT PINK!

2. I think I should be throwing a party or something. Or at least be in line for a certificate or something; I just hit the 100 Facebook friends mark . . and I'm glad to say that I actually know many of them personally. This from the person who didn't even want to join Facebook and asked, "How can a person have 200-plus friends?" Wow, just to think I'm half-way there.

3. Hey, it seems I got another speaking engagement . . . the Dean of Admissions asked me to speak about my journey to seminary at a scholarship banquet next month. Crazy me told the dean I would get back with her after I checked my schedule. You know I must have been sleep deprived that day. Who tells the dean they'll think about it?

4. How about there are 55 people in the U.S. with my name. That's what HowManyofMe.com says. When it comes to my first name, some 70,187 people are named Juana and 238,027 have my last name. Although people I've met lately find "Juana" unique, apparently, it is the 656th most popular name in the country, more popular than my last name, "Jordan" -- it's the 110th most popular last name. How many people have your name?

5. Can I just say God always deliver and right on time. How about I officially started my work-study last week (5:30 p.m. to 10 p.m.) and had no idea how I would eat in the evenings since I couldn't leave my job. It so happened one of my classmates shared earlier that day he liked to cook, but always cooked too much food. When he learned that I was working a late work-study shift, he bought me dinner . . . seafood jambalaya, grilled corn on the cob and snacks!

6. The next night the Korean Student Association and the Graduate School students had events and invited me to eat with them. The scripture does say, "And my God shall provide all my needs . . . "

7. Studying the Old Testament in seminary ain't nothing like Bible study or Sunday school class.

8. The Bible story about manna from heaven is true. Just today, the Center for Ethics threw this open house luncheon, right at the time I was thinking, I have no money for lunch and I can't get back home in time to eat. I get a text about the luncheon and then some friends come to drag me off to the open house. "Give me this day my daily bread . . . "

9. Homeless residents have a new face in my mind now that I'm interacting with them every Tuesday night -- they look and sound just like me.

10.I've decided to officially become part of the Candler praise dance team. My debut in Cannon Chapel didn't go off without a hitch. . . I stood frozen in one spot when I should have been running and praising throughout the chapel to "Go Down Moses" but thank-goodness God covers a multitude of (mistakes)!

Am I my sister's keeper?

2008-09-13T21:09:00.000-07:00

I sat amongst the N-word this weekend -- at Candler's Women in Theology Women's Retreat, if you can believe it. How ironic that I would take up residence with this word up in the North Georgia mountains, where I am told it's a frequent guest. I'm still in shock, moreso that it would show up at a women's retreat -- with an invitation at that. It knocked on the door late Friday night right in the middle of story-telling hour.

There we were sitting around on the floor in our pj's listening to an audio of an interview from a woman who is a part of Candler's oral history project. The project chronicles the lives of Candler alumnae and community leaders in an effort to preserve their stories and those of other influential women. The facilitator of the story-telling hour wanted us to hear some story of the "red apple." Don't ask me what the red apple story is about, because all I remember hearing was the "N" word spilling out of this woman's mouth on the computer . At least that's what I thought I heard, but didn't want to think I heard. The word was never put in context, nor were we warned that the language from the interview might be somewhat jarring and insensitive and offense. It just showed up, knocking us across the head like a baseball bat.

WHACK!

Immediately, those of us of the browner, darker persuasion looked at each other as if to say, "I know I didn't hear what I think I heard." No one said a word. Again, we didn't think we really heard the word uttered, especially in this setting. I mean, it was a Christian-related retreat meant to bring us closer together as women of Candler -- not divide us. This was the place where we should have felt free to share our stories, share insight into who we are. Surely divisive and insensitive language would not be found in this place.

It wasn't until later -- around midnight -- when my other classmates and I retired to our bedroom that we began to dissect the conversation: "Hey, did you all hear the word nigger come out of that woman's mouth?"

"Did she say that, " I asked. "I thought I heard it, but wasn't sure. I was in the back and wasn't as close in as you all were."
"Oh, no, that's what she said," said one of my roommates.
"Well, we need to address this," she said. "We can't let this go or they will think that this is okay."
"Well, let's put it on the floor in the morning at breakfast," I said.

And that's what we did -- had a good old fashioned as we say in the black vernacular, "Come to Jesus meeting". For nearly an hour, we shared with the rest of the group our thoughts on the word and the dehumanizing legacy it carries. We confessed to being instantly disengaged from the activity the night before and our reluctance to re-engage. But I must admit, what baffled me and others was the fact that there was a discussion over whether the clip should be used. So it wasn't an oversight.

You know when you have to ask a question like that, that's the answer. It's like when a woman questions whether her skirt is too short. If you have to ask the question, again, that's the answer. "Yes, the skirt is too short."

In preparing for my Old Testament class, I was just reading about the story of Cain and Abel. Cain asks, after being confronted by the Lord for killing his brother, "Am I my brother's keeper?"

The Lord responds, "Yes!" We are all our brother's keeper, which means we have a responsibility to one another. And part of that responsibility means that not only are we our brother's keeper, but held accountable for the way we treat and relate to our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.

This weekend was eye-opening of a much larger problem that exists and must be eradicated within the walls of Candler. My hope from this weekend is that the message was heard and internalized. My hope is that -- as a friend of mine shared -- there was a realization that our liberation is bound up in each other. It was a good opportunity to engage in honest dialogue and set the stage for improved racial equality and relations. We can no longer act like the Cain's of the world, pleading ignorance to what's going on around us and being oblivious to the effect our actions will have on someone.

We are bound as Christ followers to become our sister's keeper. Isn't that what ministry is all about

One of those days . . .

2008-09-11T05:24:00.000-07:00

There are days I wake-up tearfully happy (although I rarely get much sleep now) and in awe of how God is moving in my life and how blessed I am to be his. Today is one of those days.

Good first day

2008-09-06T09:59:00.000-07:00

First day of work wasn't so bad. It was quiet. Not too many interruptions. The memorial service started. It was over in an hour, but somehow I still didn't get any studying done . . . you know I had to be talking to somebody, right?

Ten on Tuesday . . .3 days later

2008-09-05T19:30:00.000-07:00

1. I'm beginning to quickly learn that Candler is all about food . . . providing free food at that. Just about every other day, some office or department or organization is having a free food event. Today, it was Candler's Opportunities Fair in Rudolph Courtyard. On Thursday it was the Religious Education department and Thursday night it was the Baptist barbecue. I had been planning to attend that. Hate I missed it!

2. My senior advisor says it's actually possible to have a "life" in the middle of the mountainous reading assignments. We'll see. This coming week, I have 153 pages to read for one class, 22 for another (that's light) and 166 for Interpretation of the Old Testament. And that isn't exactly pleasure reading. That's not including a paper I have to write for Thinking Through Theological Education. Sorry, but new girl isn't seeing this "life" yet!

3. I've landed a job. I start work on Saturday as an assistant manager of Cannon Chapel, where we Candler students hang-out between classes, have our church services and a few classes. Great thing is that it's a perfect work-study job, I get to actually study on the job.

4. When I shared with my Candler classmates that I had taken African dance classes for years, I didn't think they would contact me so soon. How about I'm dancing -- or at least supposed to -- in Thursday's chapel service to Go Down Moses. Now if I can just get rid of the nervousness. Dancing in the club is nothing like dancing for the Lord.

5. Okay, I'm really becoming a free food junkie now. I've just looked at my calendar and realized I'm scheduled to attend quite a few luncheon events this coming week. Then on next Saturday I'll be headed to a women's retreat in North Georgia. And that's FREE too, including my transportation there! I love this school.

6. I'm told the life of a seminarian is similar to that of Christ -- the first year you're cruxcified, second year you die and in the third year, you resurrect from the dead.

7. My truck put me out the other day. The battery had no juice. But Emory has a full-time employee who's job is to jumpstart batteries, unhook locked keys from your car and give damsels in distress auto advice 101. He even found a battery for me. Have I mentioned how much I love this place!

8. Okay, so you know I'm missing my kickboxing class, right? And my class schedule and responsibilities right now seem to conflict with workout classes I would like to take at Emory or anywhere else for that matter. So I guess in the meantime, I'll just have to take the steps. But I really don't have a choice. That's all Emory has here.

9. I'm feeling Sweet Potato pancakes for Saturday.

10. Why didn't anybody tell me the one must-have school item is flip flops? After the first day of orientation, my feet let me know quickly, cute heels are not welcome here. I've been sporting flip flops ever since. In fact, I see Khol's has some cute ones on sale. I think I'll be dropping by there on Saturday.

But I haven't got my MDiv yet . . .

2008-09-03T17:38:00.001-07:00

If another person asks me if I'm thinking about pursuing my Ph.D, I'm going to scream!
AAAhhhggg!
Okay, it's out now and I do feel better.

Classes hadn't even got started good and people are inquiring about whether I'm lining up classes to support my pursuit of a doctorate. I look at them with that wide panicky deer-eyed look and think, "What? Ph.D. Can I get a chance to get my head wrapped around this Master of Divinity first?"

A few years ago, going back to school wasn't even part of the plan, let alone, going to seminary. I'm still in disbelief that I'm here. But God ordered my steps this way. I didn't make the decision, God did.

I just shared what I felt was purposed in my heart -- to write books that would inspire and heal and talk to people about how they could find liberty in Jesus. And God said I needed to go to seminary to prepare for that kind of work. I needed to know that I know that I know what I'm talking about.

See, for me, this is a step-by footstep process. I'm literally walking by faith with few details of what else lies ahead. And right now, all I can see is the next three years at Emory. Everything else is black. This is the way God deals with me. He knows that for some of us, he can't reveal the entire picture because, like he says in Habakkuk 1:5 "For I will work a work in your days which you would not believe though it were told to you."

If God had showed me 5 years ago I would be going to seminary at Emory University, I would have laughed hysterically in disbelief. Kind of like Sarah did when she heard that she and Abraham, who were nearly in their 90s, were having a baby. In fact, when people shared their thoughts with me that I should do that, I laughed at them too. (Get this though: when I was a freshman in college on Thanksgiving break, my aunt took me to Emory University to see the campus. I mentioned under my breath that if I ever decided to pursue a Master's degree -- which I didn't plan on as a broadcast journalism major -- I would go to Emory. I loved the campus just that much. But I didn't remember that until I after I got accepted.)

Funny how God works.

So, I don't know if a Ph.D is in the plan or not. I'll have to ask God about that. Or better yet, why don't you do it. Maybe he'll talk to you, cause he ain't said nothing to me yet.

Can the church say, "Praise the Lord!!!"

Back to the beginning . . .

2008-09-01T20:22:00.000-07:00

I just realized I never really introduced this blog: "Goin' Broke . . . for the Lord." So let me go back to the beginning and first let me say, "Welcome". Welcome to my new life as a seminary student at Emory University Candler School of Theology in Atlanta, Ga. and a disciple in training -- at least a more informed one.

Goin' Broke. . . for the Lord is my way of saying "I'm sold out for Jesus" and it's my take on the call Jesus gave to the four fisherman he called as disciples in Luke 5. When Jesus called, they left everything behind and followed him, believing in a better expected end. I've pretty much done that, taken the risk to leave behind what is comfortable, i.e. my job as a journalist, my home, my friends, to pursue something better. (Although, I wasn't so quick to obey like the fisherman.) It took God more than a few phone calls to get me to accept his invitation. I'm kind of hard-headed.

But now that I'm here, Goin' Broke is where I will chronicle my three-year journey through my theological studies. I'll laugh here, smile here, vent here, definitely cry here and pull out my hair here. But I'll be here, as often as I can, pulling back the curtains for you to take a full view into my world.

So hop aboard the trolley and take a ride with me. This journey promises to be quite an adventure.

Sisterhood of the traveling Bible toters

2008-08-31T20:38:00.000-07:00

I was glad Saturday finally came. I had been looking forward to it for the past two days. It marked my first sister circle fellowship -- an opportunity to meet some of my other Candler sistahs who have gone through and are going through what I'm about to go through, starting on Tuesday. It was a chance for the new to fellowship with the old and begin friendships that we hope will see us throughout our ministries. And what a beautiful sight to behold -- nine of my black sisters who are on a mission to change the world. I felt honored to be in the circle.

Of course you know women and food go hand-in-hand. That's the way we conversate and relate. And we had some of the best at The Flying Biscuit, this quaint restaurant just outside of "Little Five Points" where lines of patrons waiting to get in are commonplace. Let me tell you, the food is just that good! And the price is right. In fact, it's my new best eatery. (I suggest you order the sweet potato pancakes, although you pretty much can't go wrong with anything on the menu.) And I'll forever remember it as the place where the formation these budding friendships began.

That was really the hope for the meeting. That it would create bonds that would last far beyond our days at seminary. That it would be the formation of that support system that we, especially as black women, need in a ministerial world that can be often racist and sexist and just downright lonely.

Anybody who knows me, know I love my girlfriend fellowships. In Tallahassee, we had girls night and similar to Saturday morning,(although minus the alcohol, or drinkypoo's as my best friend would call them) it was the time when we would let our hair down and talk about the issues of the day, our fears, concerns and successes. And inevitably, the conversation would always go back to a discussion about our faith, lack of it or struggle with it.

And on Saturday the conversation was no different. We giggled, we laughed, shared some of our convictions, educated and encouraged one another and loved on each other. In that space of time, we just were -- not necessarily the sisterhood of traveling Bible toter's, but women. Girlfriends. Sisters.

And it was a beautiful thing!

Steals and Deals in the bookstore . . . Not!

2008-08-29T20:56:00.001-07:00

Is it possible I answered the wrong call. Maybe I really should have been a textbook bookstore owner, since that seems to be who's making profits these days. Let me just say, for this journalist-turned seminary student who now looks to the grace and mercy of others to provide occasional free meals, the job of textbook bookstore owner is looking quite appealing.
(Okay, I just broke a commandment, there. Old Testament 101: Coveting is not allowed.)
I need to repent. And I need to stop the hating and be glad somebody's getting paid in this economy.

Let me say this again, the textbook bookstores are making money. Cokesbury is faring quite well.
They made $100 off of me today. And that was just for a few books for one class. Can you believe that? ONE CLASS! I still have at least three more classes to buy books for -- all of which require four to five books.

All week, I had been avoiding Cokesbury, acting like somehow these books would magically appear on my bookshelf. I would see my classmates leaving Cokesbury lugging at least two of those blue, white handled shopping bags. You remember, like the ones we used to get in the department stores at Christmas time. And I would say to myself, "There is no way, I'm buying all those books." At least not at one time. I decided to use the same strategy I use in buying gas -- purchase it in small increments so that it doesn't come as much of blow as if I had spent $60 at one time.

I did manage to find three books for my Old Testament class on my cousin's bookshelf. Hallelujah!! (Let's just hope the differences between a 1st and 2nd edition are minor. I would hate to buy the Introduction to the Old Testament for just a few words or sentences that have been added or deleted.)

When I was in undergrad, book prices didn't really phase me as all I had I do was swipe that Visa my mom gave me to use for school. I never saw the bills or even asked about them. But now, I feel the swipe and these books are pricey. Oh wait, I did get that one book for $5. That was a steal.

I ran out of the bookstore -- you know the way you do when you realize you got a hookup and want to get away as soon as possible before the manager or something discovers you were given some sort of unauthorized discount. I'm still afraid the book wasn't rung up correctly. Maybe it was, either way, let's just hope I don't become headline news: "Candler student and Up-and-coming minister makes "Most Wanted" list"

But that will only be because I robbed somebody's piggy bank to get more money to buy these books!
(Oops! That would mean I broke another commandment. Old Testament 101: Do not steal!)

I got questions, very few answers

2008-08-28T18:20:00.000-07:00

Orientation is over!!!! Yippee!!!!
I wanted to scream that from the rooftops today, but I just couldn't seem to do it. The activities this past week just wore me out and all I wanted to do was come home and put my feet up. Instead, I walked in with a long face that had my cousin asking, "What is wrong with you?"
"I'm tired, "I said.
(Keep in mind that I have been getting up at 5 a.m. for the past two days to leave the house by 6:30 a.m. so I can get to campus in time for my 8 a.m. sessions.)
"You haven't even started classes, yet," she said.
"I know, that's what makes it so bad. I'm wondering how I will get all this done."

What I really was thinking was "Can I really do this?"

Since accepting my call, all I've seemed to have are questions: "Will I be able to handle the work? Am I really in the right place? Am I crazy? Can I really write five papers at one time and read more than 100 pages for one class and 80 for another in two nights? Can I . . . Will I . . ."

Ugghhh!!!!

Then I took a breath . . . and remembered I accepted this call, which means, as one of my fellow seminarians shared, that I have signed on to pursue a different form of life that is unlike my natural inclination. I accepted God's invitation to transform me into who he wants me to be. And I knew upfront that it wouldn't be a cakewalk. Growing pains are just as they sound -- a pain. And I seriously need some 800 mg Tylenol, right about now.

A professor reminded me of that this morning, but that information somehow got lost by 6 p.m. -- that was until I started to pen these thoughts a few hours ago.

That professor reminded me that it's perfectly normal to be fearful, to have questions and ask questions. We just shouldn't be so quick to look for rapid-fire answers. That's kind of what twentieth century author Rainer Maria Rilke, in his fourth letter in Letters to a Young Poet, was saying when he said:

" . . . have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."

So why am I crying again?

Friendships in the making . . .maybe

2008-08-26T21:26:00.000-07:00

I woke up to the power off this morning and the sounds of rain pelting the sides of the house. But as I looked out my bedroom window to witness what would appear to be another gloomy day, I strangely felt upbeat . . . and loved. It made me reflect on what God whispered in my ear on Monday -- that he wouldn't hold any good thing from me.

It's never easy moving to a new place and as I packed up to leave Tallahassee, all I could think about was how this journey would affect my friendships. Would they remain or would they fall apart. Many people told me and now I'm beginning to learn that some people I've called friends won't be traveling on this leg of the journey with me. Even Jesus had to travel alone sometimes. It's not necessarily a bad thing, just a realization -- to everything there is a season -- even in friendships.
But it doesn't diminish the hurt we feel when we lose them.

My mother told me about a month ago that she believed God had people waiting to meet me here in Atlanta. At the time, I took the message as a mother simply trying to console her daughter and say something that would lift her spirits.

I had forgotten the old adage that "mothers are always right!"

So, you can imagine my delight when three young ladies -- one in her first year, like me, and two in their second year, would offer me their hand in cultivating a friendship. And this was on the first day. They even went so far as to ask me for my phone number and asked me to put theirs in mine. I liked them. They seem cool. Like my kind of people.

Who knows, they just might turn out to be the ones my mother said God had waiting to meet me. They just might be "that good thing" that God said he would give me.

He delivered in Tallahassee. So why doubt him now.

What do you mean, I can't talk . . .

2008-08-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

It would be on the day that I begin this journey toward a Master of Divinity degree that I would be asked to be quiet . . . not speak . . . not talk -- for 3 1/2 hours. Not even during lunch. Eat in silence. That's what the Rev. Lynnsay Buehler, who led the Quiet Day Retreat on this first day of my orientation to Candler School of Theology asked of me and others who decided to break away and breathe for a moment from the hustle and bustle of getting financial aid matters ironed out and picking up parking permits.

And anyone who knows me, knows that was a tall order for me. I'm a talker. I know it. I accept it.

Sure I signed up for the retreat, but I didn't think we would be asked to not utter a word -- certainly not for 3 1/2 hours. Well, we could talk, but only for brief moments when Rev. Buehler asked a question or opened the floor for us to share. I spoke for about a minute when I introduced myself and even that felt like I may have been talking to long.

But nonetheless, I took part in the exercise that offered the opportunity for me to get some spirtual nourishment and spend some alone time with God. I needed to center myself and prepare my mind for the work that lies ahead. I'll admit that first, it felt kind of strange, as though someone had lowered a muzzle over my mouth or cut off my air passage. The fact that I was forbidden to talk made me want to talk more. And you know I finally did -- briefly, after I tired of the head nods and smiles at lunch that took the place of "thank-you's" and "hello's" and "how are you's?"

I just couldn't take it. So, I leaned over to the young lady at the other end of my table and whispered, "Hey, did you get your computer configured, yet?" But not before I had heard the small still voice of God whisper in my ear "I love you and no good thing will I withhold from you."
Good thing I had shut up. I would have missed what God had to say.