Thankful Thursday - Ten Things

How can I not give thanks today? What am I grateful for today?

1. The gift of texting. To connect with people who live far away. To encourage friends going through tough times. To send texts with silly photos and cartoons.

2. Going to my Mom's house for big meals. She always invites "strays," folks who don't have family to spend time with during the holidays. They bring food and themselves. We bring food and ourselves. Fun and conversation always ensue.

3. My daughter is absolutely fantastic at engaging people in conversation. Today she brought energy and interaction from both a shy seven year old girl and a reclusive 14 year old boy. His mother said she hadn't seen him talk that much in months.

4. Leaving her house and coming home. Putting on my pajamas, robe, and slippers and crawling into bed.

5. Finding several pieces made by my favorite designer at a discount of 65% yesterday.
I am almost obsessed with the modest, comfortable, roomy, linen garments made by Bryn Walker.

6. Linen? Yes. Because I love to iron.

7. As much as I thoroughly enjoy spending time with friends and family today, eating delicious food, I am also mindful of those whose land was taken from them, whose lives were taken from them, whose land is still being denied to them in the name of greed. Indigenous people continue to be mistreated. I am grateful for those who stand with them and stand for them in the ongoing search for justice, reparations, and fair treatment.

8. Questions that challenge my faith and my way of life. Especially when I don't have a quick and easy answer. Questions that make me think and pray and journal and look for answers.

9. Being asked to help someone come up with a sermon topic. Give me a Scripture passage and I will help you come up with a topic. Give me a topic and I will help you find a passage to wrestle with. I love the Bible, even the parts that I hate. Yes, there are parts of the Bible that I hate. All the violence. The stories of women being raped - and then expected to marry their rapists. Stories of war. But also stories of love and redemption, hope and joy, community and reconciliation. The main question of my life these days is this: How can I take this ancient book with its many miracle stories, so much poetry, so many parables, so much history, this book that serves as the foundation of my faith - and find ways to apply it to this present moment in time?

10. I am grateful for life itself. For breath. For strength. For health.
Five years ago, on Thanksgiving, I was four days away from my first chemotherapy treatment.
I've come a very long way since then. I am enormously thankful.
To be alive is a gift, perhaps one of the greatest gifts of all.
Thanks be to God.

Ten Things

Alisha Sommer is one of my new favorite internet personality crushes.
She drinks a lot of wine and coffee. She's a creative cook. She's a gifted writer.
She travels. She is and African American woman married to a European American man.
She is raising their children to eat good food and appreciate beauty.
And she takes amazing photographs to document her life and her adventures.
Please go check out her work - you will find your mouth watering.
I'm not a foodie by any stretch of the imagination, but this woman keeps my mouth watering.

One of the things that she does that has caught my attention is her practice of "Ten Things."
Simply a list of ten things, ten thoughts, ten ideas, ten moments from her day -
and any combination of the above, any combination of any ten things - she posts a list.
Daily. I look forward to reading her lists every day.

Since imitation is the best form of flattery, I'm gonna imitate her right here.

My ten things for today:

1. I love chewing gum. I crack my gum noisily and incessantly. My family doesn't complain, for which I am enormously grateful. If I get to meet Oprah again (someday I will share the story of meeting Oprah and getting my photo taken with her), I won't be able to chew gum in her presence. Apparently, she thinks gum chewing is a vile habit. Other than that, she and I will undoubtedly be great friends who agree on everything. In case Ms Winfrey is reading this, let me be crystal clear: I am more than willing to give up gum chewing if I get to hang out with you, Oprah.

2. I have recently been reminded about how much I love a well crafted sermon. And as much as I am grateful that when I preach at my own church, I am limited to about seventeen minutes, I enjoy a nice, long, intricately woven, story driven, Scripture dense sermon. This guy, Anthony Smith, is one of my favorite preachers. He lives, ministers, and serves the community up through a church called Mission House in Salisbury, NC. Here is a link to Mission House sermons. At a time in our nation, in our world, in our history, when so many of us struggle with fear, I would recommend scrolling down the sermon list to 2/12/17 and listening to the sermon entitled, "Take Courage." Make yourself a cup of tea or coffee, grab a notebook and pen, because you are gonna wanna take a lot of notes - and be prepared to have your mind blown. So good!

3. One of the goals of Mission House is "to mobilize an army of love" in their city. They have tee shirts. I have one of those tee shirts. I am not an advocate of violence OF ANY KIND - but I am willing to enlist in an army of love. They are doing some fantastic work there in their home city. Advocating for peace. Walking the streets of their city every Friday night, praying with people, praying for the healing and wholeness of their city - they call themselves "Nightcrawlers." Getting involved in holding politicians accountable for what they do and say. Encouraging people to do their research and to vote. Imagine if those of us who call ourselves followers of the Prince of Peace actually worked for peace, walked for peace, advocated for an end to violence, and were willing to stand up and speak up and act up for peace. What would our cities, our nation, and our world look like if we actually lived out the command listed in both Psalm 34:14 and 1 Peter 3:11? Imagine if we actively and intentionally did simply this -  "Seek peace and pursue it."

4. Teavana tea - if you like loose leaf tea, now is the time to go stock up on their tea. All of the Teavana stores are closing early in the new year. They are beginning to reduce prices by 30%, 50%, and 75%.

5. Starbucks owns Teavana. Why are they not willing to invest some of the billions of dollars they take in every year to preserving and protecting an offshoot that sells healthier product than the coffee and sugary syrups they sell at Starbucks?

6. I love when a plan to "catch up and have lunch" turns into a four and a half hour story-fest, complete with laughter and tears, wisdom and encouragement, tea and salad, and prayer and a few choice four letter words. Only a small number of people in my life can stand hanging out with me for a marathon conversation like the one I had yesterday with my girl, Krystal.

7. Pioneer Woman macaroni and cheese will be on the Thanksgiving table in two day. Even if you don't make this recipe, it's worth the read. She's a chef and writer with an engaging sense of humor.

(If you have any recipes that you love, please send links to them in the comments. I would love to hear what some of you are eating... whether or not you celebrate Thanksgiving this week. I'm always open for new ideas. The simpler the better.)

8. Homemade fresh cranberry sauce too.

9. And cornbread and sausage stuffing.

(To try to offset some of the preplanned indulgence in deliciousness, I will keep up my habit of drinking a green smoothie a day at least through the rest of the week. I'm gonna need to get more spinach, I am certain.)

10. People still send snail mail - and I count myself among the endangered species of folks who still write letters and mail then the old fashioned way. Thoughtful cards from Kentucky and New Jersey and California, and right here in Charlotte. Missives from a friend who is in prison. Birthday cards. Christmas cards. Holiday cards of all kinds. Journals purchased and sent to me just because... There are colorful and beautiful stamps available at the post office. And washi tape, pens, and markers (all of which are a slowly advancing obsession of mine) for decorating envelopes and enclosures. Snail mail is the gift that keeps on giving.


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The good thing about the Ten Things habit, which I have been practicing in my journal lately, is that I almost always want to write fifteen or twenty things. But limiting myself to only ten takes some of the pressure off... I can write my ten and then take a break. For anyone who doesn't particularly like to write, for anyone who feels intimidated by the blank page, for anyone who doesn't think they have anything important to write or to say, beginning with a list of ten things can make the process of writing, of keeping a journal, of blogging, easier.

Ten Things can be as simple as this -

1. Flowering pineapple tea from Teavana.

2. Daily green smoothies

3. I love the library. Free books for everyone!

4. Peppermint chewing gum

5. Peppermint anything

6. I love rainy days

7. the smell of clean laundry

8. the beauty of deer in the backyard in the morning

9. I am a pen hoarder, and I love every single one of my pens

10. homemade cranberry sauce is one of my favorite things to make and eat

For me, this list on a journal page would bring up a host of wonderful memories, but I haven't had to spend too much time on it. If I want to elaborate, I certainly can, but it is not required.

Sometimes my list of ten things is a list of ten people I love,
or ten things I wish I could eat,
or ten places I want to return to before I die,
or ten movies I would like to watch again,
or ten songs I listen to more than any others,
or ten invitations I wish I had accepted,
or ten invitations I am glad I did accept,
or ten authors whose writings I return to over and over,
or ten favorite Bible verses,
or ten lost loves.
See? Simple.
And also meaningful. Thought-provoking. Tear producing.

Happy Anniversary to Me!!!

Five years ago today, November 6, 2012, Barack Obama was voted into his second term as President of these (questionably, ostensibly, gun-loving, very violent) United States of America. I miss him and his dignity, his grace, his intellect, his class, his demeanor a whole heckuva lot these days. But that's a whole different topic for a whole different day...

Five years ago today, I received the terrible news that I had cancer, kanswer.
Five years ago today, I came home from that doctor's appointment with both hands full of books, pamphlets, a pillow, and a sheaf of papers I needed to read and fill out and cry over. I had appointments scheduled for tests and scans and blood work. And I had a lot of appointments to make for other tests and scans and conversations and chemotherapy choices.
Five years ago today, my life changed. Drastically. Unexpectedly. Uncontrollably.

This is what I looked like on the day I was diagnosed.

Smiling between bouts of tears.

Getting ready for the toughest journey of my life.

Today, I am arguably healthier than I was before that diagnosis.
I eat better. I sleep better. I breathe better. I pray better too.
I live more joyfully and hopefully.
I am grateful to still be here, in good health, and in great spirits.

I relish the beauty of the seasons more.
I am grateful for both the arrival and the passing of each day.

I stop and watch squirrels chase each other.
I laugh at their antics.
I am grateful for the wonder of nature, both theirs and my own.

I no longer pluck or color my gray hairs.
I am grateful that I have hair.

I clean my house less often and with less obsession about doing it perfectly.
I flip through magazines more.
I watch more Law and Order Criminal Intent marathons.
I watch Project Runway with my daughter every week.
I play with pens and markers and watercolor paper more.
Because life is too short and too precious to spend it sweeping, vacuuming, and dusting ceiling fans all the time.

When someone invites me to do something new, something adventurous, something out of my normal routine, I am more likely to say "yes" now than I was five years ago.
I am grateful for so many invitations and opportunities.
I am grateful for new friends and deepening connections.

Five years ago today, I wrote a blog post about how my life journey had been shifted on its axis.
I had no idea all that was ahead, but I knew I wasn't going to face it alone, nor was I going to face it with a spirit of defeat or despair.

Five years ago today, I didn't know if I would be here today.
Would I survive the kanswer treatment?
Would I be alive five years hence?

A few days after diagnosis day, I curled my locs one last time.

And my daughter followed me around the house with her camera.

I don't miss my dreadlocs at all.

Not one minute of one day.

I loved them when I had them, but now they are no more.

Truth be told, I still have them. In a bag.

But I have no interest in having long hair again.

Kanswer came. Now it's gone.

Although I was warned, although I was given an explanation of my dire situation,

"nevertheless she persisted."

Five years ago today, I was facing a serious uphill battle,
and I made it. I made it! I MADE IT!!!
I am here. I am ecstatically here.
I am gratefully here. I am peace-fully here.

Thanks be to God.
Thanks be to the doctors, nurses, receptionists, technicians,
the chiropractor and the physical therapist who walked that journey with me then.
And who continue to walk with me on this ongoing healthful pilgrimage.
Thanks to all the family and friends who supported me,
prayed for me,
took me to chemo,
brought meals,
came to visit,
and loved me and my family through that journey.
Many of you continue to love on us and take care of us - even now.
There is so much love, so much beauty, so much to celebrate in this life.

Happy anniversary to me!

A homework assignment: Write your spiritual autobiography

I go to too many meetings. Day and night. Here in Charlotte and in other places in North Carolina. Today I went to another meeting. Actually, a gathering of like-minded spiritual seekers. All of us, each of us, are hearing voices. Or a voice. A voice that is calling us closer, deeper, further in. We want more silence, more prayer, more contemplation, more community, more God. This is the second time we have gathered. From several faith communities. From several faith practices. Drawn together by one man's dream of a community that lives and breathes prayer and hope, faith and connection. We have no idea where it will go or what it will look like. It's not going to be another church. We don't need any more churches. But what we need... well, that's what we are trying to dream up together. What do we need? What would quench our thirst and assuage our hunger for more?

Anyway, we were each asked to write our spiritual autobiography. No more than three pages. We were given some questions to consider as we wrote. Here are a few of the questions we could respond to:

How has God been present in your life? 
How do you experience God’s presence?  
Where have you felt God’s absence?
How has your experience of God shaped your life and the choices you have made? 
Where is God at work in your life now?

Which ones would you answer?

The questions that I sought to answer in my autobiography were: What role did the church play in your life? How did it shape you?

Here is my answer -

I love the church. I love going to church. That has been true of me for most of my life. 

I grew up in Brooklyn, New York, and spent most of the first twelve years of my life attending Sixth Avenue Baptist Church. I distinctly remember sitting in church one Sunday, wishing that I could attend church five days a week and school only two. It’s not that I didn’t like going to school; I loved my elementary school, but being in the house of the Lord with the people of God, singing the old hymns of the church, listening to my Sunday school teachers tell impossible stories that they claimed had come from the Bible, watching people get dunked in the baptismal pool below the organ loft, and even attending Wednesday night prayer meetings - all of that is what I wanted to experience five days a week. When I was 12 years old, that church split over a question of Biblical interpretation that I didn’t fully understand. All  I knew for sure was that my family could no longer attend the church I loved. My twelve year old heart is still broken.

The church I spent my teenaged years attending with my family was another Baptist church, but Calvary Baptist Church was on 57th Street in Manhattan, a solid 45 - 60 minute drive from our home in Brooklyn. It was during those years that I was first exposed to the truth that it doesn’t matter how much I do or don’t like the music; it doesn’t matter how much I do or don’t like the youth leaders. Being in the community of faith is far broader and deeper than my personal taste or preferences. The preaching was okay. The choir was okay. The high school Sunday school class was less than okay. But somehow, together, in our okay ways, we worshiped the God who made it all make sense, who made something majestic out of our mediocrity. In the company of those faithful people, my faith grew. Somehow, God drew me closer. Perhaps it was the less than charismatic leadership and the less than inspiring preaching that taught me that it was all about God anyway. It wasn’t about me. It wasn't about catchy tunes or exceptional showmanship. I was in the presence of Almighty God - and that is what mattered most. 

After high school, I attended a small college in the northwestern corner of Massachusetts and attended the local Baptist church in that tiny town. For the first time in my life, church was my choice. I picked the church and I got myself there nearly every week for all four years of college - well, except for the semester I spent in Madrid, and I found a Baptist church there to attend as well. It didn’t matter to me if I had been out dancing until midnight on Saturday night/Sunday morning. I got up, got showered, got dressed, and walked to church. Once again, it wasn’t a flashy preacher or professional musicians that drew me in. It was simply the opportunity to be with the people of God in the house of God. 

The thing is, I did not have the vocabulary for what I was feeling at the time. I couldn’t have articulated any real evaluation of the preaching, the music, or the theology of that small town church church I attended. Or any of the churches I had ever attended, actually. I couldn’t even tell you what branch of the Baptist church our church was associated with. None of that mattered to me. I just couldn’t imagine NOT going to church. 

Don’t get me wrong; during my early church experience back in Brooklyn, there was a whole lot of fear mongering going on. “Accept Jesus into your heart or be left behind when the rapture happens.” “Are you sure you are saved?” “If you were to die tonight, do you know for sure that you would be in heaven?” Nothing made me more fearful than the thought that I could be “left behind.” But by the time I got to college, those fears were less central to my experience of the church. Thanks be to God! 

At some point during my college career, I had the opportunity to give the children’s sermon at church - a brief Bible lesson for the kids before they left the main worship service for junior church. Not long after that first children’s lesson, I was asked to do it every week. Who me? I did as I was asked - and I loved it. As a result, I had even more reason to love going to church. Suddenly, finally, I had something to contribute. 

Six years after graduating from college, I found myself married, pregnant, and living in southern Connecticut. My husband and I began to attend Hope Church, a congregation whose pastor I had met with I was a teenager at Calvary Baptist in Manhattan. This one was an Evangelical Free church - once again, a denomination I knew nothing about. All I knew was that they welcomed me and my husband without any apparent prejudice against the fact that ours is an interracial marriage. Our daughter was born four months after we arrived at the church. Just under three years later, our son was born. Both of our children were so well loved and their births were so perfectly timed that they were both cast as baby Jesus in the Christmas play. Both son and daughter were held aloft by Simeon’s strong hands and prayed over as their lives began.

On a more personal note, Hope Church ushered me into a phase of spiritual growth that completely altered my perspective on Scripture and prayer and faith. Through the Women of Hope Wednesday morning Bible studies, I learned how to read and study the Bible for myself in previously unimagined depth. I would get up an hour or two before anyone else in the house and pour over and through the Word of God, with curiosity and questions, with hope and joy. Frankly, I miss those early morning quiet times - and I’m not exactly sure why I let them go. 

In a similar way to what happened when I was invited to do the children’s sermons during college, one of the leaders of the Women of Hope asked me to speak at the Christmas luncheon one year. Our usual Wednesday morning gathering of 40 women more than doubled for the Christmas luncheon - one hundred women came together to eat a hearty meal and hear a good word. For some reason, the director of Women of Hope thought I could bring a good word that December. Within months, I was the weekly teacher for Women of Hope. What I didn’t see was that God had begun to do a work in my life, a preparatory work that was beyond anything I could have imagined when we moved to Charlotte in 2002. 

Before having our two children, I had spent four years as a middle school and high school Spanish teacher. Although I was no longer teaching, I certainly hadn’t forgotten my Spanish, so it was with great joy that I began to attend the Spanish speaking congregation at Calvary Church here in Charlotte. Within weeks, I had fallen in love with the energy and exuberance, the joy and the vulnerability of those beautiful, hopeful people who hailed from more than ten Latin American countries. I taught Bible classes, led women’s gatherings, and introduced them to journaling as a spiritual discipline - all in Spanish. I am certain that I learned more from those generous, kind, loving women than they learned from me. I also learned that I had to stay in my place as a woman - that there was no place for me in church leadership there, unless there were only women in the room. 

At the end of one of the spiritual journaling classes I taught, this one in English, a woman approached me and said, “You belong in the pulpit. You’re not teaching in here; you are preaching.” At the time, her statement sounded like heresy to me. Less than five years later, we left Calvary, began attending First Presbyterian Church here in Charlotte, and I had heard that same message several more times at our new church. 

I believe that when I hear the same message several different times from several different people, I need to pay attention. So I did. Currently, I’m in my third year of a five year seminary program here in Charlotte that I hope and pray will lead to my ordination in the Presbyterian Church USA. It looks like my early childhood wish of attending church five days a week might finally come true. 

Thanks be to God. Thanks be to God indeed. 

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The most eye-opening part to me of writing this spiritual autobiography is that I hadn't made the connection between my childhood dream of being at church five days a week and my current seminary journey until I completed this homework assignment. I know that almost everyone who is a "full time pastor" spends more than five days in the church, so I may end up getting more than I hoped for, than I wished for, than I bargained for. But still, dreams sometimes do come true. 

As I wrote that final sentence, I burst into tears.

Tears of gratitude. Tears of joy. Tears of hope. 

Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful.