Endurance: Movements Towards Community

“In a real sense all life is inter-related. All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be…This is the inter-related structure of reality.” –MLK

I’ve noticed that endurance is not found in isolation, but rooted in relationships and community. For this reason, I purposefully surround myself with people who have transformed how I see, engage, and be with others in a way that gives me purpose. As we enter into the suffering and pain of our brothers and sisters together, we find ways to endure towards hope. We find ways to see the world as it is, and collectively move towards the world as it should be. When we remind one another that we are seen, that we are loved, and that we belong, somewhere along the way, we interweave our stories and find ways to carry one another forward towards beloved community. 

I See You [Dignity]

In June of 2010, I traveled to Rwanda with 5 other students from Seattle Pacific to listen and learn from the most resilient people I have ever encountered. Even now, six years later, I find myself returning to their stories which portray endurance and what it means to embody hope amid the unfathomable daily realities of life after trauma. 

One afternoon, we found ourselves sitting with over 40 women who gathered frequently in the church to share their burdens with one another to find comfort and healing. I met Odette, a widow of the 1994 genocide, who committed herself to sharing her story of survival, grief, and movements toward healing with other women who survived the genocide, though everything they knew was stripped away from them. Odette calls this group Wrira, which means “don’t cry” in Kinyarwanda. This sacred space was created for other women to listen, mourn, weep, and lament the brokenness that swept over Rwanda together. It was intended to move women who once felt isolated in their grief towards community. To remind them that they are seen and they are worthy of healing. 

I noticed in Rwanda that the reconciliation process starts when we give space to recognize the dignity and humanity in each person. Each woman had a story of pain that was her own and each woman was given the space to share and be reminded that she was seen and loved. As each shared her pain, they together moved toward healing. They endured. 

I Love You [Proximity and Presence]

The sacred life stories, like the ones I heard in Rwanda, are testimonials that endurance and resiliency are a result of continually envisioning the world as it should be, even while in the wilderness. This vision flourishes when we pursue it together. All throughout scripture, we are guided to “spur one another towards love” (Hebrews 10:24). When we do this, we call one another near (proximity) and invite others into a sacred space with us (presence). Proximity moves us away from cheap compassion, which doesn’t cost us anything, towards true compassion. A compassion that guides us to walk beside one another through the ordinary and mundane aspects of life. 

Like the women in Rwanda, I thrive and endure towards hope and healing because of those who get close and create sacred space to gently welcome and be present to my pain. These past couple of years, I vividly remember the moments where I have been overcome with deep grief due to the violence against black and brown bodies. When the feelings become too familiar and the words so few, there are moments where my grief leads me to wrestle with my worth as a black woman within this society. In these moments, my people remind me that I am worthy of love as they make themselves available and choose to be actively present with me in the pain. They’ve taught me about a long-lasting love, one that gives hope. They’ve moved me towards love, and seeking more of it. 

They’ve done this with great patience, love, and care that has led me to find strength and purpose. By getting close and being present to my pain, I am reminded through intentional community that I am worthy of love and belonging. This is what spurs me towards love and gives me endurance to pursue beloved community. 

You Belong [Community]

Love is patient. It does not rush. It does not fix. It gives space for the Spirit to heal and restore. It moves us as close as we can get to the pain and suffering of our brothers and sisters.  It teaches us to sit in the wilderness with one another. I believe that this type of compassionate love is found in community. Henri Nouwen writes that as we stay rooted in God’s vision for our world, we become “compassionate people, deeply aware of our solidarity in brokenness with all of humanity.”

One aspect of solidarity is the willingness to see all life as sacred and worthy of love and belonging. We’re reminded that we belong by recognizing that when one part of the body hurts, we all hurt. When one part of the body weeps, we all weep. It is in beloved community that we find the endurance to identify our false selves that keep us bound to the brokenness of the world, so we may strive towards our true self that is bound up in God’s promises of healing and restoration. 

I continue to invest in movements towards justice and love because I believe that I can never be what I ought to be until my story is woven up with the story of my neighbors. Community is the place where I am reminded that I am seen, I am loved, and I belong. This is how I endure, through beloved community. 

What Shalom Means to Me

“Look! God and his children are together again. No more running away. Or hiding. No more crying or being lonely or afraid. No more being sick or dying. Because all of those things are gone. Yes, they’re gone forever. Everything sad has come untrue. And see – I have wiped away every tear from every eye!” (Jesus Storybook Bible).

What a beautiful picture of God’s promise of shalom to a creation that knows too well about suffering, brokenness, and hopelessness – all that is sad has come untrue. Scripture is riddled with stories that point back to God’s agenda to restore all broken things in the world. Unlike the remedies the world promises in the midst of chaos, shalom is a sure promise that is never fleeting.

As we imitate the life of Jesus, we are invited to heal, and to move towards shalom for all creation with Christ. Restorative work, on a personal and systemic level is tiring and at times disheartening, but Christ offers us his grace, compassion, and restoration so that we may be co-laborers with him. Throughout the gospels Jesus demonstrates so beautifully how we can move towards shalom. In his life and storytelling, Jesus highlights seeing people or systems in their shame and pain; then he is moved to compassion and heals, restores, and reconciles; then he commissions individuals to go and do likewise. In order to sustain my commitment and efforts towards shalom, it’s important to me that I receive the shalom that is available to me, so that I may practice extending shalom in the relationships and spaces that I find myself in.

By my own efforts, I get stuck at seeing and naming brokenness and disorder. Seeking out the movements I see towards wholeness, peace, and restoration in my community is a commitment to awareness of God, self, and others. Because I choose to live a life where my faith informs the way I navigate justice, I’m deeply disturbed by the injustice that tends to linger in our society. I hold on to shalom because it is what continues to anchor me in my faith and move me, sometimes very slowly, towards justice.

I deeply long for this promise of full restoration, “for everything sad” to become “untrue” especially when I’m confronted by the patterns of brokenness and darkness that become overwhelming and redundant in our society. The kind of shalom I long for is not possible without the disruption of systems or ways of thinking that perpetuate injustice. My longing for shalom mobilizes me to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. In order to seek justice, we must enter into uncomfortable spaces to disrupt injustice and create more space for shalom to dwell among us.  

What role(s) do you play in bringing shalom into the world?

What movements towards shalom do you see happening in your community? In your city? In our nation?

What needs to get disrupted and flipped in order to make more space for shalom?

Creating More Space

With the start of the new year, I noticed that I had a deep longing for a steady-daily-rhythm that was more life-giving.  I entered the new year with a desire to discover ways my soul finds energy in order to keep being and becoming the person who pursues Jesus, love, and Justice.

This all lead me to ask what it is that I need to cut back out from my daily rhythm in order to create more space for my desires to grow. This year, I made the commitment to myself to: pay attention to how I spend my time, practice self-care, remind myself to take deep breaths, learn when to say yes and when to say no, be a productive dreamer, celebrate often, read more than I did last year, and take the time to set monthly (and guilt-free) goals.

My tendency is to enter anything new, whether that be the start of a new week or a new year, with empty promises of blog-writing, letter writing, art-making, phone-calling, etc. to somehow make up for what didn't get done. One thing I noticed was that I spend my work day communicating through the internet. Then I would find that during my down time at home, I spent more time on the internet. It's a lot easier for me to lean on social media for various things. The things I was reading and learning were challenging me to grow, but what was most concerning to me was how drained I felt every time I logged into Facebook or scrolled through Instagram. Starting the year off, I deleted Facebook and set a new bed time (I kid you not). This has created space for me to rest better, explore and practice what it is that I desire to grow in (I read more now), and stay connected to others in different ways (lots of thinking of you texts).

I'm hopeful that these intentional practices will lead me towards creativity, stillness, and stability. I'm not sure if you find yourself in a similar state-of-heart that I found myself in earlier this month. If you are in a similar season and find yourself longing for a space to pursue the things that make you come alive, here's something important that I continue to remind myself: creating space for you to get the soul-care and self-care you crave for is not selfish, it's necessary to help you maintain you.

You can't wait for that space or even inspiration to make itself available to you. Every new day, you have the opportunity to commit practicing making time for you. Yesterday may not have been the best in terms of following through with commitments, but I continue to remind myself that all of this is set up for me to thrive and find joy in, not feel guilty about. Create more guilt-free space and delight in it!

So, what is it that you need to cut back or out of your daily rhythm to create more space for new commitments that will fill you up instead of drain you?

Why I Work for Mission Year

When I first began recruiting for Mission Year, I had the opportunity to go to Chicago to visit college campuses with Shawn (Executive Director).  As we travelled from school to school, I began navigating how I would like to share my Mission Year story in a way that highlighted the places that I have experienced transformation and growth. As I entered into the National Recruiter and Houston Program Assistant role, I was transitioning from two years of service and learning the new rhythms of life in my neighborhood and new community.

One particular conversation that stands out to me, is one I shared with Shawn where I was able to express the weight I felt from the injustice that was taking place in my community. I mentioned how hard it was for me to witness, as well as experience the pain that my neighbors face for myself. I shared that entering into relationship with my neighbors requires that I enter into and sit with the pain experienced in their lives. I may have even alluded to how much easier it would be to remain ignorant, deaf, and blind to the reality of systematic violence and injustice that is very present in the lives of my neighbors. In that moment, I remember Shawn asking me, “would it really be better to not see or know the pain?”

I can share countless reasons why I said yes to working with Mission Year; however, I think in this particular season of my life, I have come to deeply value that my commitment to Mission Year as a staff member continues to drive me to face brokenness. My relationships with our staff and friends in the city encourage me to ask hard questions, engage in meaningful dialogue, and navigate and create ways that we’d like to work against injustice. Shawn’s question has been one that I’ve continuously gone back to as I think, pray, and hurt over the injustices that hold back my neighbors, my community, and our nation from thriving to its fullest potential.

Before Mission Year, I felt paralyzed when I saw brokenness and injustice faced by others in my community. Now, as we engage with the story we’ve been invited into by being a part of the work in the city, we’ve been given tools to not only see but discover what to do with the pain. I’ve been encouraged and empowered by the conversations that I am continuing to have. I love that in this organization, we’re continue to check our blind spots in how we live our lives, enter into our neighborhoods as learners (not experts), and celebrate the transformation we experience as we engage with God and people.

The fact that I get to share Mission Year’s story wherever I go and invite others into this greater story of community, love, and justice is an honor. I’ve been able to experience how Mission Year not only affects those who commit a year to the program, but also transforms friends and family members who journey and invest in us as we navigate through a season of learning to see, be, and respond to the rhythms of what’s happening around us in the city.

When it comes down to it, I work for Mission Year because I recognize that in the work we do, there is an invitation to respond, stand with, and be a part of the life of our neighborhoods. We’re equipping young adults from all walks of life to pay attention – to individuals, to their passions, and to what God is doing. Now, that’s something I’m proud to be a part of.

In Transition...

These past five months, I have had a deepened and growing appreciation for the opportunities to slow down and learn the new rhythms of life in my neighborhood. As I continue to be a part of community here in Houston post-service, I've stepped in to fill the National Recruiter and Houston Program Assistant staff role with Mission Year. Transitioning out of the structure of the program and apart from living with people committed to the same vision for the year, I am continuing to weave in reflections from what I have learned these past two and a half years to create -- and continue creating -- a new normal.

In the chaos of transition, I have recognized the need to leave space to grieve what no longer is. What I experienced by investing in Mission Year was a richness that goes beyond: sharing meals with my neighbors weekly, living life with strangers who quickly became the source of motivation for authenticity, sharing resources, challenging one another to live and reflect deeply,  paying attention to what's happening within myself -- and much much more. I deeply cherish and will have a hard time forgetting the values that Mission Year helped me grasp while I served. I've learned that in transition -- whether from short-term or long-term service-learning experiences, it's necessary to name the things that made us come alive and name the things that we deeply long for that are put on hold for a while.

As I travel to engage with students and leaders to share more about our program, I leave Houston often, making me unable to practice community the exact ways I had done for the past two years. It's hard. It's lonely. And that's okay. Instead of getting stuck in the grief or freaking out a bit (which I can now admit, I've done that several times) it has been necessary for my heart to be open and pay attention to what God has been and is doing -- around me and within me.

I enter into the new year very thankful for the ways in which the staff in Mission Year, friends in Houston, alumni, and friends from Seattle have continued to support the commitments I am making. As much as I love recruiting, it is hard and I find that it is all worth it because I get to share the beautiful stories of Mission Year -- stories of God's presence in the neighborhood, stories of alumni doing AMAZING things, and lives transformed by love and service, especially mine.

The Mystery of Pain

"Dear God, I am full of wishes, full of desires, full of expectations. Some of them may be realized, and some may not, but in the midst of all my satisfactions and disappointments, I hope in you. O Lord, strengthen my hope, especially when my many wishes are not fulfilled. Let me never forget that your name is Love. Amen." - Henri Nouwen 

Pain is the storm raging within, You can see it in my eyes. 

If I tell you my story, you may think I'm made of lies.

The world tells me that there is always something bigger and better,
So why should I unveil my misery while I walk this wide road of discovery?

I have experienced the inevitable. 
I have wrestled the unthinkable. 
I have endured the cycle.

Pain is the storm brewing within 
And slowly it is spilling out from the interior.

--
The poem above is written from the perspective of those I've encountered in the past couple years. Individuals who have endured and continue to walk a path of self-discovery. In their stories, I begin to find an "we" instead of a "them." These are individuals who have helped me look at the beauty of life, in such a raw way.

--

I woke up this morning heavy and frustrated. The unimaginably painful story people have to walk makes my heart search for answers. In those moments when I desire, hope, and fight for something more joyful, I feel helpless and weak. 

You see, the reality is I don't understand why. I keep asking, "Why?" but the answer keeps leading me back to the mystery of life: "Life is a series of mysteries we must each unravel at our own pace. Some people solve this mystery quicker than others. Some people never do. Some like myself are still trying to put the puzzle together."

We experience pain, but not without reason. In the midst of sitting, weeping, and questioning with my community I realize that there are uniquely designed gifts for all of us as we navigate through our stories at our own pace.