We are.

There is freedom dancing in our bones.

Liberation in our pores.

A sacred samba sizzling in our souls.

March on, my sister, march on.

We’re heading to the Promise Land.

Walk with me, my sister.

Weave your story into mine.

Our narratives can hold one another up

As this oppressive citadel is remolded.

Drums.

And singing.

Sweet singing.

“We are. We are.”

Hand in hand.

We march on.

Together.

There is freedom dancing in our bones.

Sweet freedom.

Our hands stretch to the sky.

Hands that create wonders.

Hands that mold and make.

Hands that challenge.

Here begins our dance.

“We are. We are.”

We flourish. We march.

We are.

Women.

Bare

Breath rattles in these lungs,

Still going and going

The monotonous accompaniment of being.

Sweet air crisp on my bare shoulder

Leading me to the fragility of my soul, my God

How

A break in the lament of our lives

We pause to shift our eyes

To what

To where

To whom

(Who cares?)

You care.

Are You—

There?

Sweet Ecclesiastes,

My soul wrestles bare beneath these crisp skies

Hazel eyes grasping forward clinging to air

But falling there.

Dirt heckling into pores unspoken

My God “us” is so broken

Why

You will not leave me here in my tender vulnerabilities--

You are with me.

I still question how Your wisdom is bigger than what I see, Love.

I question if Trust is illogical.

It is.

The crisp air through my webbed palms--

When will all be set right?

When will women dance in freedom?

When will all be free and flourishing?

When will we celebrate one another--together?

Love, when?

Lead us to the celebration here and now.

Lead us to a Freedom Song.

Lead us to You.

Breath rattles in these lungs,

Still going and going

The monotonous accompaniment of being.

Sweet air crisp on our bare shoulders

Leading us to the fragility of our souls, our God

How

Make a Statement

Going to the library in Akron was a statement.

In Philadelphia and in Mission Year, I am constantly surrounded by new voices in my community, house, workplace, and church. These voices challenge me to view the world differently, to consider different perspectives in making decisions, to understand that I am part of a larger whole.

Going to the library in Akron was a statement.

In Akron, I am predominately surrounded by voices of people who look like me, have similar backgrounds to me—we tend to view the world in similar ways. Although there are pockets of challenge spoken into my life, a majority of my interactions in my hometown affirm the cultural position I hold rather than speak to it in truth and love.

I want to be challenged.

So I went to the library.

There I found voices—hundreds of voices—of people of all backgrounds and cultures who are asking questions. I found people of great spiritual commitment who ask the question I'm asking “What does it look like to love God and love people?”—César Chávez, Mother Teresa, Thomas Merton.

*  *  *

César Chávez, Latino leader and organizer, what does it look like to live into your words regarding organizing? “[I]n a nutshell, what do we want the Church to do? We don’t ask for more cathedrals. We don’t ask for bigger churches or fine gifts. We ask for its presence with us, besides us, as Christ among us. We ask the Church to sacrifice with the people for social change, for justice, and for love of brother. We don’t ask for words. We ask for deeds. We don’t ask for paternalism. We ask for servant hood.” I’m intrigued.

Thomas Merton, your prophetic voice spoke into the truth of your time. I see that you lived a life committed to your time. “To choose the world is to choose to do the work I am capable of doing, in collaboration with my brother and sister, to make the world better, more free, more just, more livable, more human.” I also see that you live a life deeply committed to your God. As one living in faith and service, your words challenge and encourage me to keep on keepin’ on. I’m eager to continue learning from you.

Mother Teresa, the way you affirm the dignity in all is beautiful to me. You love recklessly, and freely, all in what I perceive to be obedience to Jesus. I don’t know quite what to make of your words, but there is something in your speech that draws me in to asking questions—questions I can’t quite put into words yet. 

*  *  *

I found a book about the religious history of African Americans—I want to learn. I found a book on African Saints (Saints, Martyrs, and Holy People from the Continent of Africa)—educate me on the lives of the bold and beautiful on a continent where the media presents a very broad picture of “pity.” I found a book on Afrocentric sermons, sermons that speak to something deeper in my soul—empowerment and beauty.

In a yearning to open myself up to different cultures and ways of interacting with people, I picked up a book on West African folk tales. I heard The Tortoise and the Hare growing up, what have other children heard? I picked up a book about the Apache people in North America—a photojournalist (respectfully and beautifully) entering into their sacred ceremony as young Apache women enter womanhood. I’m learning a lot not only from the Apache people, but from the photojournalist who affirms the dignity in the people and will not exploit through photography. I picked up a book on Native American Wisdom, and found myself confronted with critiques on “the white man.” I wept with anger at the near genocide of many tribes of people done at the hands of my Euro-American ancestors. How can one move forward? (And by one I mean “I” and “we” and all in-between.)

Going to the library in Akron was a statement of my commitment to life-long learning and growth.

I am committed to listening to and being challenged/taught by marginalized voices.

I am committed to encouraging others on towards doing the same.

I am committed to doing so with the knowledge that by listening to others and considering different perspectives, it changes me (and us).

I see listening as a means to meet people in their own cultural contexts. When I meet someone where they’re at, I see that what I once thought was anger is actually hurt manifested as anger, what I once thought was control is actually fear manifested as control. Humanizing “the other” and learning from them (whoever “the other” is), I believe is one of the greatest tools towards conflict transformation, reconciliation, mutual respect, and peace.

I am committed to living into the loving act of active listening among people groups for the rest of my life. 

Let my life be the proof.

What are you reading? Who are you listening to? Who is challenging you? What statement are you making?

Let’s talk about it!

Prayer 11/16

Jesus, as you allow me to see,
Please protect me in the seeing.
Please protect me in the understanding.
Please hold me in the revelation.
I depend on you to be the strength of my bones.

Jesus, as you guide me in interactions with others,
Let your words be mine.
Let me speak when you would speak, and remain silent when you would
remain silent.
Let love and reconciliation be the end, and grace the means.

Thank you, Jesus, for Your Sovereignty above all.
Thank you for your faithfulness in the day to day.
Thank you for your revelations trusted to my soul.
Thank you for liberating me from bondage.

Help us to abide in You as Truth.
(We thirst.)

Brother

I cannot unsee his face
and the way he gulped his purchased coffee like it was water after the drought,
his eyes bulging and back hunched.
In the midst of this hostile individuality of this “we're put
together” coffee shop,
His vulnerability water to my soul
I don't know your story, brother,
But I pray that this day finds you well.
I pray blessings on your life, and that no matter where you go that you
would know your value.
I pray that you would be seen.
I pray that you would rest in your belovedness gifted by Our Creator.
I pray that you would find rest.
I pray that your bones would be strong to sustain you daily.
I pray that gifts given would be empowering to you.
I pray peace on your life.
I pray for freedom for your soul.
Brother, be well.

In-Between (Art Doesn't Need a Reason)

Maybe if you caress my soul with your words it'll be alright.
It'll be alright.
Maybe if we say all will be well it be alright
It'll be alright.
It'll be alright.
I don't know what the moon holds but I know that your smile holds stars in align
In time.
In time.

Tell me there's a dance in tune with this song.
Tell me that this dirt is made for romance.
Tell me that all will be well
In time.
In time.

(A samba is a sad excuse for a love song
And your hands still breathe into mine
Day after day.)

What are we clinging to?
One another, for fear that we will fall and burn
Into the sun
(In time.
In time.)

Neighborhood Day Gifts

This past weekend has been difficult for our team, as we said good-bye to one of our teammates. After Saturday morning's sad and grief-filled good-bye, I entered Neighborhood Day (a weekly day we spend in the neighborhood, simply living life and hanging out), with a somber attitude. Maybe it was this somber attitude that made the following moments so delightful and full of beauty for me. I cannot say for certain, but yesterday was full of giggling whimsy in the most beautiful of ways. I want so share these moments of Neighborhood Day with you, as they were gifts to me. 

Gifts from Neighborhood Day:

*Winning the yellow ball from the claw machine at the laundromat

The yellow ball was calling my name. It made no logical sense to pawn off 50 cents for a possibility of winning this yellow ball, but I chose to do it. AND THEN THE CLAW GRABBED THE BALL AND IT BOUNCED ENOUGH THAT I WON IT!! My teammates and I played a game of volleyball in the laundromat and finished washing and drying our clothes.

*Getting coffee from the corner store, and getting one for free

Erin (my teammate) and I went to Jaquez Grocery at the corner of Reedland, and we each got a coffee. Erin talked to the store owner in Spanish (impressive)  about him working there and the store and life in general. When our coffee was done, they found out that they only had one lid that fit, so the clerk gave us one coffee for free (so kind and unexpected)! We sat on the porch, sipping our coffee and talking to the neighbor kids (I got to talk about the Civil War with a boy, which was a beautiful moment in its own sense.) 

*Playing volleyball (or something like volleyball) across the backyard fence with the yellow ball from the laundromat

Tonya (my teammate) came out front and said that the neighbor kids were in the backyard and wanting to play. Curious, I went back there (our backyard is small and is a fenced in patio--how were we to play?) I walk our there and sure enough there are two smiling faces, giggling. "Hi," I spoke, tentatively, "My name is Amber." We made introductions and then I looked at the yellow ball in my hand and said, "I won a yellow ball at the laundromat, do you wanna play?" I couldn't see them due to the tall wooden fence, but I heard their giggles (and they heard mine) as we tossed the ball back and forth over the tall fence that separated our patio yards. It was a whimsical time in the most beautiful of ways. Giggles, laughter, mystery--the gifts of kids.

*Walking through the neighborhood with my teammate Brandon

Walking and just existing in our new home is a gift. We explored corner stores, said hi to clerks, saw a neighbor from our block (which is so cool to be seeing familiar faces!) We found a bridge that goes over the SEPTA railroad, a row house with gorgeous plants, dried black beans and jazz music. It was delightful.  

*As Craig and Joe (my teammates) we cooking food for community dinner, I went on the back porch/enclosed patio to scrap gum off of my shoe. WHAT A GIFT to hear the four kids next door (two being the ones I played volleyball with), belting out "Let it Go" all together, smiles lighting up their faces. I sat on the stoop and just giggled, receiving the gift we were giving. After "Let it Go" it was another Frozen song, and then another, and then another. AND THEN they went on repeat and went back to "Let it Go." Suddenly, a window flew open from the row house directly in my eyesight, and a young teenager joined in on "Let it Go." A few of my teammates came out to the backyard and started belting the song out as well, making it ten practical strangers who were unified by "THE PAST IS IN THE PAAAASSSTTT...LET IT GO!!!" Mmmmmm...GIFT!  

*Community dinner

It was such a gift to have people over for dinner and hear about the history of a block party on Reedland St. (YES PLEASE!!) There was so much laughter over dinner, as we talked about food we had had and food we hadn't had and bonded over sloppy joes and roasted vegetables. After we were finished eating, four more people from our block came in. It was this young boy's birthday, (I'll call him Tony), so we all sang happy birthday to him (he turned 6!) Ten minutes later, as these four were leaving, the young boy said he wanted us to come sing for him at his house. We walked a few doors down to his house...(and I thought we were just singing Happy Birthday, but the surprise was that this little boy was going to gift us!)

*Tony's birthday party

8:30pm Saturday night, my team walks into Tony's house to sing to him and are greeted by the sounds of Sanford and Sons, and the welcoming greetings of at least 10 people (many of which we knew). There were hugs, introductions, and joy all around. Eventually, the cake was lit with a single candle that declared "6," and we (his family and my team) sang:

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Tony,

Happy birthday to you.

How old are you? 

How old are you?

How old are you?

How old are you?

May God bless you.

May God bless you.

May God bless you.

May God bless you

We clapped and the cake was cut and given to all of us (BY TONY) who were there. Tony kept coming up and smiling at everyone, soaking it all in. When time came for ice cream, he gave the Butter Pecan filled cups to us, smiling in my eyes (and with his front teeth missing) as he extended his little hands towards me. "Thank you, Tony," I said, smiling, feeling entirely gifted by this young boy who's special day it was and yet he was sharing that joy with others. As my team began to leave, he kept reminding us that "You know you can stay, right?! You don't have to leave!" The welcome. The beautiful welcome. The hugs, the laughter--family and celebration. To have been a part of this young boy's celebration with his family was such an unexpected gift and surprise. My heart was full. 

*Intimate worship with all lights down and souls open to the One who leads me to sing

After a day full of moments like the ones above, we ended the night in complete worship. It was so spontaneous, and so beautiful and rich. God is sovereign, and is in the midst of all--sorrow and joy and everything in-between. Amen.

Talking with William Penn

As I've been reading about the formation of Philadelphia, I am becoming more and more fascinated by William Penn. What I know of him thus far is just two simple paragraphs in my two travel books from the library, but the subtext tells a story that I am so intrigued to know more about.


What I do know, from reading, is that Philadelphia was given by the King of England to William Penn through a charter (I'm unsure what that means). One of William Penn's first initiatives as a Quaker who lived by non-violence, was to reach out to the Delawares (the Native tribe in the area) and reach an agreement. I read in another book that the tribe leaders sold the land to Penn; both parties were pacifists. Treaties with the Native Americans were formed, and there were enduring friendships. This is so so radical to me. There was communication between these two radically different cultures.


I find myself wanting to sit down with William Penn and ask him about this experience. Heck, I even want to sit down with the Delaware tribe and ask them about this experience.


Delawares, William Penn, how did you do it? How were you able to communicate and work out conflict towards peace in the midst of such large cultural differences? How did you trust one another? What was your respect for one another based upon? Did you have respect for one another or was it your commitment to peace what was able to help you communicate? When did this peace break down? Was that difficult? How did you navigate that conflict, Delawares? And William Penn, why did you move back to England?


In essence, what I find myself asking is this: How were these two people groups able to respectfully communicate with one another in pursuit of a larger goal--peace? (And what IS peace?)

Service Site: Philadelphia

"As a Mission Year team member, you will spend four days a week volunteering with a local community organization. Your aim is to serve the organization where you’re working, encourage your co-workers, and serve the people there to the best of their ability. Mission Year has partner organizations in the neighborhoods that have invited us to join their mission. Community leaders guide team members as they recognize issues of justice that affect their neighbors and learn creative solutions from seasoned experts." www.missionyear.org

*  *  *

Today, I found out my local community organization. I will be serving at the People's Emergency Center in West Philadelphia. According to their website:

"The People’s Emergency Center’s mission is to nurture families, strengthen neighborhoods and drive change in West Philadelphia. Through a community of more than 240 housing units and five educational centers offering job training, parenting and early childhood education, financial education and planning, lifeskills and technology coursework, PEC seeks to change the life trajectory for the women and children who seek its services and inspire them to aspire to new heights. PEC community development programs respond to community needs and build on neighborhood assets to help bridge the digital divide, expand mixed-income housing opportunities, stimulate economic growth, create wealth, and improve the quality of life for all West Philadelphia residents."

Where I will be specifically is in the PEC's Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology. I will be assisting in various classes and programs, and doing some administrative work for the DI department. 

Of the many unknowns going into Mission Year, not knowing my service site has been of little concern to me (mainly because I realized I had no control over that matter). I'm eager to step into the rhythms of PEC, and my hope is that my presence is encouraging to them organizationally and individually. I am excited, though, and a little surprised, at this placement. Of all the volunteer ideas I had crafted, working with people and technology was not one of them at all.

What is interesting to me is how my middle class worldview is so intertwined with my surprise. When I read the email that stated that "the Digital Inclusion department works to help bridge the digital divide that is become so apparent in regards to socio-economic class within the city," I found myself not understanding. 

What is the issue that this department is working towards developing? What is the digital divide? How does/did technology affect the opportunities I have? How does/did knowing how to use technology affect the opportunities I have? How does/did knowing people who know how to use technology (and have technology) affect the opportunities I have? Is technology really that important?

It's fascinating to me that I can't even dive into these questions because I don't understand the issue. I'm eager to walk into this department full time, and listen to why this digital divide exists and why it's an issue to the community I'll be living in. I'm eager to step into whatever role they place me in, and I'm eager to learn more about their hopes and expectations for me as a small part of their organization for a season.

If you'd like to read more about the Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology and the programs that they offer, you can click here!

 

Untitled (and Uncomfortable)

Fifteen minutes after I read the email that shared with me my official service site for the year in Philadelphia, I stood up from my computer and began to giggle. I quickly walked to the living room to share the news with my Dad.

“Dad! I found out my service site for Mission Year. I’m going to be working at the People’s Emergency Center in their Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology.”

By the time I reached the word “Technology” the giggles within me bubbled into full out laughter.

I proceeded to tell Dad how I’m going to be assisting in the classes given by the CDIT and will also be doing some administrative work. Throughout all of this—giggles.

Sometimes the only reaction I have is laughter. Sheer, doubled over laughter.

“I FEEL SO UNCOMFORTABLE.” I screeched to my Dad as I doubled over laughing.

*  *  *

I’ve been reflecting on some words written in an email from my City Director “By doing Mission Year you have (whether you realize this or not) given up this idea of control—you've put following Jesus before everything else...before all of the details, before all of the attachments, before all of your desires. You've made Jesus your desire. Trust that and lean into that in these last few weeks of preparation.”

I read these words and looked up from my computer, “OH. That…well…that explains a lot, actually.”

This summer has felt like an intense wrestling match with God, where I’ve been holding a fistful of balloons that were never actually my responsibility to hold in the first place. The whole summer has been snipping these balloons painfully and individually, letting them free and opening myself to trust the One who walks with me through it all and is committed to me.

Trust isn’t comfortable for me at all. I would rather have control of situations and know exactly how to react to someone and how they’re going to react to me. I would rather know exactly how to assist someone in a computer class than go in knowing I’ll make mistakes. I would rather be super culturally competent so that when I live in a multi-cultural environment I will be able to navigate social situations perfectly and not hurt anyone. I would rather know exactly how to follow Jesus and live for Him rather than trust Him and live through Him.

Just reading that last paragraph exhausts me. I can’t live that way. I never could and I never will.

My whole live I’ve striven to live perfectly, but from now on out I’m choosing to live honestly.

I’m uncomfortable for a lot of the dynamics that Mission Year is presenting me, and they’re not even my realities yet. I’m uncomfortable at the thought of having people know my imperfections and insecurities and hurts, but I’m excited that together we can encourage and challenge one another and work through conflict that will inevitably happen. I’m uncomfortable that being in a multicultural and multi-socioeconomic environment will bring my biases to a stark forefront, but I’m excited to listen to stories and empathize. 

I’m uncomfortable. So so beautifully and mysteriously uncomfortable.

(But I’m still choosing to release my anxieties and recklessly move towards You, even in this.)

 

I’m walking day by day with you and trusting what You say is true.

Your sovereignty transcends my anxiety; You are the Truth.

I’m thirsty for You, God, thirsty for You.

So I’m walking day by day with You and trusting what You say is true.

On Receiving

I have been giggling with Jesus a lot lately. I anticipate that soon it will be a full-out guffaw. 

Support raising the last seven months (raising my living expenses for Mission Year) has unveiled a paradox that I live my life by: I have a deep desire to give gifts to others and see them receive it with flourish, but am unable to receive the gifts given to me. 

Like when Jesus and I talk—the Mighty King of the Universe, the One who was and is and is to come—He says, “I’m committed to you” and my reply is “I don’t deserve that.”

And as I look at my fundraising page and see that more people—family, friends, churches—have committed to support me for Mission Year all I think is “I don’t deserve that.”

Or when I’m given sweet words from friends, or when I recognize that people believe in me, or this or that, my response is “I don’t deserve that.”

My rationale? I didn’t earn that gift, therefore I don’t deserve it. This line of thinking is nothing new in my life, but it is one that this summer I have chosen to dive into to find the spiritual root as I don't believe this thinking in my head, but I still find it sneakily residing in my heart.

*  *  *

Recently, I realized that gifts are given in freedom. The gifts I am given—financial support, care from friends, and love from Jesus, are given in the freedom of the giver. 

I never have earned gifts nor will I ever earn gifts because that denies the basic premise of a gift—it is something given out of an overflow from the giver. And the giver’s reasoning for giving is theirs; it is not my responsibility to put a reasoning upon them and deem myself as not worthy "so you, giver, should have never gave to me.”

My responsibility is simply to receive the gift, or deny it. This is when I realized that my problem with gifts had nothing to do with the giver, it had everything to do with me and my inability to receive.

Jesus says “I am committed to you for life, Amber.” I reply, “I don’t deserve that.” His reply: “Your inability to receive does not make the gift of my commitment any less there and true."

My jaw drops as I realize the harm that not receiving gifts has played in my life—the unmerited favor in my life from Jesus, and from others. I’m robbing my friends and family the full joy of giving by not receiving, and I’m indirectly calling Jesus a liar by saying that I’m not worth His time and commitment.

And then I giggle in a way that humbly says “I’m sorry, and I was wrong.”

“Come all who are weary and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28) Receive, Amber. “Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.” (Rev. 22:17). Receive, Amber. Jesus in and of Himself is an invitation to accept and receive. 

Jesus didn’t ask if I deserved grace, He just invited me to receive His grace.

A gift.

*  *  * 

Living in a lifestyle of receiving is new for me. I’m giggling a lot—when you’re used to reacting to gifts by shutting them out and thinking you have to earn them, the simple action of receiving seems incredibly too simplistic. 

Grace in and of itself is too good. But it is true.

Once again I find myself stuck in-between my own insecurity and the security of the King. 

I will choose to rest in the upside down, radical Truth of the latter.

And I will giggle as I look at my fundraising page and see that people have generously given. I will giggle as the gift of honestly leads to grace in a dear friendship. I will giggle as people intentionally reach out to me and spend time with me just because. I will giggle at the words of edification and encouragement that are love notes with little crinkled edges.

Because what else can I do but giggle and receive?

Help me, Jesus.

If you would like to give a gift towards my living expenses for Mission Year, you can do so by clicking here! 

The Golf Shack

I was sitting in the middle of a storm, but I was completely dry. It was so incredible (and poetic) so I took this picture to remember.

On the outside I’m simply lining up golf clubs, separating the golf balls by color, selling Gem buckets, renting out bikes, and sifting sand out of the waterfall. I am simply manning the Golf Shack at my summer job, doing exactly as I have been instructed.

But on the inside, this job is like therapy on the deepest level. Large blocks of time where I have repetitive tasks to complete and where my mind can reign free simultaneously. Every second is a choice and an attitude chosen. Every circumstance—whether it be a customer coming to rent out a bike or simply to talk—warrants a response and a heart posture that I choose. Every second is a step towards understanding and practicing where I end and what I’m responsible for, and where others begin and what they’re responsible for. This job is empowering.

Structured thinking time is such a sweet gift to me in helping to prepare for Mission Year and detoxing from busy educational culture I was immersed in. It’s such a strange shift—from a lifestyle of doing to one that is being. From thinking that I would one day learn it all to realizing that growth and learning are life-long processes. From acting out of fear to acting out of love. These shifts are monumental in my soul, and the spiritual growth hurts and is confusing and hard to navigate within the bigger picture.

I find myself whispering to myself this phrase frequently in the Golf Shack: “Livin’ that monastic life.” I can’t help but feel as if that’s what this place is for me. It’s a place to commune and talk with God. It’s a place to work out what He has been teaching me this summer in an environment that is completely new and around people I have never met. It’s a place where I can whisper to Him as I’m cleaning out the Gem panning waterfall, the sand exfoliating my hands (and He my soul)—Cleanse me, Father. Prepare me. The movements are rhythmic and simple, and they bring peace.

Help me to receive your great gifts, Father. Help me to let go and to receive your great gifts.

I trust You. (Or am I just saying that?)

A sweet picture of the bikes and the concession stand where I scoop ice cream :)

  My online fundraising page for Mission Year

https://missionyear.thankyou4caring.org/ambercullen