believing.

Last week in study group, we read in the Bible where Jesus heals the official's son in John. Here's some of it.

"At Capernaum there was an official whose son was ill. When this man heard that Jesus had come from Judea to Galilee, he went to him and asked him to come down and heal his son, for he was on the point of death. So Jesus said to him, 'Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.' The official said to him, 'Sir, come down before my child dies.' Jesus said to him, 'Go; your son will live.' The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and went on his way."    -John 4:46-50

The rest of the story is that the man returns to his house and his servants tell him that his son recovered yesterday at the exact hour when Jesus told the man that his son would be healed. Because of this interaction, the man believed and so did his entire household.

This story is crazy. I'm not even talking about the fact that the son was miraculously healed. This guy's son was on his deathbed, and he leaves and walks for a day or so away in the hopes that he might find this Jesus guy and maybe Jesus can do something to help. I mean, really. Would leave my dying child on the off chance that maybe, maybe some random person could help? Nope. Then again, I have no idea what desperation a person would feel waiting around knowing that your child is dying. Who knows. Maybe I would go.

But that isn't even the half of it. Jesus tells this man that his son is healed, and without having any way of actually knowing, scripture says, "The man believed the word that Jesus spoke." He believed that his son had recovered and was fine. It's not like he had a cell phone to call in and check about his son. He simply believed that moment.

So often, I pray and ask for things not believing that those things are possible. I maintain some degree of control in that way because I can't be disappointed. I wonder, though, with this situation with the official, did the miracle happen in part because he believed it would? If I don't believe that God is listening and will answer (not necessarily in the way I want), then why am I asking?

I wonder what would happen if I truly believed that God would move on the things I asked.

lights, lights, and more lights

This past Saturday brought me an entirely new experience: Tacky Lights Tour. I'm sure that this happens in North Carolina and probably New Orleans, but I have never in my whole life seen anything like these houses. The pictures in this post are from only the first house where we went. Let me set out the scene of this first house for you.

There are four of us in the car. We are coming from a fun Christmas concert that one of our fellow interns was in at her home church, so we are already feeling the holiday cheer. We are wary that this house we are headed towards could be a let down in the face of our incredibly high expectations. However, as we turn down the road on which this house resides, there are lit candy canes lining the whole road. We slowly creep forward approaching the cul-de-sac, but we still can't see anything more than ordinary lights on ordinary houses. Then, all of a sudden, We get to the final turn into the cul-de-sac, and there it is. It is the most glorious display of lights I have ever seen! More lights than I could ever imagine being on one house/lawn. I don't even have words to describe how many lights were happening on this house.

I think the best part of this is that, in the moment we turned the last corner and saw the full picture of what was happening at that house, the four of us were of one accord. We all erupted in shouts of awe and joy, busted open the car doors, and ran over to the house to admire the scene (leaving the car with the doors fully open in the middle of the cul-de-sac). It's rare that you are in a group of people who are so fully of one mind.

Not only did we run around the yard and look at all it had to offer, but we actual struck up a conversation with the house owner. Chuck has multiple sheds in his back yard as well as storage space at his daughter's house to keep all the things throughout the year. It takes him five to six weeks to set it all up, and he spends at least two or three days on the electrical side of things to make sure that it can all be powered without blowing a fuse or anything negative happening. He had to buy a second breaker box. His electric bill goes up by something like $450 dollars in the months before Christmas. He told us stories of being Santa for the kids who come to see the house and about how he got started with all this. Chuck is a really lovely man.

After saying our goodbyes to Chuck and his lovely abode, we drove around Mechanicsville and the West End taking in more houses with more lights. There was even a set-up where the parents and kid lived next to each other and did both houses up, which was absurd and wonderful and way too much to take in with your eyes. There was one house that you had to stay in your car and drive through their super long driveway and out the other side.

This night of festivities and merriment ended with River City Diner and the consumption of deliciously greasy breakfast food. Yum.

Thanksgiving CHATing

Apparently, CHAT has been doing Thanksgiving dinners since its beginning. I think it probably looked a little different when there were fewer kids, but CHAT has grown quite a bit in the past 12 years, and so has Thanksgiving Dinner.

In order for this to make the most sense, I'll have to explain a bit. I work at a tutoring site called The 20 Spot, aptly named for its being on 20th Street. It used to house kids from kindergarten through 8th grade, but has long since been split into two separate sites, so the 20 Spot Little Tykes (kindergarten to 2nd grade) now meet across the street at a local church. Many of our students at these two sites are siblings, so we have a number of families in common between the two of us.

Because family is so central to Thanksgiving, we combined our two sites and met at the church for one massive celebration. That meant that we were cooking and preparing for something like 80 or 85 people. See, it was all the staff/interns from the two sites, the students, the families that came, the tutors, and a host of volunteers who helped us put on this grand event.

All the 20 Spot staff and interns worked together all day making mac and cheese, collards, broccoli casserole, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, chocolate mousse and apple crumble. So many tutors and parents brought dishes to share as well. One family brought fried chicken, which was probably the most delicious thing on the table. I'm seriously considering asking the mom to teach me how that's done, because I could do with some more of that in my life.

It was incredible to see the people from all over Richmond coming together in Church Hill to give thanks and share a meal together. It wasn't perfect. It's wasn't the end point or a victory celebration for reconciliation. We aren't finished. But, when I think about what else was happening last night in this country, it's a small joy and peace in my heart to know that I was with my kids and their folks and my neighbors getting full of turkey and stuffing, saying grace and acknowledging the Lord's provision. It didn't fix anything, but it mattered.

I'm Martha

When I was a little nugget, I used to go over to my grandparents' house and get into all manner of shenanigans. I remember playing ping-pong and inevitably losing several balls in the process, building forts out of futon cushions, convincing my grandmother that my tummy hurt and the only solution was Jello. I was really, really cute when I was little, which is probably why I was able to get away with the Jello bit. One of my most vivid memories of those times involved modeling the various pretties in her jewelry box while she read me stories out of the children's Bible she had. For some reason, my favorite story was Mary and Martha. I know, it's not a classic child favorite like Adam & Eve or Noah or even Jonah for that matter, but it was the one I always wanted to hear.

It's super short, too, so I'll put it right here:

Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me." But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her."

Luke 10: 38-42

This is so funny to me now because it's always been clear to me that Mary is the one who is doing what's right in the story. Jesus says that she has chosen something that can't be taken away from her. She chose Him. Martha on the other hand has gotten so caught up in the work that needs to be done that she is missing time with the Lord and time with others. What's more than that, Martha has grown resentful of Mary not doing anything to help her, so not only did she miss time with company, but she's also upset with her family.

I really want Jesus to reprimand Mary, though. I want Him to tell her to stop sitting around and get to work. I want Him to say that if we all just sat around forever then nothing would ever get done. The reason I want these things is because I am Martha. I probably was as a kid, too, which may be why I liked hearing a story I related to so often.

The story of Mary and Martha came up in a study I'm doing with my discipler, and it was a fresh reminder of my Martha-ness. There are a lot of beautiful things about living and working in community with people. but sometimes it really sucks. All the after-school interns work in the basement together. Just the one, open room. Sometimes, even our older students come down here to hang out and talk. I wanna tell people that that makes for an environment that is not conducive for work in any way. One the one hand, I'm right: you can't get work done and be in constant conversation with others. On the other hand, I'm missing part of what makes this job not-so-job like. We have students who want to come and be with us. I get to work alongside six of my closest friends. We get to be a community in here, and I don't want to miss that.

bees

Me at the tender age of 14 alongside Mr. Marty.

The Spring Break of my Sophmore year of high school was spent in Shepherdsville, Kentucky with my very favorite science teacher from middle school and her husband. They'd moved back to her family's farm and begun many farm related activities, including bee keeping.  I loved everything about my week at the farm from getting to sit in the tractor to seeing that a post-holer is a real yard tool (shout out to Firefly- "It's a post-holer. It makes holes for posts.").

Nothing about that week stands out to me as much as getting to don a bee suit and follow Mr. Marty down to the hives. I got to smoke the hives and look inside at the now somewhat sluggish bees try to get as much honey as possible outside their presumed burning hive. I'd seen a trailer for a made-for-TV movie about killer bees, so I was ready to be kinda scared as they flew around me and landed on my arms, but I wasn't. The suit keeps you fully protected, so there is no fear, only an inside look at their home and busy life.

One of the things I do in the course of my week is help to lead the Outdoor Adventuring class on Wednesday afternoons with a partner organization. We've been spending time paddling canoes around a lagoon out in the country and learning about whatever bugs, frogs, and plants we see. This past Wednesday was spent doing one of my most favorite and the most magical activities: bee keeping.

Me at the tender age of 23 alongside my students and our teachers.

Mr.  Joe has been bee keeping for ages and is impervious to anything negative from bees, so he doesn't even wear a full suit. Mr Tom is the one in the full suit like the rest of us. These are his bees. Some of the students had no desire to be anywhere near the bees, so they went off to paddle and frolic with another staff. Two brave, young souls and I decided to meet the bees.  We needed to give the bees a sugar/protein cake to help them get through the winter. Mr. Tom told us that we would be absolutely fine as long as we didn't do anything to make the bees angry, like sudden, quick movements or killing them. I was a little worried about one of my students because she only makes movements suddenly and she only makes loud sounds.

Once the lid came off the hive, she was captured in the beauty and intricacy of the hive. It was night and day. She was entranced. Nothing broke her focus in the fifteen minutes we were with the bees. Isn't that incredible? God knew what he was doing when he created such tiny creatures that have this incredible ability to capture our minds and attention.

Bees are so cool.

a beautiful day in the neighborhood

I can't believe it's been a month since I last wrote. Usually, Mom gets on me after a week. I've had a lot of trouble sorting through my thoughts, so maybe that's why I've been reluctant to write. I'm not sure what would come out if I tried or if it would make any sense. I'll get to work on some of those posts, but, for now, here's a snippet about what my early mornings look like.

In theory, Church Hill is laid out on a grid. The truth is, there are several spots on the map where you fall into an abyss from which there is no return. Ok, that was too dramatic, but there are places where the grid falls apart. Three summers ago, I got around this navigational conundrum by running. Unlike driving around, you can't get too far on foot, so you can't get that lost, and you are better able to take in where you are and how you got there.

Before even moving to Church Hill, I signed up for the Richmond Half Marathon in November. There are a number of reasons why I did this: 1. I like running half marathons, 2. I wanted to have something to hold me accountable to exercising and staying in shape, 3. I knew that I would need the personal space and time that running affords me.

One last reason why I did this was because I love running in Church Hill. I recognize corners and streets so that, when I'm driving a CHAT mini-bus full of kids, I know exactly where I am and where I'm going. I've learned that 35th simply ends right before it meets Broad, and 36th meets Broad, but then ends after a block and picks up again somewhere else. Everyone and anyone that I pass smiles and says hello to me as I run by. Some offer an encouraging, "Run Forrest!" but most just say good morning and ask me how I'm doing. It's a small, relatively low-effort way of getting to know my neighbors.

I have been feeling like I'm not doing enough to get involved with this neighborhood. Times when I do try feel so forced and odd. Mostly, I don't try for lack of time or not knowing how to get involved.

But I know that I'll keep running and smiling. Baby steps, you know?

The Gospel Tent

Growing up in New Orleans, Mom made sure that we never missed a year of Jazz Fest. It had then and it has now the best food that Nola could offer and some of the best music that the world could offer. I saw everyone from local bands to Ladysmith Black Mambazo to James Taylor to Juanes to anyone in between while stuffing my face with cheesy crawfish bread, oyster stuffed mushrooms, lemon sorbet with raspberry sauce, and any form of hydrating liquid. It was so hot that you could barely move. It only took a matter of minutes upon arrival before it felt that you had jumped in a pool with your clothes on. It seemed that there was no escape from the heat and humidity...

Or was there? Just when you felt convinced that you couldn't possibly stand another second out in the open heat, everyone's eyes would meet, and you all knew what needed to happen. The Gospel Tent. Oh yes. The Gospel Tent, perhaps as anointed by God, had massive fans. The shade and air circulation in there was clearly blessed by the Lord, and you would find respite within the massive sound of Gospel choirs from all over America and probably the World. The sound and the air would wash over you drying the sweat and preparing you to re-enter the outside world. It gave you the perfect amount of determination to get from the tent to the nearest incredibly large, incredibly iced tea.

Every time a month has a fifth Sunday, East End Fellowship (EEF, my home church here) doesn't hold a regular service, but rather encourages its people to go out into the community and visit another local church. On a walk, Rosy noticed a sign on a church front saying that this Sunday they would have an old fashioned, hand-clapping, foot-stomping service outside. You had me at old fashioned. I spent this morning with my house-mates at Fountain Baptist Church held in the sweet shade of their outdoor tent listening to the massive sound of their Gospel choir. We were greeted and spoken with by everyone we passed. The pastor made a special effort to come and greet us after the service. We were, thankfully, handed fans to try to swipe away the thick, hot air, and we were fed generously after the service. The service ended with the Amen song that I first heard from and will always associate with Sidney Poitier in the 1963 classic Lilies of the Field. This morning was wonderful and life-giving because I was able to connect with my community in a way I hadn't before.

I'm telling you, the Lord has a thing for Gospel Tents.