The Ache

Stumbling through the winter woods at dusk
Is the perfect grounds for a spiritual meeting.
Dusk is the in-between of day and night and this weather--
The constant shifting of lukewarm to cold to lukewarm again.
And so I find myself here, too, always shifting--
Oscillating between celebration and lament and despair and hope and 
All states in-between as I feel
The vastness of the world around me and my own experience. 

And I open myself to truly feel what I have been suppressing and 
Hiding away in little compartments within me that allow me to convince myself that
Everything is going super well and I am doing super well and everything is super well
When in actuality I feel an aching so intense it is steeped into my bones and pores and 
I don't know how to get it out. 

An ache.

An ache to be intimately seen. To be intimately known. To be intimately understood.

Is this the ache of loneliness? Or is this just an ache that's reflective of all of humanity? An ache that's reflective of a creation groaning, awaiting that which will satisfy the deepest longings. An ache that awaits the Messiah's return where all of creation will be rejoined in intimate communion with the Creator. 

I am a creation groaning. 

I am a creation groaning.

My breath a fragile prayer as I walk the crisp path--
Stumbling, searching, aching.
Aching.
Aching.
And I cry out "My God!" because it's all I know how to do 
When the ache is all too much and I find myself 
Nearing the end
Or at the end
It's all the same when you're there
In a state of embodied desperation
Ache.

It's sound tickled my ears before I could see it, and
My head jolted up from the path, trying to locate the sound.
Something about this sound was touching the deep ache--
The ache of loneliness, of not feeling known.
It was a steady stream of soprano, and I yearned to see it.

I know not why you speak to me in the water, only that you do.
And this time was no different as I stared at the small trickle of water
And my heart breaks and I begin to weep and sob 
Because in the trickle I know that  
You see me and that you know me and that you understand me
And that you know the cadence of my heartbeat
More intimately than anyone
And always will.

A sweet phrase through the tears said aloud, "You're my friend."
A phrase so simple and yet so profound.
A knowing that you care.
That you see.
That you know.

*  *  *

I am a creation groaning,
But you always give manna to sustain.

Kaleidoscope

What is life if not an unfolding?
A kaleidoscope that molds and shifts in its turning
Seasons in an ebb and flow
The great and slow unfolding. 

*  *  *

You ask me what I want and I say healing.

Recognize pain in yourself, and step towards the healing.

In our naked souls lies the possibility of restoration or destruction.

Trust is the lynchpin that holds the possibility in tandem.

*  *  *

I crafted a song for us. For the ten girls in front of me sitting cross legged on my living room carpet.

For myself.

"You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You are radiant like the stars."

I sing to them intently as I strum the guitar, each word a prayer that they would always know their intrinsic value and the stamp of God on each of them.  A prayer of intercession that anything or anyone that would lead them to believe that their value comes outside of themselves would be eliminated.

Together we sing.

"I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am radiant like the stars."

I see their faces shy, each maybe claiming their beauty for the first time. We grow up in a world where the beauty of a woman and girl is a value perceived to be given rather than claimed.

"We are beautiful. We are beautiful. We are radiant like the stars."

In singing we remind one another of this--of our beauty. We stand strong and firm together, walking boldly into tomorrow.

I do not know what the girls see as they look at me, but I know that in singing I sing not only to them, but to me. 

I sing to my healing process 13 years in the making, since I first began to question "Am I beautiful?"

(I was really asking, "Am I valuable?")


*  *  *

I sit across from the sisters in the convent, slowly eating my bowl of soup
These in-between spaces are fascinating to me
Psych wards, convents--it's all the same
I am but dust and to dust I will return
There is beauty in the cycles of life
Healing comes in the awakening
Prayer the recentering, the recalibrating
The space where you whisper "I AM WHO I AM."
And in response I fall back in a sweet surrender of awe.

Abba.
Sweet love. 
Thank you.

Sometimes

Sometimes
I feel like the women in the early church
Asking questions with repetition
Not out of a desire to interrupt the flow of the gathering
But because they wanted to learn
About this Rabbi
About this Teacher
About this Good News

And I feel often that in spaces I am
Asking questions with repetition
Not out of a desire to interrupt the flow of the gathering
But because I want to learn
About this Rabbi
About this Teacher
About this Good News
About this Truth which sets the oppressed free
About this Truth which heals

And I want to learn
And I want to grow
And I hunger and thirst from the depths of my being
To know this Truth in the most intimate of ways
To know this Truth as the fire in my bones
To know this Truth as a lover knows lover

And for years I have had the questions in my bones
But believed that the questions were not mine for the asking
And so I supressed them and chose silence
Because silence was comfortable
But now the questions are boiling out of my bones
And I cannot be silent any longer

And my questions are a worship
And my unabashed laughter a love song
To my Rabbi who looked up from washing my feet into my teary eyes
As I finally understood that this Teacher would wash my feet, too
That I was a disciple, too
That I had gifts to offer to the Church, too
And as I looked into this Teacher's healing eyes
I asked for the washing of not only my feet but my hands and my face and my breasts
And I wept because for the first time I knew that I was free
And I wept because for the first time I knew that I was free
And I wept because for the first time I knew that I was free
Because for the first time I knew that this Teacher chose
Not only men but Me
 
I am the women in the early church
Asking questions with repetition
Not out of a desire to interrupt the flow of the gathering
But because they wanted to learn
About this Rabbi
About this Teacher
About this Good News
As they responded to this "Come, follow me."

The Late Night Gift of the Mediterranean Market

I feel compelled to share this story. 

This evening I opened up space to go with the flow and simply be with God in whatever way that manifested itself. I found myself aimlessly driving through Cuyahoga Valley National Park, the hills and vast expanses of sky serenading and recalibrating my spirit. 

As I began meandering back to Akron, I was open to whatever was to be. I felt that there was a sweet gift I was to receive, and I opened my eyes to look around me anticipating that when I saw it, I would know. Much time passed, but soon I saw it and knew it was the gift. I pulled into the parking lot and laughed boisterously in delight, so excited for the continuation of this sweet time with God. 

I was in the parking lot of a Mediterranean grocery store in the Falls. Arabic lined the windows in big bold script, and an OPEN sign flashed next to the door. I found myself laughing in delight once again--this was such a gift. I have a deep deep value for culture, and value being intentional in surrounding myself not with my culture of origin. I value spaces like these, these little cultural enclave grocery stores, markets, and restaurants. I value these spaces because I want Akron to be a safe space for all. I value these spaces because I want Akron to be a space of flourishing and celebration of all. I value these spaces because my life is enriched by them as I enter in a posture of humility and learning--I learn much about the world and myself from entering these spaces and relationships. 

God knows this about me, and speaks to me in cross-cultural situations, spaces, places, and relationships. It made sense that the way we would end the evening would be here. 

I walked up to the mart in the plaza, and opened the door, my aura peaceful and rested. I am always cautious when I am entering spaces where I am not familiar with the culture. I want to communicate respect, honor, and celebration in these sacred spaces. I began walking through the aisles, looking at the spices--cardamom being the only one I can remember. Soon I was looking at olives, cans of hummus, the Arabic script rich and bold and beautiful. I wondered about Arabic, and if that was a language or a language group, and where Farsi fit into that. I thought of my friend Phoebe who taught me much about the Middle East, and who was the first to introduce me to Mediterranean cuisine. I thought about how much she would love this space. 

I share this entire story to share about one moment. I was rounding the corner from the coffee and teas when I looked up and suddenly she was looking right into my eyes and I into hers. I felt bashful at the moment, like she saw right through me and knew that I didn't really know a lot about what was around me. What struck me, though, was how she was looking at me. Usually when I'm in these spaces I get questioning looks, whether I'm in the Asian market, the Mexican grocery store, the Korean restaurant, or the hole in the wall Asia mart on Brown St. I expect the questioning looks--people want to know why I'm there. This look was different, though. She was looking at me incredibly caught off guard, a deer in headlight look.

I broke into a smile and a small giggle at her, fascinated by her. All at once I saw the tension leave her shoulders in a sigh and she smiled bashfully back at me. 

"Hi," we both said, smiling. We walked by one another and the moment was over, but I found myself being bothered by our initial meeting. I rounded the corner and we were once again in the same aisle. I didn't understand why, but I felt the need to connect with her on a commonality. I felt the need to communicate to her that I wasn't afraid of her, but instead found her to be radiant. A car alarm went off outside and I shyly said "Oops...car alarms." She looked at me and smiled as the alarm suddenly stopped and said, "They got the door."

It was a simple interaction, but I felt at peace about it and saw that she saw in my intentionality to connect. Soon I was alone in the aisle and she was at the counter, talking and laughing with the employees in a beautiful mixture of what I assumed was Arabic and snippets of English. I marveled at the sounds that were newer to my ears, and found myself aching for this woman I just met. 

Why did I feel the need to communicate to her that I wasn't afraid of her? I recognized that I was responding to that initial deer in headlight look from her where it became clear that she was waiting on me to respond to her presence. All at once I became aware of the situation on a social level. I, a white woman, may have felt fearful of her presence as a Muslim woman. The hijab, a part of religious devotion, may have been interpreted by me through a lens of fear. I never once felt afraid of this woman, but I saw her brace herself for me to essentially reject her presence in fear and hate. 

I don't keep up much with current events, but I know there has been sheer hate and irrational fear directed towards Muslims, and I know that Islamophobia is a real evil (here's what it looks like in action). I know it is evil, because I saw it's ramifications in the eyes of my new friend as she set her eyes on me, a white person. I saw her shut down to cope. I wonder about the interactions she has to work through on a day to day basis in Akron. I have nothing but assumptions but I wonder if she deals with stares and fear from strangers on a daily basis. I think about how draining that would be to have to be on guard everywhere you go, to feel threatened and afraid. I finish up my time in the Mediterranean food mart, laughing with the store clerks and learning more about the store. Between the clerks and the others in the store, there is a deep sense of family and community and safety. They are sweet to me. I am grateful.

I hear us as a nation saying we're the land of the free, but I hardly believe that we are the land of the free. If all in this nation were truly free to be their full and true selves, our nation would look entirely different. It would look different in that my Muslim sister would never have felt that she was threatened by my presence because to her I look like fear and hate (because maybe people who look like me interact with her in fear and hate). It would look different in that the statement #blacklivesmatter would never need to be proclaimed, because it's a truth that we embody as a nation interpersonally, collectively, and communally. It would look different in that each and every individual would know that this nation not only is a cultural safe space, but a space of cultural flourishing--a space where the image of God is acknowledged in everyone's personhood. I yearn for that in our nation. I yearn for us to indeed be the land of the free and flourishing because I believe that is how Jesus would lead a kingdom or nation.

Although I don't see how the United States is home of the free, I must admit that God has invited me to see through time and teachings--through the stories of and relationships with people of color, immigrants, refugees, Muslims--that this is indeed the home of the brave. 


Edit: As I read over this post, I'm concerned I became too wordy and in that process am not communicating what I felt compelled to share in the first place which is that this evening I saw first hand Islamophobia's psychological effects on real people. Islamophobia is not love, and it's evil is harming an entire population of people. If you're reading this and you know you experience fear (or even hate) in the presence of Muslims (or anyone that you perceive in that "other" category), why do you feel/think that is? What do you believe love looks like in the face of fear/hate? If you desire to be a person of love, how can you step towards this? How can we humanize, not demonize?