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

In the Psychiatrist's Office

(Important Disclaimer: I'm not a psychiatrist, and so if you're on medication or thinking about getting off anti-depressants, talk to your psychiatrist first. I literally have been talking about trying life without medication with her since October 2013. I know nothing about how this brain thing and chemicals and stuff work, and so journeying with my psychiatrist has been key.)
(Important Disclaimer 2: Yes, I was in the psych ward in Spring of 2012 for five days. You can read more about that here!)

*  *  *

I sat down in my psychiatrist’s office, a smile growing on my face. For almost the past year I had been persistent in bringing up to her that I wanted to wean myself off of medication slowly, “just to see.” Since October we had been reducing the dosages of the two medicines, and when the month of June rolled around, I stated that I wanted to try living day-to-day with no medication.

Besides the logistics of "I actually don't know how to get medication to Mission Year," I wanted to try living without medication because I believe that what led me to the psych ward and on medication were circumstances within my control (as in, things I could have done differently), and not related to my brain chemistry which is out of my control (as is the case with mental illness as a whole). Two and a half years ago during that downward spiral and mental breakdown, I didn’t have the tools I have today which help me in finding stability. Because I didn’t have the tools, medication was actually helpful in balancing my drastic mood swings and helping to stabilize me. I see that medication was good for me in that season of life. (Hindsight is 20/20, people.)

I also wanted to try living day-to-day without medication because there has been a lot of growth in my life in the last two years. By growth, I mean that I have learned more about how I operate, triggers that send me spiraling into deep depression, what to do when I’m incredibly anxious. These lessons have not been learned alone during this dark period in my life—in the past two and a half years I’ve gone to counseling (provided free through BGSU which is a GIFT!), I’ve met consistently with various mentors who have listened to me and challenged me, and I’ve been surrounded with a deep community of people of faith from all over Ohio who have helped me to understand my role in this Eternal Drama. Whereas before the psych ward I tended to journey alone (or felt as if I was a burden to journey with), now I’m trying to embrace “pack mentality”—the reality that we’re just all in this life thing together. I need to be surrounded by people who encourage me, challenge me, and call me out (and help me out) in my day-to-day, and I want to do the same for others!

(The irony of this is that it was in the psych ward that I was hit with the stark reality of this interdependence thing. How beautiful is that?!)

*  *  *

By no means is life any easier now than it was during the downward spiral that led me to the psych ward. In fact, in the past two months I spent two to three weeks in a really really dark place where I was pretty convinced that it was never going to get better. I was cynical about all of my “therapies”—art, playing music, writing, talking to people, running, hanging out with kids, etc. I didn’t really see how life was even worth living with all the terrible (a constant struggle for me...we truly treat one another horribly as human beings and it really gets to me), but the Lord has proven faithful and reminded me of what is True and that I can put my hope in Him. He has surrounded me with specific people and conversations and has journeyed with me once again through another tough transition.

As I sat across from my psychiatrist, I was able to relay in confidence that everything was still hard and difficult, but it was okay, and I wasn’t alone. I actually giggled as I said that. We talked for a few more minutes (and I unveiled the lie that I'm believing basically saying that I didn't know if I could live without meds because I don't trust that I won't go to the ward again), and then I asked the question that was burning in my mind:

“Should I make another appointment before I leave for Mission Year?”

“No, I think you’re good to go. You know where I am if you ever need me. Just go ahead and walk out without making another appointment!”

She got up to give me a hug and I screeched "THIS IS HUGE!" Even as I write this, I am tearing up at the depths of that moment when I left her office. I thought about the first time I sat across from her not to long ago in 2012. She had seen a young woman who didn’t know up from down or how she was even going to function in a world that she couldn’t be perfect in. The joy had been sapped from her—she was a shell of her former self. My heart aches for that young woman to know the depths with which she is cared for.

The psych ward is a part of my journey, and I will never deny the deep, despairing darkness that led to my admittance, and I will always continue to tell the story of the slow (and beautiful) journey towards Hope, renewal and restoration that has taken place and continually triumphs over the darkness in my life ever since.

Onward together, my friends. 

The Laughter Beneath the Rugs

I dip my toe in the space in the pavement where a crack has formed—a blistering, puffy wound in the asphalt. 

Whisper. Whisper.

Wind curls my hair gently, breathing wisps of life into the city of rubble.

I am alone, unsure of how I got here. But I am here.

Rocks crunch beneath my toes; I meander down the street, trying to gather my bearings.

All I see is rubble.

Whisper. Whisper.

This place was once cared for; it was once a place of peace and community.

I can tell—there are tools for tending, and laughter hiding in the corners and doorways, beneath the faucets and under the rugs. 

There was joy.

(I don’t know where I am going, only that I am going.)

I begin crawling over the mountains of rubble, slicing my palms on sharp edges of brick and glass that were once smooth.

I am disoriented, panic rising like boiling water within me.

I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m lost. 

Whisper. Whisper.

The panic boils over and out of my eyes, a soul weeping, clamoring over the rubble.

I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m lost.

Where do I go? How did I get here?

I’m empty. I rest my cheek on the jagged brick. Tears and tension leave me.

“I’m scared. I don’t know.”

Whisper. Whisper.

I finally pull myself up and continue moving over the city of rubble until I reach a precipice.

A noise startles me; I see you sitting still, alert, staring at me.

“Hi.” I speak tentatively.

“Hi,” you say.

Whisper. Whisper.

I slowly inch towards you. “What are you doing here?”

(Your look of insecurity mirrors my own.)

“I don’t know. But I am here.”

I stare at you. We are silent.

“Well…I don’t really know what I’m doing here or even where I’m going, but…we could walk together for a bit if you’d like.”

You stare at me. “I’d like that.”

I extend my hand; you grasp it, releasing a weary soul sigh—an ache for rest.

We turn towards the city of rubble, the one with laughter hiding beneath the rugs.

Whisper. Whisper.

All that’s lost will be restored.

 

 Photo Credit: http://www.courierpress.com/photos/2010/jul/30/65259/