Tearing Down Walls

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When I was two years old, my family moved to a new town in New Jersey. My parents opened up the Yellow Pages in search of a church to attend and decided on the Baptist church. I imagine they dressed me in my Sunday best, including patent-leather shoes and white tights or ankle socks, backed the car out of the driveway, and bravely made their way to the church with the white steeple.

When my parents found themselves at the back of the sanctuary, with the center aisle stretching out before them, they noticed something that gave them pause. Everyone in the church was white. The organist. The choir members. The ushers. The people in the pews on either side of the aisle. Not a brown face in sight. All white. Except for my father, my mother, and me.

Read the rest today at TheHighCalling.org.

Sunday

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I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back. (Philippians 3:12-14, MSG)

~~~

Welcome to The Sunday Community. Link up with a photo and just a few, brief words of inspiration. Not many words at all.

Then, extend a bit of hospitality to the others here. Take some time to visit with one another and share a bit of grace. Please grab the Sunday button from the link at the top of the page to post at your place, so others know where to find us.

(If things aren’t quite right this week, please forgive me. H and I are in Germany for a few more days. If the linky isn’t working, please come back next week. Thanks!)



Going There: The Pen Pal

The idea for “Going There” came about as a result of the 31 Days In My Brown Skin series I wrote in October, 2012. (You can read those posts here.) The series generated a lot of valuable dialogue, and when the thirty-one days were over, it felt as if the conversation wasn’t done. So, I invite you to share your story as it relates to issues of race, ethnicity, and culture in your every day life.

The goal of “Going There” is to encourage ongoing dialogue about topics of race, ethnicity, and culture in a way that is thoughtful and that shows respect, with the goal of advancing our understanding of the beautiful diversity in the humanity that surrounds us. Interested in sharing your story? Start here. Today’s post is written by Marilyn Yocum.

One day I had a pen pal, the next I didn’t.

I was 10 years old. So was she.
I lived in New Jersey. She was in South Carolina.

A monthly children’s magazine featured a column with names and addresses of willing pen pals. I was too shy to send in my name, but I studied the list each issue to see if there might be a good match for me.

I can almost still see the page with her information on it, the greenish background and there, 2/3′s the way down the column, the name of a girl whose age matched mine. South Carolina sounded pretty exotic to me!

I wrote to her and she wrote back, and that’s how we got started.

We wrote about our schools, our favorite subjects, our families and friends, the foods we loved, the books we enjoyed, television shows. We both hated our hair and wanted to do something different but we didn’t know what.

My birthday rolled around and I got a card all the way from South Carolina. She remembered! I was careful to remember hers, too.

How I loved seeing the envelopes arrive with her handwriting, all my siblings so curious! I took each one to my room, to read in private. I carefully addressed my responses to her before asking my mother for a stamp.

We were writing close to a year when things changed. I got a letter saying her family was moving from South Carolina to Newburgh, NY, only 1-1/2 hours away.

“”Wouldn’t it be great if we could meet somewhere?”" she wrote.
“”Yes!”" I wrote back.
We decided to ask our parents.

It never went any further than that. Her next letter contained an even bigger surprise, her school picture. I never imagined she was black. Had she imagined I wasn’t?

If I had kept writing to her, I would remember her name today, and I wish I did because I would like to talk with her about this. But I was 11 and didn’t know what to do and didn’t know who to ask.

You see, in my house, the N-word was used pretty liberally by some.

“”I’ve told you boys, I don’t want to hear that coming out of your mouth!”" my mother would threaten, but they just took it outside and kept right on.

Truth was, I was too embarrassed to have my friend come to my house and too ashamed to tell her, so I just stopped writing.

I never want to feel so paralyzed again.

These events planted a seed and stirred my thoughts long. As those turbulent times – the 1960s – rolled on and racial injustice dominated the headlines, I often thought how my brothers only did what our father did, and our father only did what his father did, etc. WHEN, I began to wonder, do we stop doing what our parents have done when it is not a good thing? The answer: Right now.

A half-century has passed. A lot of times I still don’t know what to do or who to ask, but I know this, to keep the conversation going.

~~~

avatar_Marilyn YocumA former corporate trainer and business writer, Marilyn now writes from her studio in the Appalachian foothills of Southern Ohio. She produces feature articles on leadership, technology, faith, grief, food, parenting and more. She is occasionally lured out of seclusion to speak and teach. Sometimes she brings cookies. Connect with Marilyn at marilynyocum.com and on Twitter.

8054 Pear Street

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I was born in Germany, nearly 49 years ago. My dad was in the service. He flew helicopters. Cool, huh? My dad is my own, personal superhero. He and my mom were young and almost as beautiful as they are today, and they lived a long, long way from home. I’m their first child, so having me when they lived so far from home was more than a notion.

There are some cute pictures of my mom and dad in that first apartment at 8054 Pear Street, waiting for me to arrive. I appreciate those photos more and more as I get older. When I look at my parents in those photos — trying to be grown and not knowing what they were doing, and doing it anyway because what choice did they have? — I just love them with all my heart. In those pictures, they’re young enough to be my children and I find myself wanting to give them advice and warn them about my stubborn streak and how that doesn’t mean I don’t love them.

I was less than two years old when we boarded a ship and made the trip to the US. I haven’t been back to Germany since, and I have no memories of living there. So, H is taking me. If you’re reading this, we’re there. In Germany! And it’s not just H I have to thank.

H is on sabbatical from the church. When the congregation heard I wanted to visit Germany, and H wanted to see some of the historic sites of the church, they made it possible for us to go! We couldn’t do this without them.

I’ll have plenty of stories to tell when I get back to the US. And, I had dreams before I left. You can see some of them here. So tell me. Were you born in the state where you live now? Were you born in a different country? Is there somewhere you’ve always wanted to visit, but have never been?

photo credit

Sunday

Looking for The Sunday Community? This week, it’s being hosted by my friend, Jason. Be sure to click over and link up! You’ll love Jason, and I’m so thankful to him for agreeing to host this week, as H and I travel to Germany!

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Photo credit.

Click here to link up.

 

Random Ash Wednesday Thoughts

…from last year…

I am always rushing. Always running just a bit behind because I’d rather lean my hip against the counter and watch the coffee brew. I’d rather gaze out through the kitchen window and watch the way the light slants in wide patches across the snow. I’d rather take my time. I’d rather sleep until I wake up on my own. And I’d prefer a shower that lasts until the very last drop of hot water has been spent.

I miss the mark and make it so very clear to all the world that all I am is dust.

dust

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“…for dust you are and to dust you will return.” Genesis 3:19

...this year…

I’m going to Ash Wednesday services again with Michelle. If you’ve been following along, you know I haven’t been making much of an effort to get to church these days. I wonder if that will make a difference.

Right after Christmas, I began work as the editor of a Lenten Devotional, published by the Foundations for Laity Renewal. I read through more than forty submissions and reflections on the season of Lent. These are good essays. Rich stories. Deep truths. You can download a free copy of this Lenten Devotional by clicking here. Fill in your name and then click submit, then click the link beneath the image to download the PDF. Scroll through the pages of the devotional, and surely you’ll see some familiar names.

Blessings to you today. May you find peace among the ashes and hope beneath the dust.

A Drop In The Ocean

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“I do words; not math or science.”

I’ve said that for as long as I can remember. It was true, and I thought my little quip was cute. I had that part of my life figured out. It was in a box, tied with a bow. No need to open. Let’s move on.

Words were enough for me. I’d get all goosebumpy thinking about the Word becoming flesh and how that connected me and my writing to Jesus somehow. If I’m honest about it, I guess I believed word people were superior to math and science people.

That’s not to say I didn’t respect math and science people. I did. I do! I need math and science people to help me with my taxes and figure out which medicines will help me fight off the latest virus. Please forgive me, math and science people. It was like Downton Abbey, with the word people upstairs and the math and science people downstairs, waiting for me to ring the bell and call them into service.

Lately, however, I’ve felt a gentle tugging at the neatly tied bow on my tightly shut box. I’ve noticed my witty proclamation about “doing words” losing its appeal as it rolled off my lips and landed with a thud in the middle of the room. There’s a good chance that remark has always been a dud, and it’s simply taken me this long to realize it.

I’m going out on a limb here, but I don’t think I’m alone. Math and science are not the only things that get put in a box because we think we’ve figured them out, thank you very much. The problem is, once I’ve figured something out and tucked it away, I am confident God thinks just like me about that thing. But God is bigger than any of my little boxes, and as soon as I think he’s not, I’ve misinterpreted the seating assignments.

Last night, I watched the live stream of the first installment of Darkwood Brew‘s new series, Evolving Universe, Evolving Faith. It’s about science. And faith. Right in the beginning, they used the word “numinous” and I nearly threw in the towel right there. But I didn’t. I looked up the word and I hung in there. I’m glad I kept watching, because Rev. Chris Alexander said something like this:

Sometimes we get overwhelmed, thinking we’re one drop in a giant ocean. We wonder if we matter and what difference we can make. But what if we’re the entire ocean in one drop?

I notice a shift taking place in me. It feels like something’s waking up and stretching its wings, finding itself constrained by the lid on the box. I wonder if this is how it felt during periods in history when old ideas were re-examined and found wanting. New ideas, once considered ridiculous, became okay to discuss and even consider. Even in church. Slaves were freed, women got the vote, segregation was outlawed, and I think we’d all agree those choices were good.

I’m letting math and science out of the box. Not because I understand them but because, without them, I’ve got God right where I want him: explainable, manageable, and thinking just like me. Without math and science, I’ve reduced God to a drop in the ocean of my own imagination.

What about you? Do you do math and science? What do you need to let out of the box?

Faith and science resources, recommended in last night’s program:

Through the Wormhole With Morgan Freeman
Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife
Dangerous Wonder (with Discussion Guide)

Linking with Michelle, and Laura.

Sunday

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For he himself is our peace… (Ephesians 2:14)

~~~

Welcome to The Sunday Community. Link up with a photo and just a few, brief words of inspiration. Not many words at all.

Then, extend a bit of hospitality to the others here. Take some time to visit with one another and share a bit of grace. Please grab the Sunday button from the link at the top of the page to post at your place, so others know where to find us.



How “Unfriending” Shrinks My World

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Toward the end of 2012, things got pretty heated in the world of social media. It wasn’t the first time, and it surely will not be the last. I’d be lying if I said some of what I saw didn’t ruffle my feathers and make me want to fire off a snarky response or a back-handed missive that highlighted the virtues of the other point of view. Sometimes, the devil’s advocate in me wanted to jump into the fray, simply for the benefit of having stirred the pot.

I hope you’ll come over and join me today at (in)courage! I’d love to hear your thoughts about the sometimes difficult (but always beneficial) work of community in a world where we don’t always see eye-to-eye.

Separation Anxiety

Green-CupWhen 2013 rolled around and everyone was exhaling because the Mayans weren’t right, after all, I took a deep breath and rolled up my sleeves because THIS is the year for JumpingTandem: The Retreat! Or, #JTREAT for short. #JTREAT is my dream come true!

Wait. Let me correct that. #JTREAT is actually God’s idea.

It’s a dream he dropped in my lap a few years ago and, as with any God-sized dream, I figured he meant it for someone else. I mean, obviously it’s a great idea, right? But to make it happen requires experience and attention to detail and speakers and a venue and a platform (!), and I had — have — none of the above. So, for years I’d say to anyone who would listen, “I really think we need a conference right here in the Midwest.” I imagined myself to be a messenger of God  — a burning bush — for the person he actually intended to use to make the dream come true. I kept waiting for someone to grasp my hands, look me in the eyes and say, “Oh, thank you! I was wondering what God wanted me to do with my life and you have just delivered the answer I’ve been praying for!” But, people would simply nod in agreement, lean back, sip their coffee, and change the subject.

Then one day I realized the idea might be for me, and not for someone else. Scary.

After much hemming and hawing (and praying and asking God what he had in mind), I decided to test the theory that maybe he meant for me to plan the event. So, I took the first step and — surprise! — the earth kept spinning. So, I took another step, and then another, and another. God kept opening doors in front of me; connecting me with just the right people; leading me to just the right businesses; giving me just the right connections. And here we are, with JumpingTandem: The Retreat, just ten weeks away.

Right about now, when things are starting to come together, and people are sending me their flight information, and I’m making final arrangements with the shuttle company and with the chef at the retreat center and with the speakers and the musician and the sponsors, I find myself with a case of separation anxiety. Because now that it looks like it might actually happen, it’s so very easy for me to forget who’s idea this was in the first place.

Way back in the day, when Moses was leading an entire generation of Israelites through the desert, I wonder if he didn’t start to feel the same way? I mean, think about it. At first, he didn’t even want to do what God was asking him to do. “Send Aaron,” he said to God. But God wanted to use Moses to make this dream come true, so it was Moses who went to Pharaoh, Moses who pronounced the plagues, Moses who reached out over the Red Sea before it parted, Moses who received the Ten Commandments from God on the mountain top. After awhile, I imagine Moses started dreaming about the way things would end up. Maybe he thought he’d lead the Israelites into the Promised Land and they would throw him a big party, make him King, and rename the Promised Land something like Mosesland instead. It’s hard to say for sure.

What the bible says is that one day, when the people were thirsty, God told Moses to speak to a rock and that rock would pour out water. So, Moses went up to the rock, hit it twice with his staff, and water gushed out of the rock. Ai yi yi! God told Moses it was that act — striking the rock instead of simply speaking to it — that would keep Moses out of the Promised Land.

Striking that rock meant that Moses didn’t trust God to be able to do what God said he’d do. Moses thought God needed his help. Maybe Moses thought water from a rock was his idea and not God’s. Sometimes it’s hard to step back and let God get all the credit.

It’s so difficult to communicate this in a blog post without using so many words that you click away with a yawn. But know this: God’s got big dreams for you and me. They’re his dreams, and he entrusts them to us. They are scary and they take us way outside of our comfort zone because God is always always always building our character to be more like his, and that is no small endeavor. Sometimes, at least in my case, I forget I need to let go and let God do what he wants to do. Sometimes it’s because I don’t really believe he knows what he’s doing. Sometimes it’s because I want the accolades. Sometimes it’s simply because I’m fine with things how they are and I’m not the least bit thrilled by the prospect of change. And sometimes the one thing blocking the dream is the fact that I need to let it go so that God can do it his way, because it was all his idea in the first place.

Will you be at #JTREAT?I hope you’ll come and join us as we make space for God and his big, amazing, ridiculously beautiful dreams. To register for a Day Pass, click here.