The Glory of Simple

“Do few things, but do them well. Simple joys are Holy.”
-St Francis of Assisi

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I’m beginning to see the glory of simple. The beauty of small gestures and whispered encouragement. The behind-the-scenes instead of center stage. To love without a microphone, to love without recognition. To do the simple acts of each season without looking to the next.

I become too emerged in the spotlight. I look over to see if I am being noticed, if I can become seen. I glance across to the girl who has an adoring audience and I become angry and jealous. I want applause and compliments, and published works. I want more than I have, more than I am called to right now.

Do trees or vines or plants produce fruit every season? No. There is a time for production, a time for harvest, and a time for rest. I will not always be producing the amount of fruit I believe I need to be.

What will happen if I begin to listen to the Lord and say,
“What you have given is enough?” What If I can believe in daily bread instead of planning to stock my food pantry for month?

This season I am in is about being faithful in the simple things he is asking of me right now. He is asking me to write what I see and am inspired by and not worry about who will or will not read it. He is asking me to continue showing hospitality to anyone who enters my home and to love my husband. Nothing more, nothing less. However, my over achieving tendencies continue to burst into overdrive.
“God, I can do more. I can always do more! See me?”

I need to learn how to rest in simple acts of holiness, embrace the season of behind-the-scenes love, obey what I have been given, and love God through these things instead of striving to achieve recognition.

I continue to feel the Lord say, “Look at me. Just at me. Don’t look anywhere else.” This is what I imagine Jesus saying to Peter as he began to walk on water in Matthew. He begins by looking only at Jesus, but as soon as he looks away he falls. Every time I look away from Jesus, I start to see the people around me and compare what they are doing to what I am doing. That is when I fall. Although I fall, He always picks me up.
“Oh you of little faith! Don’t you trust the love I have for you?”

When I look away I feel the overwhelming tidal wave of earning, striving and making my own way, but when I look at him, oh when I look at him, I remember. I remember who He is. I remember his voice, the way he takes care of me, and the way he calls me worthy, important, enough.

Simple joys are holy. I want to embrace the simple and embrace the holy. To do only what he is asking of me right now in this season, and not worry about what’s coming or what was. I want to find joy in the life of daily bread desiring to be full on this day alone.

No more striving, comparing or coveting someone else’s season. This season is mine, I am His and nothing can replace the things he is giving me right now.

Theological thoughts on Thanksgiving from a Native perspective.

*I have asked one of my very best friends to write something in regards to Thanksgiving for my blog. This space is for open minds and open hands and I hope this blog is received in that way. Emily is an incredible woman who has shaped my faith in tremendous ways. Please take the time to read the words written by her below.*

“The first Thanksgiving Day did occur in the year 1637, but it was nothing like our Thanksgiving today. On that day the Massachusetts Colony Governor, John Winthrop, proclaimed such a “Thanksgiving” to celebrate the safe return of a band of heavily armed hunters, all colonial volunteers. They had just returned from their journey to what is now Mystic, Connecticut where they massacred 700 Pequot Indians. Seven hundred Indians – men, women and children – all murdered…This day is still remembered today, 373 years later. No, it’s been long forgotten by white people, by European Christians…A group calling themselves the United American Indians of New England meet each year at Plymouth Rock on Cole’s Hill for what they say is a Day of Mourning. They gather at the feet of a statue of Chief Massasoit of the Wampanoag to remember the long gone Pequot…
They do not call it Thanksgiving.
There is no football game afterward.”   
– The Huffington Post, 2011

(It should be noted that these colonial volunteers were actually puritans, not pilgrims, and the reason they set out in the early morning of May 26th was not to seek amiable relations among Native peoples; it was for the forced conversion to Christianity, as they knew it. It should also be noted that these seven hundred *Native Americans* laid down their defenses, and accepted. Their greeting into this new religion was massacare. This day also happened to be on the Pequot’s Green Corn Festival, in other words, their Day of Thanksgiving.)

How do I, a woman of Chippewa descent, interact with a holiday that has wrongly been painted as the end of our war with the White Man? How do I in unexplained terms share the history briefly with the person who asks: How do you feel about this? Moreover, how do I incorporate my living, breathing faith in Jesus into a nationally recognized day that really was only the beginning of harassment, abuse and mistreatment of my people? May you grant me the space and vulnerability to explain.

Firstly, let’s discuss what Thanksgiving is not. Thanksgiving is not the celebration of two heritages coming together. Though there were eager interactions at one point, the majority of Native Americans lived alongside re-settled Europeans for the sake of better protecting their land and keeping further inquiries about it at bay. The truth is – there were feasts together, where no one died and conversation was light. However, intent is almost always more important than action and it is clear, according to history and experience, the intent of Europeans settling on the shores of the United States from the time period of 1492-1900 was to take and colonize. The friendly relations, the regular trading, the invitation to dinner… They were all means to an end.
So, you have to understand when a person of Native descent hears ‘Thanksgiving’, they are really hearing: broken treaties, manipulated relationships, forgotten history and social exclusion (such as, marginalization). They were asked then forced to learn a language that was not their own, adapt to a dress they did not know and express spirituality in a way they did not understand, for the only purpose of colonists to feel comfortable and superior (in a place that was not theirs to begin with). These small yet significant acts of rape [to seize and take away by force] eventually led to boarding schools where children could not know the inheritance that was theirs to hand down. Colonization led to wars that could not be won and families moving across country simply because someone else wanted their land [see, Trail of Tears]. Now, the reality of all those things are buried under ‘Indian and Pilgrim’ dress-up days at elementary and your high school social studies class skipping over hundreds of years of history, to their convenience. To say the least, the day of Thanksgiving, for Native Peoples, is painful, deep and real.

Selah, to pause. Ok, keep reading.

Secondly, there is freedom to make this day worthy, notable and hopeful. While the above paragraphs are true, truer than most would admit, the presence of Creator in our story is true, too. Let me be the first to say, he was not pleased when these zhaagnaash (“white man”) tagged his name to their atrocities. He was not in their corner, cheering them on. Creator’s Son came and experienced ridicule, mockery and harassment; Jesus understands injustice. He gets being ripped from his culture of kingdom and being questioned by foreigners. He is not without compassion or sympathy when it comes to our losses; he is also not standing by idle.
The White Man’s god may push you around, disrespect your behaviors and leave you for dead. Jesus will not. The White Man’s god may solicit murders on behalf of innocent men, women and children. Jesus could not. The White Man’s god may make promises with the intent purpose of not keeping them. Jesus does not. Here is my point: Jesus is not the White Man’s god. Our greatest gift as believers of the Jesus way is the gift of the Great Spirit. And with the Great Spirit, there is hope. There is an assurance that we are not alone, that our voices do not go unheard and that redemption (the buying back of something previously sold) is possible.

Finally, there is a way forward. There is a way to acknowledge the truth of history and the reality of hope in Jesus. Here it is: We all live in tension. Every single human lives in a tension. Of joy and grief, or of loss and gain. Of expectancy and disappointment, or of provision and of lack. And let me tell you something: It’s not surprising to God. He – Creator God, Everlasting Counselor, Prince of Peace, Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit – is not afraid to dwell there. In fact, often times, he makes his home right there in the middle of it. In the loss, Creator is bringing light. In pain, Creator is bringing perspective. In real anger over injustice, Creator creatively strategizes to bring unity, forgiveness and a better way. May we not miss him in the tensions. May we not overlook, or ignore the uncomfortable and hard. It is there, in those places, we will confess, and we will grow.  

This Thanksgiving, take time to consider what you’re celebrating + why. Take time to praise a Chief who fights on your behalf and is making all things new.

emilyselfie
Emily is on a journey of expressing her ethnic identify in faith and is passionate about sharing her experience with any who would have an ear to listen. She loves living in Atlanta, Georgia where she lives among refugees and cares for babies. In her free time, she likes weekend trips to New York City and a good cup of tea. Any inquires, encouragements or questions you may have, feel free to contact her: emnaganashe@gmail.com or follow her on instagram @emnaganashe

I’m not afraid of being wrong

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My whole life I’ve fought being wrong, feeling wrong, and looking wrong. I have never wanted someone to find out that I was wrong because, then; who would I be? I’ve found something out: I’m wrong a lot of the time. I’m wrong probably more than I’m right. I’ve realized it’s okay.  It doesn’t make me a horrible person, it just makes me human.

I’m also in a place where I’m questioning things. I’m questioning belief systems I have because I want to know if they stand on their own.  Do I believe these things because that’s what the church has told me is true or because the word of God has spoken this into life? I’ve come to this point in my life because two things are happening; one, close friends have become atheists, and two, close friends have been severely hurt by the church. I want to know why these things are happening. I want to know why the people who claim to be daughters and sons of God–who is Love–have the least amount of love to give. I want to know why my friends who have questions are pushed away for being toxic or dangerous to the church. I want to know why a church would call someone toxic and have no reservations about it. I want to know why Christians are fighting the fact that racism is real in this country, or that gay and transgender people are people too. I want to know what belief systems are causing this.

Am I a Pharisee or am I a disciple? Am I missing the point? Have I moved too far into judgement and condemnation or am I choosing grace and truth? I am close to tears writing this because I don’t want to be so focused on the rules and on the way-it’s-always-been-done to the point where I’ve forgotten to look people in the eye. I don’t want to have an agenda or a project of people. I want to always choose to see people as people and not the means to an end.

I’ve been sharing multiple different articles on facebook, most of them about the injustice happening towards our black community– some about the gay community–and I know it’s making people uncomfortable. Here is where me being wrong comes in: I’m okay with the fact that I may be wrong about the things I’m sharing. I’m okay with that, but I think these things are worth honest conversations and lots of prayer. I think it’s worth talking about because people are hurting and suicidal. People are being pushed out of churches when they should be welcomed in. Church isn’t for the healthy, it’s for the sick. “On hearing this, Jesus said to them, ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.;” (Mark 2:17)

If I’m wrong, so be it! If I am, I know the Holy Spirit will soon correct me, but what if I’m right? What if it’s time for us as a community to stop clenching our fists and closing our eyes to this world? I think it’s time we stop talking for one second and just listen. I want to hear the stories of people who I’ve overlooked because they were too broken. I want to know how I’ve hurt them by my words so I can ask for forgiveness. Can we stop surrounding ourselves with people who think the same way we do so we can learn and grow and be challenged? Please, can we listen instead of rebuttal? I just want people to know Jesus, the real Jesus, not the one we’ve made in our image. If I’m wrong, that’s okay, but if I’m right, we need to help those we’ve hurt, because we’re hurting a lot of people.

I don’t have this life all figured out, no one does, but I think we’ve come too far into trying to defend ourselves.  We are worried about being wrong. When it comes to hurting people, being right or being wrong does nothing in the face of suffering. I’m going to be reflecting way more on my life and the ways I could be hurting people around me instead of helping them, I urge you to please join me in this. Lets listen more than we speak.

I had to talk about it.

Today is Thursday, December 4th, 2014 and I’m sitting in a Starbucks and I’m confused. I’m confused because unarmed people keep being killed. Then those unarmed people’s families have to mourn them and wonder why the trained police officer really had “no other choice”.
I’m confused because it’s 2014 and the issue of race is still an issue.
Trust me, I don’t know all the facts, and I was not there, but I do know that something is wrong here, something is very, very wrong, and it makes my stomach ache.

I am a very privileged white female who has had little problems in life. Just like I questioned why I was born in America while I was in Cambodia, watching small things become big things, I question now why I was born white. Why was I chosen to live a fortunate life when so many others around me were not?
Another issue right now is why it becomes about “me”. Why Mike Brown being shot 6 times and Eric Garner being chocked to death could possibly be about me? (There are plenty more cases I could name)
You know who it’s about, and what I have to come back to at all times to have hope in anything? Jesus. I have to have hope in what has been said. I have to hold onto the God that I know, The God who is just (Deuteronomy 32:4, Psalm 111:7) and the God who is love. (1 John 4:8)
I also have to come back to a place of trust with the Lord, that a lot of things DO NOT make sense because my mind is in a earthly place and He is higher than me. (Isaiah 55:8-9)
He also has told me not to take revenge, because revenge is His. (Deuteronomy 32:35, Romans 12:9)
What I can do is love the people around me. I can sign petitions that help our justice system become that, just.
I can trust my God and know that he loves his children way more than I do, and the anger I feel is not even a small amount of what he feels.
I think when things like this happen we forget that God is for us. God fights for us; he is our protector and our warrior. This world is fallen and we will not be perfect until heaven. Unjust things will continue to happen because the human race is sinful. Until we surrender our lives to God and open our eyes to our sinful nature we cannot be changed.
We can fight for change though; we can fight with the Lord to make things different. We must put on a heavenly lens when looking at these situations though, The Lord is seated and he knows. He knows our pain and he weeps with us. Jesus was tempted and tried in every way to be able to sympathize with us. (Hebrews 2:18, and Hebrews 4:15)
I trust my God, and I trust he will work all things for our good.
Until then, I will continue to pray for the families who have been wronged, and for the justice system to understand what their role actually is.

What do you think our role as Christians is in this issue? How can we carry our brothers’ burdens?