QUESTION

I can't keep shouting into the darkness.
My voice grows hoarse.
The world won't listen.

If my voice will not warm hearts
or convince minds to check their facts

maybe it is time to simply sit
amongst those the loudest voices have plowed over
and drink tea
and let their almost imperceptible whispers
be the loudest voices in my ears.

Maybe, I don't know.

Is it better to shout into the darkness even if no one turns,
or is it better to just sit and listen with the ones whose voices are even quieter than mine?

Dear friend,

When Jesus introduced me to you in 2012, it wrecked me. I cried the whole way home on the airplanes. I almost flunked out of statistics because I couldn’t focus. I wrote poems and poems and poems. Most of them weren’t any good. I sat in the little chapel on campus so many mornings and afternoons, just listening to the silence and remembering you.

When we went to visit the Nyirbator “detention” center, it wrecked me. I didn’t know what to expect and when we walked through those bars, I saw you, undeserving of punishment, and it wrecked me.

When you said you were just going to go back to your home country because being here was even worse, it wrecked me.

When you came to English class with a busted lip, when we sat in the sunset and shared nutella and you said you had lost your father while walking over the mountains, it wrecked me.

When you said your family lived in a different country but you couldn’t get to them, when they told the story of how you had left your children behind, when you held that baby, when you were so hungry to learn, when you told me I was the best teacher you had ever had, when Sarah heard your scream, when you bought your daughter an ice cream cone, when you brought us sweet bread even though you were fasting, when your daughter sat under the table eating playing cards because she was hungry, it wrecked me.

When you pulled us out onto that tiny dance floor, Bollywood music bouncing and sticky summer air, you invited me into beauty, into life. When you looked defiantly into my eyes and told me who I was, you challenged my perception of love. And you became a dear friend, even if we never spoke outside of class. I still pray for you. I still ask God to keep you safe. I still wonder where you are. I still count you as my brother.

When you invited us to explore the woods with you, far past our bedtimes, it filled my soul with laughter. When you played endless foosball matches accompanied by Valy’s music, I knew we were in. When you came to class every day, just you, even though we weren’t your culture and that was hard for everyone, when you fed us watermelon and tea, you honored me.

You wrecked me, and yet, I was full. I still am, from being with you, from knowing you. When I remember you, I laugh, because knowing you was always a privilege, it was the greatest gift.

In the wreckage, there is wholeness.

Being with you, I became.

And now, they say you are not welcome in my home. Then, I will not claim it as my home. Because you are always welcome in my Father’s heart. You are always welcome in this Family.

Because your presence taught me how to live well. Because I never want to live in a world where you are not celebrated.

They say they do not want you. It’s not you they don’t want. They don’t want to be wrecked, because they do not yet understand that in the wreckage, there is joy.

Always praying, never giving up hope, love always,

me

Afterwards

The world is quiet today.
Panera still plays their pop music
and the radio chirps on about a Christmas concert.
Conversation hums in the kitchen about the oranges
my mother brought home.
But there is a quiet unrivaled by this
Saturday noise.

To think,
yesterday I stepped into cool night,
the sunset like flame on the horizon-
a sliver of the moon,
the same moon that stood sentry in Paris,
that held off darkness until dawn.

A slowness.
I cling to it.
Let's please pause to breathe a while.
Please, let's pause to think on oranges
and sunlight-

the generosity of day,
and how some day, there will be
no more night.

and Jesus Himself will be our Light
and we will no longer need the moon
to hold our pain while we wait
for day.

A WALK IN THE WOODS

In this cathedral, the maple tree

ushers me into the presence of Love to pray.

I marvel at the wind,

how it takes time to dance with each leaf.

I walk in the consistency of confession

and repentance.

I walk in the rhythm of grace.

Left foot, confession,

Right foot, forgiveness.

Left foot, repentance,

Right foot, forgiveness,
and on down the hill.

God loves me best.

My soul felt a little mopey today. Then I got a text from my friend Mariel asking me to spend dinner with her! She came over and -sheepishly I must admit that she basically cooked dinner for ME, even though her feet hurt from working 10 hours today.- It was sweetness to be with her.

-Sweetness to be with Mariel, to hear about her life (oh SO refreshing to hear about someone else)
-a hawk earlier in the day and a bright sky and raking leaves and the perfect crisp fall day.

the sweetness of Jesus and how He loves me the best. I ask for silly things and he gives them. Not all the silly things, but the things that will be a blessing to me. And I ask for big things, and it is through the silly things that I know He loves me enough to choose which big things will be good for me.

Most of all, He loves me best.

God knows.

I’m standing outside, looking around at the beauty that is today. I’m thinking about leaving. I’m thinking about how, the longer I stay here, the harder it becomes to think about leaving. It took a long time to form a community here, and now that I have it, it’s daunting to think about starting from scratch, alone, and in a new language that I do not yet speak.

I’m thinking about how the more I read and think and talk to people, the more questions I have. About myself, and my usefulness. Like, is there room for me in this kind of work in Rome? Or am I just selfishly wanting to help? Can you even want to help selfishly? Can the desire to leave comfort and delve into hard (but beautiful) be selfish? Beuchner says that where the world’s deep hunger and our deep gladness meet, is where we’re called. I like that. Still, there is this creeping accusatory feeling that I cannot be useful there because I do not know enough, I have not experienced enough, I am not educated enough. I know who owns this accusatory voice though, and it helps to put my finger on what it is. 

Anyway, so I’m walking around the yard admiring the leaves and the sunlight and I see a cardinal- my mama’s favorite bird, always a reminder to her that God is near. I am with you always, that strong and comforting idea flashes across my mind. Yes, yes You are.

And then a few minutes later as I stand on the deck ready to head back inside, a large bird circles. At first I think it is a seagull- sometimes they find their way down here accidentally. But then she reveals herself: a hawk. A beautiful, free, so close I can see her belly feathers, hawk.

The last or almost last night of training, we sat in a circle outside at the Millers’ house. The evening was stunning. We each had two post-it notes, to write on one what we were leaving, and on one what we were taking with us. I don’t even remember what I left. Probably fear. But I know I wrote “the sky” on the other. “You won’t understand,” I had said, “But I understand.”

The sky. Because during listening prayer, Jesus reminded me of a poem I’d written months before, about an eagle and the sky. I’m the eagle. He’s the sky. 

Sometimes beauty answers the questions. Not with words, not even with ideas. But just a deep knowing. She is known. I am known. He knows me.

There are nights when I sleep with my bible next to my head like a safety blanket, because I want the tangible presence of the Lord. I want the Spirit's nearness.

how can I show You that You are what I want?

I want Your nearness, Baba.

I know in the bottom of my bones that You're my goal. You're my Love.

So Baba, make me soft. Make me grace-full.

I'll move across the ocean for You, with You. But never without You. Never without You.