The Birth of Athena Love

I woke up Monday, August 5th with a mild contraction, the type you expect when labor begins. I wasn’t positive this was it, as my first contraction with Moses hit me like a ton of bricks. Ten minutes passed and another mild contraction came, and then another. I told Patrick today was probably the day.

Our slow morning continued and I thought to myself, if this is going to be the “slow build” kind of labor then let’s get outside because it could be awhile. Once Moses woke up we put him in the stroller and went out for Como Lake. It was the perfect day-breezy and sunny. I had to stop here and there for contractions, but nothing painful yet. We walked halfway around the lake and veered off the path to look at flowers and then bring Moses to a park. To my joy, Patrick and Moses played and laughed while I rested on bench, waiting for contractions. At this point I had to stand up and lean over the bench to breath through them-but they still weren’t as powerful as what I had with Moses right away. As my contractions grew in strength we decided to start the mile and a half walk home.

We had to stop a lot more frequently on the way back for me to put my hands on my knees and breath deeply through the contractions. I was surprised that my labor was starting slow and steady like this, and also enjoying the fact that I was outside with my family, and could distract myself with nature. How lovely, I thought, to look over a shiny lake and feel the breeze on my skin as I experienced a contraction. How interesting, I thought, were ants on the ground and the clovers under my feet. The most interesting contraction distraction was at the fields, where a Bald Eagle was being rehabilitated and flying with a string attached to it’s foot. That’s a sight to behold whether in labor or not!

About two blocks from our home I had about 3 contractions in a row, and at this point we decided to call our midwives to come to our house. It was around 11:30am. Moses thankfully fell asleep as we made our way into our yard, and after we went inside I got to curl up with him in our bed a few moments before I couldn’t take a contraction laying down anymore.

The next three hours was where it got intense. Midwives arrived and got busy preparing our home for delivery. Tub was set up in our living room and starting to fill. Contractions grew and no longer could I stay quiet-as it turns out I’m a loud “laborer”. My legs were shaking as I rested my head on the side of the bed and swayed my hips. Sleep overcame me in between contractions. These were big contractions and I wondered how long I had to go. It was around noon. I hoped to be done by 3pm.

Eventually the tub was ready...and blessed was that tub. I couldn’t stand standing any longer. I didn’t want to be in my bed. I didn’t want to be in the bathroom (where with Moses that was my birthing sanctuary!) That beautiful, beautiful tub welcomed me and all the vigor of my contracting body that followed. My doula skills really came in handy-I coached myself and talked myself through the irrational thoughts. Many things ran through my head:this is why people get epidurals! This is why people cry out for C-Sections! This is why people give up! Can I really have more kids? Can I do this again? Am I insane?? This is the most pain I’ve ever been in! On the outside I’m not saying a word. I’m drinking gatorade that Patrick offers. I’m taking a spoonful of honey. Sounds come out of me during a contraction that can only be described as primal. I reach down to see if there is progress-I feel my bag of waters just like with Moses. Things must be closer. I am encouraged. My body position shifts. My contractions get harder. I am sweating. I am sleeping in between contractions. All of a sudden I am awake to the moment-completely alert. I open my eyes. I look outside at the beautiful, sunny day. I don’t feel any pain-just clarity. Thankfulness to be in my home. Thankful for this afternoon baby. I recognize this moment as I’ve seen it in other women. The baby is coming out very soon.

All of a sudden it happens-the familiar shock of pain that runs through my body as she is ready to emerge. My insides will split open, my bones will break, everything is burning. No, I tell myself, this is the end and you can do it. I don’t want to tear so I take it slow. I slow my breath. I start to pant. Too fast...dial it back and breath slowly they say. She’s right there-you can do it-everyone says. Patrick is ready to help catch our baby girl. I am ready not to tear. I wait. I deliver her head, Patrick says she was still in her waters-then it breaks. A flood of relief washes over me. I ask if I can wait a few breaths to deliver her body. Yes. Breathe, breathe. I deliver her body and help grab my baby and bring her to my chest. An incredible joy of relief and pride overcomes me. She is practically white with vernix. It is 3 minutes to 3pm.

Too much blood is coming-my midwives quickly realized her cord broke from her body. They worked quickly to clamp it off. I hand her to Patrick, they get me out of the tub and on the couch. Patrick gives her back to me and they tie her cord with a string. I deliver my placenta with ease. They want her to cry, she only whimpers. I rub her back. I kiss her head. I am elated. I’m holding my baby girl, I just endured the most incredible feat of strength of my entire life, and I’m in my own home looking out at bright red and yellow flowers in my window sill. I can sense the midwives working quickly and with urgency, and I trust them. They are doing everything to make sure baby is okay and I am okay.

We find out her cord was very short-about 10 inches shorter than the average length. This is why I was in transition for so long. This is why her cord snapped upon pushing her out. This was a rare occurrence that my midwives have only seen once before. Birth is such a mystery. Every story is so different.

But all is well. She cried out. She nursed right away. She is perfect. 8lbs 4ounces of beautiful baby girl. This is our Athena Love.

The Birth of Moses

On Tuesday morning I decided to go to Centering Prayer at the St. Jane House. I hadn’t been since before I was pregnant, and something about entering into a space where I could experience God’s presence within me in the last days of carrying my firstborn sounded really special. I sat in prayer, hands on my round belly, and was present to the God within and the baby within. It was beautiful. After prayer I headed to the grocery store, wondering if this was my last chance to stock up. I got what I needed, went home and took a nice long nap. Waking feeling refreshed, I made a cup of coffee and walked to my midwife’s house for what would be my last prenatal appointment. I was measuring right where I needed be for 39 and half weeks pregnant, and I left my midwives wondering if this truly was my last visit or if I had more time. As the afternoon progressed, I started to feel a bit crampy. I had a few braxton hicks contractions, but it was nothing alarming since I had been having them for over a month. I decided to go for a run to help with the cramps, and the early evening was cool and quiet. I enjoyed the solitude and the steady clipping of my feet, and even though I was enjoying myself I felt the need to cut back a little sooner than my normal route. I was feeling tired. Thinking this could be my last run, I sprinted in the final few blocks and felt empowered and strong and thankful I could keep running this long. I felt more crampy when I stopped, and did some yoga poses to let my belly hang and stretch out a bit. I felt different than usual, but didn’t want to get my hopes up. The final event of the night was last minute dinner reservations at the Butcher and the Boar with some friends. I felt crampy and uncomfortable throughout dinner, but again, didn’t really know what labor would be so I just let it be and tried not to think much of it. We got back home around 11:30pm, and I had to finish up the laundry….just in case. I had a couple contractions that were stronger than before, and Patrick declared in his goofy way that I was certainly in early labor right before we went to bed at midnight.

I fell asleep immediately and was soon awoken by what felt like a horrible period cramp. It wasn’t what I was expecting for labor contractions, so I just breathed through and went back to sleep. Well after a few more rounds of that, I thought to myself “this must be it!” and I texted my midwives an update. This continued for a couple of hours, and I knew I needed to sleep in between and try to rest, considering it could go on for hours and even days. The localized pain at my lower abdomen increased, and I no longer could just breathe through it. I heard my breath change to some low moans, as I threw off my covers from the rush of heat that came over me. I thought about how strange it was to have an intense pain come over me, and there was truly nothing I could do about it except surrender. What a strange realization that was. I also decided in those hours that this was way more intense than I imagined, and I didn’t want anyone around or talking to me. I imagined if I had a doula I would have kicked her out.

I moved to the bathroom and as soon as I had a few contractions on the toilet I knew I wasn’t going to move. The cold porcelain felt good on my legs, and I like how I could rotate my hips around in a circle and feel open and ready for whatever happened. My eyes stayed close and everything felt intense and powerful. I lost my mucus plug, and by that time Patrick had awoken and had pulled up a chair in the doorway. It was around 4 or 5am. He was texting my midwives, and timing my contractions. I had no awareness of how close or far apart they were, all I could hear was the sound of my own voice moaning out in way I recognized as getting close to delivery. I wanted the midwives to come, yet I didn’t want to get my hopes up in case I still had hours to go. Had I been on the outside looking in I would have known that my time was close, yet I just couldn’t bring myself to believe how fast everything was going. I was really in my own zone, eyes closed, and powering through. I had a thought pass through my head of how I wanted candles and music and dim lights….and then realized that this was not that kind of birth. This birth was strong and fast and needed lights and the sound of my own voice to encourage me onward.

All of the sudden my midwives arrived and it was game on. They listened to his heartbeat and assured me he was in my birth canal-which I made sure they were serious and not joking. I needed my brain to catch up with my body and really believe he was close. I reached down and felt for some sort of assurance and to my surprise I felt his bag of waters bulging out of me! I heard Patrick say he could see hair, and that was what I needed to hear to know for sure without a doubt that he was coming at any moment.

All of a sudden I felt an overwhelming flood of pressure fill my entire body, like a firey bowling ball trying to escape. My breath caught and the intensity took me by surprise. I heard myself sharply inhale and try to keep my voice low, despite the extreme force surging through my body. I exclaimed “wow” at the end of the surge, and had to coach myself to surrender to this feeling. This was it, this was my baby coming, and I needed to finish strong. It was suggested that I could push, and perhaps I should stand up. I stood up and surrendered into the burning, into the fervent force rushing through me. I looked down and saw his head emerge, and all of the sudden my dream of delivering my own baby came to be. I reached for his head with Patrick’s hands right along with me, and we brought our child into the world. His water bag was completely intact around his head, to my surprise, and I gently removed it from his little face. I heard my own voice continue the echo of “oh oh oh oh” that I labored out when pushing him and turn into an exclamation of the birth of our baby-”oh” was the only word I could say in such a profound and holy moment that no words on earth could do justice to. I kept exclaiming in awe, exclaiming in wonder, exclaiming in the beauty of that moment. It was 6:42am. He had come.

Moses means “out of water” and with him being born in his bag of waters, that was confirmation enough for us that Moses was the perfect name for him. Patrick held him on his chest right away while I settled into our bed right beside him. I was in awe of this little person we had brought into the world, in awe that my birth story was filled with much more strength and power than I could have imagined-and at how fast it was-and in awe that we had the gift of doing it together in our home. What joy, what a gift, what an honor...what a holy and sacred day.

Surprised by Spring

Yesterday I was so happy to find the time to attend Wednesday Mass with the Visitation Sisters at their house in North Minneapolis. Since moving in with my mom 3 months ago to help out after my dad died, I have greatly missed being just a walk away from the daily rituals at the Monastery. Of course I was greeted with excitement and warmth, and the Sisters expressed their joy with me for my upcoming wedding and told me they are always praying for my fiancé Patrick and I. Mass began and when we reached the prayers of intention Sister Mary Karen prayed aloud for our marriage this weekend and in thanksgiving to God for Patrick and I's meeting and union. As I sat there and held that prayer close to my heart I was struck by the fact that earlier this year I sat in that very spot during Wednesday Mass and listened to Sister Mary Karen pray for me, but that time I had tears streaming down my face as she mourned with me for the death of my father, thanked the Lord for the gift of his funeral, and asked for healing in my heart and comfort for the sadness.

How can the same year hold the saddest day of my life and the happiest? That is a question I have been asking myself, and one I have pondered over as I have prepared for our wedding day. I know that in two short days I am going to walk down the aisle to the man of my dreams, the man who sat with me as my dad breathed his last breath, the man who has swept me off my feet, the man who loves me and cherishes me. I anticipate that moment to be full of incredible emotions. I will carry a small photo on my bouquet of my dad and I, the front will be of him holding me as a baby and the back will be of us on a beach 8 years ago. That is where joy and sorrow crash together in a holy sort of harmony.

This winter was so long. It felt like it was going to go on forever. I felt like I was going to be sad forever. But then as spring came, slowly there were glimpses of green, flashes of warmth. With each warmer day, and more green on the trees, I was continually surprised. I was surprised by the flowers, the birds, the splay of color across the landscape. The funny thing to me is that I know that after winter comes the spring. The death of the winter will gradually lift as new life emerges all around. It always happens! Yet each morning I was surprised as I went outside and witnessed the birth of nature all around me. God is a beautiful, creative God.

Easter came. Easter always feels like spring's triumphant entry to me, bursting forth to mirror the glory of the Resurrection of Christ. The plants proclaim "I was dead but now I am alive! I am bright, I am shining, I am producing fruit!" On Easter we rejoice that Christ has risen, that death isn't our story but new life is. The eternal Kingdom of God is our new song, the Risen Christ is our Hope. However, there couldn't be a resurrection without death, and I learned this year through the wisdom of others that I do need to press into the crucifixion in order to experience the Resurrection.

So I prayed. I said, "Lord, help me to grieve. Be with me as I mourn. Give me the strength not to run away from the sorrow." That is hard work! I don't want to feel sad and I don't want to cry so much. I am taken aback by the flashflood of tears that can come at any moment. I miss my dad! He should be here. I want him to be with me on my wedding day. I want him to dance with me. So here is where I sit, in the middle of joy and sorrow. There is a deep sadness in my heart without my dad here to celebrate and cry and rejoice with me, but it is not a sting-it is an space that I am allowing to be there, and I am choosing to see as a gift. The rest of my heart is filled to the brim with excitement, with joy, with peace, with an incredible love that I didn't know existed, and even though I don't always think I have the capacity to hold this joy and sorrow together in the same space, God provides the grace and strength for it and it turns out I do.

I know that the Lord will certainly be with me as I journey towards Patrick down the aisle and into our lives together, and I know that my dad would be so happy and he would cry and he would kiss me and he would say "I love you, baby." I cry as I write that. Sorrow. Yet, I think of Patrick's face and standing before him as we commit our lives to one another and all the times he's whispered in my ear "I love you, baby." I smile as I write that. Joy.

I serve a big God and a loving God. I am so thankful to have been given the gift of love through my dad, and now be given the gift of a different kind of love through Patrick. I know there will be more in this life that brings sorrow, but I have hope in the fact that spring always comes. It certainly doesn't take away from the harshness of winter, but it makes it fall a little softer. I am clinging to the hope in new life-new life in me through each journey of sorrow and joy, and eventually the new life that Jesus promises us on earth. That is more than enough for this bride-to-be.

In Memory of Dad

This is what I shared at my Father's Funeral, Timothy Govednik, on November 4th 2013.

About two weeks ago I stopped over at my parents house to spend some time with my dad, and he was excited because he had all the materials to recreate the chocolate malts he liked so well from Snuffy’s Malt Shop. He had my mom go out and buy the vanilla ice cream, Hershey’s syrup, malted milk powder, plastic cups and straws, whipped cream in a can, a vanilla wafer to go on top, and brand new blender. He then proceeded to tell me exactly how to make it, making sure I got the consistency just right…..he didn’t want to do it himself, he wanted to watch me make it. I got it just about perfect….poured some for me and some for him, and he drank about ¼ of it and was satisfied.

That was my dad. Particular, methodical, simple but certainly had a way of doing things just right….he like what he liked, and he liked to share those things with the people he loved. He was pretty easy to please, and really content to be with the people he loved in the places he felt most comfortable. He liked to have rutabagas at Thanksgiving, Cecils deli for a special occasion, Regina’s candies for a treat…..he raved about the wings and chip dips at the manfort, wanted Davanni’s hot hoagies while watching football, and would get cravings for Zantigos cheese chilitos. He loved to talk about politics and read Time and Newsweek magazines-which he did with a pencil to mark the spots where he left off. When we were younger we used to have to go to the yard to see the symmetrical lines the lawnmower left, and shovel snow in a certain way to make the sides of the driveway perfectly even. He had ways of doing things that drove us nuts-but those are the things that make my dad who he was and make me think fondly of him now.

He loved us all being at home, and I think he was happiest then. He always asked when I was coming home and if I was staying for dinner. He loved a night in with good food and his family close by. I know he loved his croquet golf buddies at the manfort-we didn’t really know what went on there, but my mom really like that it got him out of the house! He loved to reminisce about old times-I heard stories of hitchhiking to Alaska, train jumping, summers with the Mundy’s, Christmas Eve at his home, shoveling driveways to pay for hockey sticks, and many stories that he started to tell but after he got started realized he probably shouldn’t finish it in front of his young daughter.

I think when we remember my dad we think of how fun he was, how he could be the life of the party, how he told the kind of jokes that made you just groan, how he gave his sisters noogies-as adults, how he could laugh at himself, and didn’t take things too seriously, how he somehow developed a southern accent if he was with his Texas relatives (super embarrassing!), how he dance to the oldies and loved good music, how he invested in his family, and especially how he loved kids…..I very much admire my dad and my mom for the life they invested in kids with special needs. My mom was worried that since she had my brother Greg she thought it would be hard to find someone who would want to marry into that type of commitment. My dad told her that he married her in part because of my brother, knowing she would be a good mother to the children he hoped to have. I cherish the childhood I had watching my parents give their lives to foster children living in our home. My life is richer because that loving care was modeled to me, and my dad was so good at it! Even the difficult kids. He had such a heart for that. Even though I was too young to know him as he coached hockey for many years, I know he was patient and encouraging to his young players-some being the first time they played hockey. He was my first coach and my number one fan. I think I always thought I was better than I actually was, because he was my champion and I know he took such pride in me continuing to play. He could make you feel like a million bucks, and like everything was going to be okay. He wasn’t judgemental, he was a great encourager, gave good insight and direction, and was a man of great character. He really taught me right from wrong, and in reflection I can see that he really strived to live an upright life.

In the recent years he loved to see his grandkids. Aleeya loved to come in his room and he would sneak her black licorice. Jasmin would sit on his bed and he would let her bounce around to her hearts content. Sometimes you would see Aleeya come through the kitchen pulling a leash clipped to my dads shirt collar, and my dad neighing behind her: he was her horse, Starlit, and she was leading him out of his stable (his bedroom.) He loved us so well. I think that is the best quality about my dad-when you were with him, you knew he loved you. He had loving nicknames for his kids-Greg was called “Big Time”, I was called “baby”, and my sister….getting perhaps the short end of the stick, was called “stinky.” But he said those names so lovingly…..

And that is why I am thankful-I am thankful for the privilege to grow up with a father who I knew without a doubt loved me. I never doubted that! Through disagreements and fights, through stress and heartache….he loved me. He was quick to apologize and quick to forgive. I am only filled with such grief because I was loved so well and I lost a person I loved so much. And I know he loved my mom unconditionally, she was his light and his life. He loved my sister so much, and was so proud of her….and it was his joy to see her children. He loved my brother from the beginning, and always thought of him first. And I know he loved his sisters and his extended family so much, he loved to talk about all the good times and even hard times. I know he loved his friends….he continued to tell stories of friends from 30 years ago up until the end.

He loved. And that is the hope I have. At the end of his life, in those sacred last moments we had with him, all we could say over and over was that we loved him. We wanted to hear him tell us that he loved us. And that was what it was-back and forth. I love you i love you i love you. Love brings us into this world and love is really all we have as we go out of it. God gave us such a gift with this powerful and beautiful force we call love. We have struggles, but love. We wrestle with our idols and demons, but love. We have heartache and pain, but love. The greatest gift we can extend and receive truly is love, and in my fathers life and death I have learned that more than ever. We can choose it. We can choose to receive it from God, and we can choose to if we are going to extend it to back to God, to ourselves, and to others. That is my hope even amidst death: that I wake up every day and choose love-even when it is hard, even when it hurts, even when I want to give up. God chose love for me, for us, and in this short life I want to love the best way I can. I know my dad is finally free of his worries and his burdens, wrapped in the ever present love of our great Father. I can rejoice in that.

In this time I am clinging to your prayers and support, as I am sure my mom and sister are also. I am also clinging to what I am taught in scripture, that Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
My prayer for you, as my dad’s family and friends, is that you choose a life of love. My dad didn’t need much in this life, and I think he got it right. Be with the ones you love, in the places you love…..and maybe that’s just a chocolate malt in the kitchen.

My dad died on October 29th 2013. He was at home, in his bed, with our family surrounding him. He had cirrhosis of the liver for awhile, and he was diagnosed with cancer on September 18th 2013. He went downhill quickly after that. We are thankful that he didn't have to suffer with the cancer for very long, and that he was able to leave this world quietly in the middle of the night. The candlelit room was filled with love for my dad, and we were able to hold his hand and say goodbye as he breathed his last. I poured out to God a prayer of thanksgiving for my dad whom I loved so much, for my family who will mourn for years to come, and I poured out my heartache. I had the privilege to lay next to him and weep and say my last goodbyes. I am grieved, heartbroken, yet thankful for those last moments. God is faithful.

On being a Doula

Doula: The word "doula" comes from the ancient Greek meaning "a woman who serves" and is now used to refer to a trained and experienced professional who provides continuous physical, emotional and informational support to the mother before, during and just after birth; or who provides emotional and practical support during the postpartum period. (Definition taken from the DONA International website.)

This was not a word I had even heard of before 2009. I was invited to the birth of one of my friend's firstborn, then her second born, then my sisters first...and I started to realize I was amazed by birth. Each experience caused a deep emotion to rise within me and pour out through tears as I witnessed such a sacred and holy moment. It was sometime after those three births when someone whose hair I was doing at the Aveda Institute informed me about the role of doula, and maybe I should look into it. I did, and sort of shelved it for later. As I attended the birth of my friend's third born daughter, I realized I didn't know much about birth or what was even happening during labor. I had the thoughts of studying birth in the back of my head, and I even attended a different friend's natural birth to shadow a doula in 2011, but it wasn't until my sister became pregnant for the second time in the spring of 2012 that I really considered starting the training to become certified. Another close friend getting pregnant that summer solidified the deal. I started the process in August and became officially certified through the Doulas Of North America (DONA International) in June of 2013.


I have the opportunity to work with mothers from a variety of backgrounds through an organization called Everyday Miracles. They work primarily with women who are at higher risk for poor birth outcomes and I have been overwhelmed with how much joy it is to serve women and their families through their birth experience. I also was able to support my sister through her second (totally natural!) birth as well as a few other friends along the way. Needless to say, becoming a doula has been a totally wonderful part of my life, as well as an unexpected career shift, as I thought I would be doing it just as an on the side gig. I quit my job in the salon at the end of 2012 and here I find myself with 4 mothers due in this month alone!


There are two incredible things I have learned in the past year as a doula, and I would like to share them here.


The first is that I could not be a doula without the counseling I have been seeking the past two years. I have been working, with God's grace, in developing an emotionally healthy spirituality, gaining perspective on myself and how I navigate through relationships, and learning how to love with a healthy, interdependent Christ-like love. It has been a really hard journey-but one that has changed my life and how I am in relationships. Because of this work, I feel like I can give of myself in the doula relationships I have in such a way that is free from my own baggage. I can be fully present during labor, giving out of the well of peace from Christ's love within me, rather than trying to rely on my own feeble efforts. I do believe God has given me skills and talents to work with mothers well during the experience of labor, but because of the freedom I have in Him and the freedom from my own relational damage I feel like I can give in a loving way out of a better place than I could have a few years ago. To me that is a testimony to God's faithfulness in His timing in our lives as we are obedient to Him and follow, often blindly, into unfamiliar territory. I am thankful.


The second thing I have learned is to submit to something larger than myself. I like to say I do this in my relationship with God on a regular basis, but the truth is I have a certain measure of control over my life that I daily choose to submit to God or cling to. ( I usually am doing the latter.) In birth, there is nothing you can do but be present to what is happening in labor and wait. I just wait. I watch. I am there, fully there...with no control but to choose to succumb to the steady, often slow, rhythm of labor. It is truly the only area of my life that I submit fully to patience and have no measure of control. What unfolds is incredible...every birth follows the same pattern somewhat like a song. Each is different, but follows the musical pattern of verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge....chorus...maybe a doxology in a hymn. Each birth is different, yet I usually can expect a the steady pattern of early labor, the intensity of contractions as active labor takes over, the peak of emotions and physical motion in the transition stage, and the overwhelming anticipation as the urge to push takes over. And then I know, without a doubt, that after all those hours of patience and the steady beat of a woman in labor, a baby will in fact come out. Just like that.


During a birth this winter I was sitting on a chair in the corner of a dark room, well into the night, watching the monitor steadily go up and down with each contraction as the mother slept deeply with her epidural. The labor had been long and I was coming into the awareness of the lack of control I have in being a doula, and how much patience I was learning in turning off the rest of my life for a time to be present during a birth. I was thinking how I fail so much at doing this in my faith: resting in God's presence and His timing. I know He is unfailing in His love, and He is faithful to His children...so why can't I trust that if I am submitting myself to Him that I can rest in His truth? I always try to make my own way, make my own plans and ask God to come along. In the process of birth, there is something so beautiful and so sacred when the baby comes out....whether it was 35 hours of labor or only 2, I know the labor needed to happen for the gift of life to come. I always am full of joy as I leave the hospital, knowing that the long hours were worth being able to witness the miracle of a little boy or a little girl emerge from a woman. I want to learn that same patience in my life submitted to Christ. His Kingdom is worth it. My prayer is that I can have the strength to surrender to labor in life, to dwell in the moments, and the grace to wait for the joys to come.

Will I trust?

Last Saturday night my car was stolen while I was at an event in my neighborhood. I think my keys fell out of my purse while I was walking in, and then someone picked them up and figured out they belonged to my car and took off. My friend Tryenyse was with me and all her music business stuff was in the backseat, including her laptop. All of my hair supplies were in the trunk, plus countless other things as I basically treat my trunk like a garage. Tears were shed, police were called, and many people prayed. I felt so uplifted by the prayer and concern of those around me. I didn't quite let the reality of not getting the car back enter my mind-I decided to give myself a week of hoping for its return. I only have liability insurance, and it doesn't cover a stolen car...so not only was I looking at hundreds of dollars in replacing my hair supplies and other things, I was also out the only asset to my name. Here's the thing though-I have always wondered what this day would look like. How will I handle adversity? How will I handle trials? I can't afford a new car or new hair supplies. And actually, everything in my life is in question right now and the last thing I want to deal with is this. I have been trying to buy a house for a year now-and just when I thought things were looking up because I qualified for a special program through Wells Fargo to get $15,000...they told me I didn't get approved for a mortgage loan. I was approved through a different agency, but that doesn't matter because Wells Fargo has to approve me to receive the grant money. The salon I have been at for a year is undergoing a lot of change, and while people are great there, I am working my way and into something else...to what? I don't know. My church is on a sabbatical for the time being, so the energy I have put there is sort of hanging in a space of unknown for now. My family is another series of ups and downs. So, I am not sure where to live or where to work or where to worship or what to do. And my computer is SO slow. (Okay that doesn't really matter, but it's annoying...) So my hands go up, my head goes down, and I say "Lord, do what you want with me. I don't know anything." Now back to the car. The car I have was a gift. It was never mine to begin with, and I told the Lord He can use it for whatever He would like. And He has shown me how to do just that. When it was stolen, I said well-it wasn't mine anyway, so Lord you are going to have to provide me with what I need to do what you want me to do. The lyric "My Shepherd will supply my need, Jehovah is His name..." keeps running through my head. I was put to a true test of my trust in Him. Do I trust with the one thing I actually own? Do I trust Him to provide financially? Do I trust Him to give me what I need to do what I think He has called me to do? When I started asking myself these questions, it led me down a deeper path. What do I really own? What is my life after all? The Bible teaches me that I am not my own, that anyone who loses their life will find it, that to die to self is to gain in Christ...and on and on. I am nothing apart of Christ. Nothing. The car is a means to do what God is calling, just like anything material. There is still breath in me, therefore I will rejoice in my Creator and trust Him. Did the foundation break? No! Is the Rock broken? No! And I stand on the Rock, the faithful One. My wonderful friend, G-Shep, spotted my car 10 blocks from my house while driving his afternoon bus route. I was doing wedding hair and didn't answer the phone, but Tryenyse and her husband Stacey went over to confirm that it was my car. It was, and it was in the same condition I left it in. All my stuff was still in the trunk, but all of Tryeynse's stuff was gone. They had to tow it to the Minneapolis impound lot since I was unavailable. And there it sits now...as I have to find a mechanic to change all the locks before I can take it out. The people that stole it still have the keys (the only keys as a matter of fact) and since they live near me I don't want to take any chances. So I sit here in my bed, feeling mixed emotions. Sad for my friend who lost her precious things, glad that the car was returned in good condition, prayerful that God will provide the money I need to change the locks and and pay the impound lot, and overwhelmed with the feelings I am holding about trusting in God. The way I feel now is the same as yesterday, and the same as last Saturday. I cannot trust in what will happen, what I have planned, what career move I make next, what house I think I can buy....I cannot trust in my health, in being "happy", and a ministry. I can't even trust that people I love will be around me tomorrow or I'll live to see another day. This whole experience, as small and unimportant as it is, has pointed me back, once again, to trust completely and entirely in God-the One who holds all things together, who knows my desires and dreams, who loves me with an unconditional love and calls me His own. No matter what I want to accomplish, plan out, make, dream, whatever-it means nothing apart from Him. The peace of Christ is ruling my mind...and it is beyond my understanding. I pray that it permeates everything I do. Car or no car....I just want to know Him and have Him know me.

"The sure provisions of my God Attend me all my days; O may Thy house be my abode, And all my work be praise! There would I find a settled rest, While others go and come; No more a stranger, nor a guest, But like a child at home."

Why I'm Single.

I have heard a few good messages in the past month or so on singleness, as well as experienced some change in my own life regarding dating. Because of this, I feel as though I have come to a new perspective of being single and what that looks like in my life as a follower of Christ.

I have went through many stages in my past 27 years of living. It has basically been a roller-coaster of this: "i want to be in love" "i don't want to date" "God will bring me someone when I am content in Him" "screw this waiting thing I am joining e-harmony". Granted, it has looked different from when I was 16 to 22, but generally it has been the same emotions and the same sort of prayers. My principles have remained the same: I eventually want to be married, I believe God knows my desires, I should be content in Him first, I won't compromise my standards, I won't have sex outside of marriage, and I trust Him. I have heard a lot of garbage regarding singleness, and lots of it coming from Christians. Also one of the first things people ask me is if I'm married or have kids, and when I say no it's as if I have ended the conversation right there. The awkwardness always ensues unless I think of something clever to say to put them at ease. Unfortunately we live in a culture where if you are a Christian, marriage reigns supreme and for the non-christian culture sex is central. Well, folks, I'm not married and I'm not having sex, nor I am dating. I'm not casually meeting guys, not pining after Mr. Right, I'm not journaling Godly messages to my future spouse, I'm not even praying for a husband. Gasp.

My pastor friend said we are ALL called to singleness until we are called into marriage. I love that. What she means is that in order to fully serve God and live out His kingdom we need to be totally devoted to His purposes, and unless being married will help us do that better, we shouldn't be married. How many marriages operate under that principle?

She also said that in the Old Testament where God says to be fruitful and multiply is to populate the earth, but in the New Testament Jesus says to make disciples of all nations. Jesus doesn't say to get married, have kids, and bring them to Sunday School. Under the new covenant of Jesus our call is to make disciples.

The other teaching I heard was about how way way back in the day, non-romantic relationships were really different than they are now. Nowadays intimate relationships are reserved for marriages, and our friendships are good, but not truly intimate. It was more common for relationships between friends to have a deep level of intimacy, that had the potential to be very deep and life giving, yet not sexual. In the present time it is rare to experience relationships like that. We do a ourselves a deep disservice because we are greatly missing out on the magnitude of what community has to offer. As Christians we often wait to get married to experience any depth in a relationship and expect our spouse to fill our most intimate desires and needs. Granted, a spouse eventually can meet a lot of those needs, and the sexual intimacy obviously creates a unique bond that you cannot share with someone else. However, so many Christians are so disappointed because they waited so long for this perfect somebody only to find out they are not perfect, that marriage takes an immense amount of work, and as humans we are created to have our relational needs met by a community of people. If we spent time loving our friends in authentic ways, and really cultivating deep, God-honoring, Kingdom-seeking friendships I think we would be surprised by not only the level of joy and enrichment they bring to our lives, but also how much wholeness we can bring into a marriage and our ministries. I am fortunate in my own life to have experienced more than one really amazing, fulfilling, edifying, redemptive, and life giving friendship. God has shown me so much of Himself through them, and I would be a fool to think that He wouldn't show me Himself until I was married. I know that marriage can be a reflection of the relationship of Christ and the Church, but very few of them are that way. It can be, but so can unconditionally loving non-marital relationships too. I would also venture to say that because marriage is in a covenant there is a different level of trust that you can have in a friendship, so it is almost more risky at times to really invest in friendships because people can bow out at any moment. But that is sacrificial love, loving no matter what you get or don't get out of it.

Now those are some of the things I am learning and loving that I'm learning. I want to share briefly my thoughts on my own principles and how God is speaking to me currently, because He has been very direct with me!

1. I eventually want to be married. This is a true statement, however if I don't get married I know I will be okay. God has proven His provision over and over again, and I am not waiting to get married. I am living, I am listening to God, I am trying to be obedient in every area of my life, and I am letting Him refine me into the kind of person that He wants me to be and is ready for His Kingdom. I want to love Him, love those around me, and invite others into the radical, incredible, difficult, and passionate adventure that it is to follow Christ.

2. Believe God knows my desires. My desires are for far more than marriage. I desire to have intimacy with Him, my Creator. I desire to be loved for who I am by those around me. I desire to have relationships that reflect the Kingdom of God and His beauty. I desire to be joyful and content in Him. I desire for children to always be around me. I desire to taste and see creation. I desire to be free and I desire to only fear the Lord and nothing else. I desire to see Christ in the world that I live in. I desire peace and I desire justice.

3. I should be content in Him first. Contentment means that I will be satisfied in the knowledge of God here on earth-that is far different than fulfillment. I will never be fulfilled on this earth, that will only happen when Jesus' Kingdom comes and I am with Him. There will always be a level of discontentment, so to think that I will be fully content in Him on earth is a myth. I can only have my eye set on the Hope that is to come.

4.I won't compromise my standards. No one is going to tell me I have too high of standards. I would rather be single the rest of my life than compromise. God has high standards for me, why shouldn't I want the best? I know I am not perfect, but I will not sell myself short. It is so not worth it.

5. I won't have sex outside of marriage. I think if most of single Christian gals were honest with ourselves sometimes we just want to have sex. Who doesn't? We were created for it, and since we don't get married at 13 anymore it makes sense that there is a level of sexual frustration by the time we reach our late 20's. The thing that makes me the most sad is that so many people I know compromise what they really want for themselves because its easier to just give into our physical desires. And yes, they are temporarily satisfying. But is messes with our minds and hearts and deceives us. The heart is so deceptive, and I know mine can be as well. So as far as any physical boundaries-mine are very strong and firm. Maybe that seems prudish, but I know myself and it's not worth letting my heart mess up my mind because of a few fleeting moments of sensuality with a man who isn't committed to me in a covenant.

6. I trust Him. Here's the deal-God told me in prayer and worship a year ago not to date or even entertain the thought of dating for two years. He wants my heart to be so focused on Him that it doesn't even think about the possibility of dating. I said yes to that, and I have been amazed at the road He has led me down. Currently I am learning so much about myself, about truly Christ-like love, refinement, and so much more. I am extremely thankful for this journey, as hard as it's proving to be. It has been one year since God has called me to this specific place of not dating or even thinking about dating, and it has had its ups and downs. There was a time last spring I was pretty mad about it, but God gently reminded me of His faithfulness to me and and His faithfulness to my heart's needs in the past. I recommitted to His call in this season. This past fall it has been very easy, and I am thankful for the focus I have on God, for the ways He's speaking to me, for the things I am able to do as a single woman right now. I honestly love the life God has gifted me with, and I have so much joy in His promises and provision. I am excited about living His Kingdom!!

Community is key. I am so blessed to have little ones that love me, zealous young people I mentor, committed friends around my age to invest in me, wise mentors who share their life with me and invite me to see their marriages, people my parents age who pour life and truth and encouragement into me, and such a great community of faithful followers who I can share meals with, serve with, worship with, and pray with. I can tell you that I honesty have times of being lonely-but it's not necessarily because I don't have a husband. I think it's the longing for someone to know and understand the very depth of me, the soul of me, to love all of who I am. Only God can do that perfectly, and He provides people to give me tastes of that. Even if I am married someday I am sure I will still experience that loneliness when I feel misunderstood or my husband isn't meeting my needs the way I want. In those times of loneliness it is sometimes necessary to surrender it to God and let Him speak to me, it is sometimes necessary to call a faithful friend and be comforted, it is sometimes necessary to experience the hurt and sorrow of that feeling and lean on the hope that we will feel complete someday in Christ. I can say that the times when I feel a pang of jealousy for marriage is when I am seeing couples whom I know well and really respect their marriage. I desire a marriage like theirs, and that pang comes from I think wanting to experience God in a new way, in that covenant of marriage. It isn't so much a longing to just be married, it is the what God brings in that.

The last thing that has changed for me is how I view dating. Dating just to date isn't for me, and I have decided that I am not going to entertain the thought of going out with someone unless they have come through my community first. As of now, my community, the ministry that is happening around me, where I have my hands, is what is most important to me and where I believe God has me. Unless that changes, the man that comes around for me must go through them, experience the community, be a part of the ministry, and if he gets the approval of some cherished people in my life only then will I pursue getting to know someone further. Maybe that will change, but as of now that's what I am committed too. It is very clear to me that I couldn't do what I am doing now, as God has called me, very well if I was married. I also would be horrible at marriage right now anyway because there is so much internal work that God is bringing up.

So, no I am not dating,
No, I am not waiting for a husband.
No, I don't necessarily expect to get married.
Someday, I would like to be married.
My life is SO not focused on marriage! It is so much more than that! And I hope and pray, that if you are married that you are seeking the Kingdom of God and His righteousness together. I hope and pray that if you are dating that you are seeking the Kingdom of God and His righteousness together, and the person you are dating is as well. If you are single, seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness. For all of us-be in community! If you are married, invite single friends to dinner. If you are single, find a mentor, get invested with people who have Godly and authentic marriages. Share life, in all stages. That is how the body works together. God is so good to meet our desires-and He knows our desires better than we know them, as ultimately they are for Himself.

Seek Him Seek Him Seek Him. He is faithful.

Ghetto

I get annoyed when people use the word Ghetto. The term comes from the segregation of Jewish people pre-WWII, originally in Venice. It has now come to mean pretty much anything that is run down, broke up, high crime, scary, etc. I know that is has become slang and not given a second thought in our culture, and even used as a description to describe a style-like someone is "ghettofabulous" or whatever. But it still bothers me. I hear all the time, wherever I go, whatever state I am in, about the places that I should not go. The bad parts of town, the sketchy parts, the ghetto. Don't go there, be careful driving through there, it's "third world" there, etc. If I hear one more person talk about a place in that way I am going to scream.

Now, in Minnesota I had never been to North Minneapolis until about 5 years ago-never even heard of it. It is labeled as "the ghetto." I was warned in college, I remember, not go to on Lake street. (Which is in south Minneapolis.) That is practically laughable now-I am there all the time. But the fact that I had a warning about that makes me wonder why. I hear people talk all the time about North Mpls and how it's too dangerous, it's the hood, lock your doors, don't even drive through it, etc. Now I live there...so obviously I'm biased. But I have learned a few things, and enough things to make me have a little righteous indignation about this whole "ghetto" concept.

People label what they don't know. People fear what they don't know. I think in all honesty that because North Minneapolis is predominately black and Lake Street is full of every culture-people label it as dangerous and scary and ghetto. I know whats in the papers, and I know more crime does go down....but on a day to day bases, just walking around in the neighborhood, it is very normal. I admit I had apprehensions, felt really uncomfortable, and was nervous at times. But that is ENTIRELY because I was living out of the fears of my stereotypes, I was not used to being the minority, and I had a lot of baggage in my head from media to sort through. After living here for almost 3 years, it is now my normal. Because it is normal, the fear is gone. It took awhile, but still.

Okay now to get to why I get so mad. Why do Christians, of all people, avoid places that people call the ghetto?!? It seriously is making me very upset lately. Jesus spent his ministry on the streets, hanging out with the oppressed and the people who who were put out by the majority culture. Christians are the last people to be avoiding these places! How are we to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, proclaim freedom to the oppressed, and release the chains of injustice if we never set foot in the "scary" places, if we don't know anyone's story????

Okay don't get me wrong, I know it is not everyone's calling to live in a ghettoized area. I believe God called me to live in North Minneapolis, and that is why I am here. But I pray against self righteousness because of it, and I pray I only find my identity in Him and not in what I do here. But it is outrages to me that we live in a country that ghettos exist and Christians don't care. That Christ followers choose to avoid places because they are supposedly unsafe for them. Who is going to make these places disappear? I believe it is our job as Christians-because how can we be truly free if our brothers and sisters who live but a few miles from us are not?!?

You may not be called to live in these places, but please don't make it worse by contributed to the segregation. Why are these areas like that? Who lives there? Where are the resources? What are the solutions? Choose to be part of the solution!!! You don't have to move there to do it. But for heavens sake-how do we send money thousands of miles away to poor countries of children we don't know when there are children 5 miles from us who are lacking???

So please, don't tell me not to go somewhere because it's dangerous. First it will make me mad, second I will most likely go there just to prove a point. And that is just arrogant of me. (Remember how I don't want to be arrogant???) And if you do-tell me why it is the way it is, what makes it dangerous, and your first hand experience with it. Unless you can do those things, I just don't think it is appropriate to label something you don't know anything about.

American. American?

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be “American”-and these thoughts are not concise, but it is what’s going on in my mind. In general, white equates to American. That is strange in many senses, considering that everyone who is “white” isn’t from America.

What I do and relate to culturally doesn’t necessarily come from a place of my “American culture.” I look over the ways I grew up and what I connect myself to and that, for example, looks like being Catholic-that isn’t “American”-that is being 4th generation Irish. Also, I am connected to the evangelical covenant church. That isn’t American, that is being 4th generation Swedish. I have spent much time overcoming being passive aggressive-which in a sense comes from being Scandinavian. Does my dad’s Irish side of the family drink way more alcohol than the Swedish side? Yes. Are they louder and more in your face? Yes. Am I loud sometimes and a little brash? Probably. Is that because I am American? That’s not what I am told. It is because of my ethnic heritage, 4 generations removed from me but still coloring the perspectives I have and traditions I keep. What are the “American” values I have? Opportunity. Freedom. Valuing upward mobility, education, and a stable career. Rugged individualism. Me, myself, and I. Thinking MY choices are MINE alone. The dream-2 kids, a good job, and a big house. (Some of these values I have had to learn to reject that are uniquely American, and others that I am thankful for.)

Now do these characteristics make me “white?” Over time the meaning of white-which originally I believe was meaning you were of European decent, has been greatly skewed over time. Since the construct of “race” is actually a made up entity by man, it is subject to man’s interpretation-the man that created it. The white man. So you can look over history and see multiple times where it is totally relative-like how the individual states could determine whether you were white or black depending on your heritage. You could literally cross a state line and change races.

So it is easy to conclude that white no longer means European decent-white means the position of power and privilege in this country. Even if you are not American on your passport, and you come to America looking “white” you are given a place of power because of the systems that are in place here.

Therefore, by stating that I am white, I am proclaiming a place of privilege, a place of being the majority person in almost every setting I go to, never afraid of being oppressed because of my physical appearance, and knowing that I have pretty much every opportunity afforded to me. I won’t be discriminated against, spoken rudely to, not given the benefit of the doubt-I know that blonde hair and blue eyes gets me places, it assumes I am safe, relatable, and trustworthy. Now if I state I am Swedish, Irish, and Cszech-you may assume I look blonde and blue eyed, but you probably have a little bit of a deeper understanding of who I am because you have a general idea of that ethnic background.

Side story-when I was in Kenya and talking to a friend who was Kenyan about tribal groups she asked me if we had tribes. At first I though no, we are all just mixed up. Then I told her that Native American people had tribes, but it is separate from American culture (and basically either exploited or exoticized). But then I thought about all the different people groups that came to America in the beginning and stayed somewhat together in the beginning-there were pockets of Irish, polish, German, Swedes, etc….and in the earlier 1900’s they were pretty segregated-mostly because they still spoke their native language and probably worshiped together and lived in larger than immediate family groups. But the point is that even though there weren’t ‘tribes” they came together because of common interest, language, traditions, and beliefs in a new land. It helped them to adjust and find their rootings. Well obviously people began to intermarry and now people in my generation are usually a mix of 3 or more heritages. Sometimes you can tell by looks, but sometimes we have no idea.

So now we are in a new wave of immigrants, lots of refugees, people trying to find better opportunities, etc. We are segregated into “tribal groups” in a sense. So when you are born here, then do you become American? Or do you become white? Is white American? I think some people would say it used to be….but not anymore. If I went to Ireland and someone asked me where I was from I wouldn’t say Ireland. I would say America-because my culture is American. I wouldn’t say my background was white, I would say it’s Irish-but I’m American. So now I am navigating through terms, which gets weird, but I try to be conscious of talking about nationality and ethnicity rather than “race” words. But if I were black in America I would have to distinguish that I was African American….because if American is white I have to distinguish from white American and I would have to say African. But that gets hairy too because historically not all non-pale colored skin came from Africa, some are from the Caribbean or Puerto Rico or south America, etc. So now what?.

The first time I heard the term European American was at Sanctuary Covenant Church, and I have been pondering it ever since. In processing through my so called “whiteness” the last few years I feel as though that is the best term to describe myself ethnically and nationally speaking, especially if we are still going to say African American. Otherwise in my opinion, everyone born here should just be Americans-and by that terminology there should come an understanding that someone in your family line wasn’t native to America, but you are here now and reflecting in some sense an American culture.

I am in a weird place because I reject parts of Americanism that are not in line with the Kingdom of God….I reject consumerism, individualism, and materialism. I reject the injustice this country was built upon. I reject the oppression that has been the heartbeat of America. I reject the fact that blazing injustice still is present in everyday life in America and there isn’t repentance of systems and corporations and churches and denominations and historians and people groups. Those are the characteristics that tend to be white America. I reject it because I embrace the gospel of Christ that reconciles. But the tension within me would say that I reject white America. I am white America. But I am not. I will not contribute to a system that I have benefited from and I will not use the label that society gives me as a white person for privilege. But what am I? I embrace that God planted me here, and that my great grandparents were in Europe and lived a life there with beautiful aspects of their culture. I embrace those things that I know. I embrace the Catholicism and the covenant church deeply rooted in me. I am Irish. I am Czech, I am Swedish. I love having blonde hair and blue eyes. God made me 6 feet tall with a strong body and rosy cheeks and a nose that goes more out than in. I love it. I am that. And I am American. I am Minnesotan. I have freedom and democracy and voting rights and religious freedom and I can speak up for myself and go where I please and say who I am voting for without fear. I am American.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine and we were talking about being proud of where you come from. It seems to be pretty okay today if you are black to say that you are proud to be black. In this conversation we talked about how the black community has been oppressed for so long and stripped of an identity that making a statement of being black and proud is reclaiming that identity as a black person, whatever that means for you and in your family-it will be different for many. But what if I said I am white and I’m proud? To me that is a little…strange. A little arrogant maybe. Why? That is because of what I feel that you say when you say you are white. It is a declaration of privilege, of benefits, of being part of a oppressive system whether you like it or not. Even when people say they are proud to be an American, I have to admit it irks me a little. But it is because of those aspects of American culture and life that I told you I reject earlier. But I cannot deny that I am American whether I like it or not. European American to be more specific.

I have had to work on finding the balance of all of this, and really be able to fully embrace who God created me to be and know that my identity is Christ and I am made in His image. We are image bearers before we are any nationality. Or ethnicity.

I often listen to a radio show that is primarily for a black audience. They speak a lot of taking pride in being black, and embracing the black community, etc. I can only be a bystander, no matter how close I am to people who are black. They will be and I will not be. So I can support, be happy for that identity they have, but I cannot be that. I have to embrace what I have. Its weird sometimes to want to know and understand a culture, but yet embracing your own and navigating between the two. If I were black in this country and was not able to feel, embrace, and be proud of the skin color God put me in, I would be devastated and probably really confused. I will never understand what that could be like. If I was black in America and was always in the “out” group, never fully felt at home because of the lack of things afforded to me, lack of people who looked like my in books and on tv and in the government-there would always be a sense of disconnect with being born “American” but not being able to fully be culturally American. It would create a sort of dichotomy in who I was I would imagine. So to live in a day where you start to see a change….in tv and government, and in being to join together with other people that look like you and embrace yourselves and love yourselves for exactly who you are is a very beautiful thing.

I sometimes get a funny little feeling in the pit of my stomach, having a deeper understanding and empathy for the black community and minority groups, but also a sense of not belonging in a weird way. I can’t articulate myself very well on this topic, but it is just my honest thoughts that I have been processing through.
I think its strange that we have to check boxes to define us-to make sure we have the correct label. There usually is a box for “other” which is what I have been checking lately. In a way that is one way I feel uniquely called by God. To be other. To have an undoing of the constructs I grew up in and under. Rejecting the dirt, embracing the beauty. Finding my identity solely in Christ-which means embracing where he put me and my lineage. I wonder if the gentiles felt a little confused sometimes. But I think that by reading acts and Pentecost we can see Gods heart for his kingdom-that it transcends every culture, language….it is bigger than that. Not even a wiping away of it, just embracing. Thriving in who He created us to be in all our glorious diversity. I have to cling to that knowledge otherwise I make myself crazy….

Historical reflections...

I just finished reading "The Soul of Black Folk" by W.E.B. DuBois. I was interested in it because of the historical perspective I could gain from DuBois as well as learning more about the southern landscape post civil war/emancipation days. Below are three sections that really stood out to me because of the remnants I see of it in today's society that continue to stand in the way of racial reconciliation. (This book was written in 1903)

"Now it happens that both master and man have just enough argument on their respective sides to make it difficult for hen to understand each other. The Negro dimly personifies in the white man all his ill and misfortunes; if he is poor, it is because the white man seizes the fruit of his toil; if he is ignorant, it is because the white man seizes the fruit of his toil; if he is ignorant, it is because the white man gives him neither time nor facilities to learn; and. indeed, if any misfortunes happens to him, it is because of some hidden machinations of "white folks." On the the other hand, the masters and the masters' sons have never been able to see why the Negro, instead of settling down to be day-laborers for bread and clothes, are infected with a silly desire to rise in the world, and why they are sulky, dissatisfied, and careless, there their fathers were happy and dumb and faithful."

"I am becoming more and more convinced, as I look upon the system of common-school training in the South that the national government must soon step in the aid popular efforts on the part of the thinking men of the South that the Negro's share of the school fund has now been cut down to a pittance in some half-dozen States, and that movement not only is dead, but in many communities is gaining strength. What in the name of reason does this nation expect of a people, poorly trained and hard pressed in severe economic competition, without political rights, and with ludicrously inadequate common-school facilities? What can it expect but crime and listlessness, offset here and there by the dogged struggles of the fortunate and more determined who are themselves buoyed by the hope that in due time the country will come to its senses?"

"Now if one notices carefully one will see that between these two worlds, despite much physical contact and daily intermingling, there is almost no community of intellectual life or point of transference where the thoughts and feelings of one race can come into direct contact and sympathy with the thoughts and feelings of the other.....They go to separate churches, they live in separate sections, they are strictly separated in all public gatherings, they travel separately, and they are beginning to read different papers and books....it is usually true that the very representatives of the tow races, who for mutual benefit and the welfare of the and ought to be in complete understanding and sympathy, are so far stranger that one side thinks all whites are narrow and prejudiced, and the other things educated Negroes dangerous and insolent."

Gramma

My Grandma was a beautiful woman. Lillian Egina Matilda Hajicek (Wahman) Born on April 10, Good Friday, 1914. She died a week ago on April 30th, 2011. I have only had one set of grandparents my whole life, so she was and is very important to me. Since I grew up living close to her, I was able to see her often and now I can cherish so many sweet memories I have with her.

She was so even tempered all the time, very patient, graceful, natural, carried herself well, and engaging. Qualities I desire for myself. I was always proud to be with her, whether at church or helping at the nursing home, even at her last assisted living place. She is the type of person that exudes joy and contentment. When you were with her you felt at ease and peaceful. Near the end of her life, truly it was well with her soul.

I feel a closeness to her for many reasons, but some of the things that stand out to me as I reflect upon her life is what she did with her life. She went to college, first of all, and then helped to start what is now Maplewood Covenant Cnurch-by taking the streetcar all the way across town! When she met my grampa she didn't fall over for him, in fact she wasn't even sure about him-he had to pursue her and then her heart softened to him. Then they had a farm together with his family for I think about 10 year until she even had children. I just love her life. I think we would have been friends if we had grown up together :)

As a child her house was the best place to be. Full of adventures and mystery, comfort and home. I loved when we ate leftover cold fried chicken for lunch, with cloth napkins in those cute little wooden napkin rings. I loved dipping my finger in her honey jar and finding the sugar lumps in a small porcelain dish...and never being scolded. She built tents for me with the folding table, we made cookies and the Swedish Duppa, she taught me to crochet. Multiple times. We played games, she taught me how to use a computer believe it or not, and there were so many paper dolls at her house. Sleeping over at her house was so wonderful. I always wondered how she and grampa could each take about 20 vitamins in the morning. But I liked sharing breakfast with them, and I liked her putting me to bed. I loved the sound of her voice reading to me. She would play hymns and sing, and so many hymns I sing now I sing because she first taught my mother and then me.

When I was at camp, she wrote me letters. She even typed some with her typewriter! She was always extremely encouraging to me and I looked to her for spiritual leadership, not necessarily with words but just in her life. Her and my grampa laid a beautiful faith foundation for generations to come. When I think of her, I think of how much she loved the Lord and was devoted to Him. How impactful that love is as it carries down the line of family.

I feel so much love inside of me when I think of her. She was such a constant in my life, that even as she faded away in her short term memory I still found comfort in knowing she was here with me. Now that she is gone, I think of her smiles, her wit that she didn't try to have, her affection towards me, and how loved I felt by her all the time. I really felt so much peace with her. As she grew older and drew neared to her true Home, she often asked the question why she was still living when she didn't contribute anymore. I also told her she contributed just by being alive with me. But as she went on 3+ years of asking that, I began to see and understand her longing to be done with her earthly body that was failing. She lived such a full life, 97 years, of serving and loving the Lord. Him walking faithfully with her and her faithfully walking with Him. That is so inspiring, and knowing that He took her home swiftly and peacefully is beautiful, and makes me love Him more seeing a life lived so well. I have a strange contentment deep in my spirit about her dying, and I feel a sadness of not being able to reach to her-but I feel like that comfort that comes with knowing Christ is palpable when I think of her. Her peace and contentment compels me towards my Savior, and I think that is what our lives should do. Draw others into the peace that passes all of our understandings.

I read this scripture at her funeral (in the middle Aleeya yelled out "Jesus!" by the way) and I think it is absolutely fitting. It is how she lived her life, and the legacy she passes on to future generations.

A psalm. For giving grateful praise. (Psalm 100)

Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth.
Worship the LORD with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
Know that the LORD is God.
It is he who made us, and we are his;
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
give thanks to him and praise his name.
For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Operation Hip Hop

Last week Urban Jerusalem, the church I am a part of, hosted its first ever national Hip Hop conference. The mission of the conference was "To Educate, Encourage and Empower church leaders, social workers, youth workers, musical artists, and others to successfully engage Hip Hop Culture" focusing on Ephesian 4:12 where is says "So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up."

We had worship services, concerts, workshops, and networking hours with a variety of Hip Hop artists performing and teaching as well as people on the front lines of ministries teaching workshops and speaking at our general assemblies. There was an incredible line up of speakers, including Pastor Phil Jackson, Pastor Elwood Jones, Urban D, Stacey Jones, and Efrem Smith. Our two featured guest artists were Mahogany Jones and Kaboose-who are so talented and humble.

I was never introduced to Hip Hop until about 3 years ago when I started going to Urban Jerusalem, and since then I have been learning about this culture that I never really knew existed. I have some great teachers, as well as read a few interesting books. In a nut shell Hip Hop began in the 70's in New York City really as a way for young people to creatively deal with the oppression and injustices going on post-civil rights movement. Starting out as block parties, it gradually made its way to radio and with the advancement of technology the rest is history. The interesting thing to me is that Hip Hop is really its own subculture and has a rich history in the fabric of America, however the mainstream forms of Hip Hop that we see in the media give us a very poor representation of a culture that actually has very positive and healing roots. That being said, I have learned to appreciate the culture as well as worship through the elements of Hip Hop and therefore understand the importance of this conference.

We were very proud of how the first conference went; we had just under a hundred people registered and saw a variety of people come in and out for the free concerts. Our speakers were from all over the US and we hope to reach even further out in registrants next year as this was the only conference of its kind besides Flavorfest in Florida. The conference not only did its job in educating and equipping leaders in ministries and the church, but provided a very unique place for artists to connect and find support with each other. So often people who minister, especially not in the mainstream ways, get burnt out because they have no support. Urban Jerusalem really seeks to provide that support and I think greatly accomplished the goal through this conference. It also provided a platform for young and new artists to showcase their skills and get good feedback.

Now me, not being a Hip Hop artist (obviously), have a unique perspective being sort of an inside/outsider. It was really wonderful for me to see the fruit of the labor as I watched people interact, learn, and engage with each other. I can't even begin to start talking about the speakers and the worship sessions, they were incredible. (And relevant to anyone who is seeking the Kingdom of God, not just Hip Hoppers!) Here is the most humbling part of the thing, and what God is working on me a lot for: Stacey Jones, the pastor of Urban Jerusalem, had a vision for the whole thing and Tryenyse, his wife, encouraged him not to sit on what God had told him to do. He wrote down the vision this past January, and 3 short months later it happened. I will admit I was so sceptical when Stacey first shared with me this vision. I thought to myself there is no way a conference of this capacity can possibly happen in 3 months. My practical mind thought of all the ins and outs, and I especially doubted the financial aspect of it all.

Stacey doesn't work that way-he really moves in faith, trusting that God doesn't operate in our practical minds but beyond them. He was obedient to what God told Him to do and stepped forward not letting the seemingly large obstacles hold back what God wanted him to do. It is a testimony to me of the radical trust God calls us to. He gives all sorts of dreams and visions to advance His Kingdom and manifest His Love in this world, but how often do we let fear get in the way? Practicalities? Finances? Others opinions? Isn't God so much bigger than all of that?? Yes we should be wise, yes we should be diserning and seek council with others, but part of the faith we profess is not just believing in God but acting as God calls us to. That is not just living a life set apart, but living a missional life in this world listening to the voice of God as He leads us. The visions He gives us may not make any sense at all! I cannot let that get in the way, and this conference was a beautiful testimony of moving in faith and letting God work out the details.

The other things is this: This conference is to reach a hip hop culture, a culture that is often rejected from the church. But the message is the same for all. We need to equip one another within the church to go out of the church to serve, love, and invite all into the love that Christ offers. But as Stacey teaches, we must be radical, relevant, and relational. If your passion is Hip Hop, great, but if it is not, pick something! Learn about the culture, be a part of it, engage, grow, relate. Let the love of Christ flow through you as your throw off the lense you grew up with and put on the broad lense of the inclusive Kingdom of God that is offered to all nations, tribes, and people groups.

The Children.

I have been overwhelmed with joy in the past 3.5 years for the children that have come into my life. Most people know I am quite maternal and have always loved kids, and have always been so excited to have my own. Obviously that is not in the near future, and I have become more than okay with that because of the delightful children that fill my life up daily. It is funny to me because I used to say that if I wasn't married by the time I was 30 then I would adopt. Well for heaven's sake 30 is only 3 years away and it is not old at all! I think I was just wanting kids in my life that it seemed to long wait-but God has taken me by complete surprise with the kids that he's given me through friends and my sister! I am so in love with them, and they satisfy my desire for children beyond what I can express. I am going to highlight each of them and why they are delightful in my sight.

Aleeya Lily, my sister's daughter. Born February 23rd 2009.

She is incredible. Full of life, silliness, stubborness, and resilience. She laughs at her self, makes my sister and I laugh with her sayings, and is so completely bursting with personality. She loves to be outside, and is my running and hiking partner, and will go swimming at any moment. Her words are so funny because they are a mix of spanish and english, and she can't say her "s's" and her "d's" are usually replaced with a "y" sound. (She calls me "Hi-yee") When she sees me, she comes running, and gives me a big hug around the neck. She lets me braid her hair and give her big smooches all over her face. She mimics those around her, so her expressions are hilarious. She is beautiful and my heart bursts with joy for her. Often when I come to see her she screams and yells out of excitment. That is what Im doing on the inside!

Lucia Susan, my friend Stefanie's daughter. Born July 26th, 2007.



Lucie is my twin. We have the same personality-she is so excited about life, jumps from one thing to the next, is very much a lover and cuddler, and is beyond hyper at times. Whenever I come to see her the love she gives me is beyond words-always a bounding hug that is with her whole and doesn't let go until she's kissed at least 3 times. She is becoming a beautiful little lady and it is been amazing to watch her grow. She is headstrong and passionate, and will do anything with me. From adventures, to dress up, to dancing, to princesses, to just making silly faces and taking picture after picture. She knows just what I need to feel completely loved by her, and she doesn't even know it yet!

Sofia Marie, Stefanie's second daughter. Born January 17th, 2009.


Sofia is a gentle spirit full of love. She is incredible smart and her voice is the sweetest. She learned to talk and to sing and never fails to make me giggle with her pronounciation of words like a little proper lady. She will patiently sit in my lap, snuggle in, and just be. She loves books and has the attention span to actually learn and memorize all her favorites. She has a quiet way about her, and I love to watch her learn, explore her world, and follow her big sister around. She lets me shower her with affection and gives it right back.

Elisa Vianne, Stefanie's third. Born December 6th, 2010.


Elsie is the newest, and we still can't figure out if she will look like a Sofie or a Lucie. I experienced her giggle for the first time yesterday, as we looked in the mirror and made faces at eachother. Her soft cheek next to mine was so sweet, and I am so excited to watch her grow.

Priest Braxton, Tryenyse and Stacey's son. Born September 9th, 2006.

Priest is the only one I haven't known since birth. I met him, I think, when he was around 6-9 months-I can't remember if I met him spring or summer of 2007. Either way he was a cute little baby. I really started spending time with him when he was around 2 and a half. He is the most articulate, self aware 4 year old you'll ever meet. We have such wonderful times, going go the beach, the park, the library, sledding, all sorts of adventures! I have the luxury of living a few blocks away, so we spend lots of time playing trains, running errands, baking, going to coffee shops-whatever it may be! He is so lovely, and my favorite moments with him are bedtime. He loves to read, quote scripture, and sing before he falls asleep. His favorite for me to sing is "Somewhere over the rainbow" and I love singing it to him! Sometimes he tells me that he thinks my heart is beautiful, and man that is the best. I say that he is my best date yet.

These are my children, whom I love, and bring my great joy. I am so thankful that God knows the desires of our hearts, and He will satisfy them in ways we could not have imagined!

Difficultly of Grace.

As I get older, I appreciate the ways I have grown in wisdom and experiences-and because of that much of the ways I interact with people gets easier, as well as dealing with difficult situations, people at work, conflicts, etc. I am so thankful that I have reached a point of self-awareness and self-assured-ness to get through these situations gracefully. In that respect, however, I find two things to be more difficult. As I mentioned in my last post, asking for help is something I constantly have to work on and learn from. I am learning this in the context of living in community and with the hopes of always staying in a community that is supportive of one another in the area of needs and resources. So I know it is something I will constantly need to be growing and be held accountable too.

The other thing I find very challenging is forgiveness. Not forgiving others, but being forgiven. It's not too hard to accept an apology and move on from folks mistakes. We are human, it happens, and ultimately God forgives-so must I. I am finding that being forgiven by someone else is an awfully uncomfortable feeling. I think when I was younger and in college even, we often glossed over things or didn't fully express when there was a problem. I can only think of a few examples of having to apologize to someone or vice-versa, and usually it was some sort of mutual exchange because of a misunderstanding of something.

I'd also like to think I am someone who doesn't intentionally hurt people, or say things that are going to require an apology. Looking back I realize there are times I have been too careless with words and probably owe people an apology-however either I wasn't in close enough friendship with them to express their hurt, or they didn't feel comfortable disclosing their own feelings of hurt to bring it up directly to me.

Now, as I enter into closer relationships with people and in intentional community with people, I find that we must continually have strength as individuals to come in freedom and express our hurts, miscommunications, frustrations, etc with others and know that we will be okay if it is not received well. Just as I am learning to be okay with expressing this, I have to be willing to receive others feelings in the same way. I think this is especially true if we are going to conquer societal divisions such as race, class, and even theology.

Bringing me to my point: When I make a mistake or say something hurtful, intentional or not, I have to be willing to bring my sincere apologies without explaining them away. I think that because I am not intentionally trying to hurt or offend, if someone gets hurt/offended/irriated/whatever I better make my case so they know it wasn't my intention. I am coming to think that is the wrong attitude to have. I need to apologize, and that is all I can do. If i am sincere, and the person truly knows and trusts my character, then I need to be secure enough to be able to apologize and have that be enough. If they choose not to accept, then that is that. My experience so far is that I am always forgiven. The strange part is, I feel sick all day and really have a hard time accepting the apology without feeling like I want to explain explain explain, and then wanting affirmation that I am okay. But when I think of the forgiveness modeled from God our Father-all he requires of us is the sincere confession out of a pure heart, and He forgives. Simple as that. Why is it so hard in our human relationships?

I have been praying that God will let me experience His grace more profoundly than I ever have, and I am beginning to see that He can show it to me in my blunders with human relationships. I need to practice constant humility, have the strength to always apologize, and to be secure enough to be of little words and much listening.