Kiwi Birthday Reflections

On the drive home tonight, I heard a song on the radio that, for the first time in a long time, didn't make me cry. There were memories attached to that song that dates back about ten years, and healing had finally come full circle to that part of my story. But it also made me reflect on where I've come over the last ten years, where I am, and where I could have been.

Ten years ago around this time, I had to make some decisions about school that altered my whole life course and took some unexpected turns that led me to the cornfields.
Ten years ago around this time, I started blogging. Granted they were angsty teenage rants, but it was the very beginnings of a journey as an honest, and not-very-politically-correct writer.
Ten years ago around this time, I was falling in love with a boy barely seventeen, but he was the first to help me believe I had anything worth saying that people would want to hear.

Ten years ago around this time, I had a dream. I didn't know this dream was a revelation of what the next ten years of my life would be, but around this time last year, I finally wrote it down here.

There were parts of this dream that I still didn't understand as I was writing it last year, but it's all beginning to make sense now.

Two years ago today, I jumped on another flight, not knowing what I was getting into. Two years later, I'm celebrating what I've come to call my second "Kiwi birthday".
Two years ago today, the people of Westside Christian Fellowship welcomed with open arms another stranger into their midst. Two years later, we reflect on a journey that has seen tremendous joy and grief.

Two years ago today, I honestly didn't think I would make it this far. I had arrived in Auckland having accepted the role of coordinating the children's ministry, but having limited experience working with children myself. The church needed someone to tide things over in their children's ministry for a while, and I had said, "Here I am; send me." And so I came.

I've never been crazy about kids--still am not--but I didn't like them any less than I liked grown-ups. Little people are people too, and in the last two years, they've blown my mind and taught me more than I could possibly ever teach them. They've challenged me and given me permission to be more creative than I've ever been. They snuck into my heart and whispered stories that made me laugh and want to be their advocates at school, in church, and in society in general. They shaped my understanding of a balanced ecclesiology and made me want to fight the grown-ups that don't take them seriously.

Two years later, I cannot be more thankful today for the church that gave me permission to learn and experiment, and be a little bit crazier than crazy. And as the calendar year is drawing to a close, my time with my little people will soon end as well. It's hard to not fall in love with these kids, as rascally as they can be.

But the dream from ten years ago is beckoning. And just as I was responsible for being faithful to my role at Westside, I now have to be responsible for being faithful to the calling of the dream. This probably all sounds a bit frou-frou at the moment, but I promise I will write about the rest of the dream and what this will look like in time to come. Sorry Kiwi mates, but I'm still hoping to hang out in Auckland.

And I hope you will stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.

As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Little treats for the 2nd Kiwi birthday.
Because stopping and remembering is a necessary part of the journey.
(Clockwise from top left: Tim-tams and L&P.
Lamb dinner because lamb's never been this affordable until now.
Tim-tam slammed in milo.
And of course, paua from my first Kiwi birthday thanks to Amber and Jess.)

Arohanui,
Me

Holy Week Treasure Trove

In the days when I worked at Church of God Ministries, we were used to getting phonecalls about the medical conditions or the passing of a minister or retired minister. I remember one of the ladies saying once, "It always happens in threes." She was referring to funerals, of course.

Holy Week this year has been one of those. It happened in threes--not funerals in our case, just... life. You know, the usual big upheavals. And because I take, "i carry your heart," the words of great ecclesiologist, e.e. cummins, way too seriously some times, this week... Well, for lack of fancy vocabulary, this week just plain sucked.

My worldview was shaken all over again as I lived into the life of a family in the midst of pain.
My take on gender roles and the feminist movement that had been slowly taking shape over the last few years were suddenly ripped apart and splattered all over the walls as if a druggy vandal had gotten hold of ugly red pain, and I no longer knew where I stood.
My understanding of social injustice shifted as my own tears mingled with those that I wiped away. The perhaps unintentional actions of one or two can so greatly hurt another.

Too many answers I was looking for.
Too much hurt to carry.
Too many situations that will remain unresolved for a while.
Too many nights of crying, "Why, God?" and "My shoulders aren't big enough for these."

In the midst of it all, I heard the words of the One that called me to this place.
"My child, remember when I brought you here, all I asked from you was to love this land and these people. I'm the one with the answers. You're the one with the skin on to carry My love."

And I began to remember the One had always been at work.

I saw it in the whanau that showed up every day to make sure there was food in everyone's stomachs, and to help calm the upheavals.
I saw it in the simple thank yous and the return of laughter to the dining table and the bedrooms.
I saw it in the tickle fights and the big hugs.

I heard it in the "How are you?"s that demanded a longer-than-five-second response.
I heard it in the "Call us anytime, even if it's 2am."
I heard it in the simple reminders to continue to be who we were created to be, not what circumstances want us to become.

And then yesterday morning, I realised how much I needed a little bit of liturgy to bring calm back into my week. Nina and I were both half awake when I first brought up the idea of trying to pull together a Seder meal, but we pulled it off anyway, and the whanau showed up when they showed up. It wasn't anything fancy, and halfway through the liturgy, I started beating myself up over not taking the time to find a more first-timer-friendly text.

But it wasn't so much about the meal or the liturgy itself.
It was taking time to remember the sacred things.
It was taking time to share stories.
It was taking time to affirm each other in our journey.

It was allowing these ladies to be the "church mums" I've missed.
It was allowing them to speak into my life.
It was allowing them to ask about my story, and to half-heartedly admit I was more qualified for what I do than I like talking or thinking about.
It was allowing them to say, "You may be a nerd, but you are OUR nerd."
It was allowing them to affirm my call as a woman in ministry, and to hear them say, "We know this isn't an easy calling, but you are OUR pastor, and we will do pastoral care for our pastor."

And in the silence of the night as the dust of the wilderness settled for a bit, all that's left was to whisper a word of thanks as I remember the One that started this business of footwashing.

Rites of Passage

Growing up, I was never the kid who loved school. I was (and still am) socially awkward, had a substitute teacher come in at the end of the year who picked another girl to be prefect over me even though I had been on my best behaviour and was the top girl in my class that year, and a best friend who eventually decided it was cooler to hang with the good kids than the one who didn't turn in her homework on time. I even told Mum once that I had really bad cramps because I was tired of being the black sheep that got to school late.

I had every reason to hate being at school. But every year, at least at the beginning of the year while I was in Primary, I LOVED starting school because I had new textbooks that had pages that still sometimes stuck together and smelt like they came fresh off the press. There were no creases in the spine--at least, not yet--a reminder that it was another opportunity for a fresh start, another opportunity to make it better than the last year.

And there were the coloured pencils. Every year around December, Mum would take us shopping for new pencils and erasers and coloured pencils and clothes for Chinese New Year. Every year, I would wrap those up and tuck them under the Christmas tree until Christmas morning when we got to unwrap all our new school supplies.

I didn't realise it then, but that became my rite of passage into a new school year--the little things we did to celebrate another year, another day.

This year, I find myself looking into the faces of the kids in Kids Club, each one of them proudly telling me, "I'm one year older this year, one year closer to being an adult." I marvel at their joy and pride in growing up, and wish I could keep their childlike perspective so I don't lose sight in the everyday miracle simply known as Life.

And the precious year 6s who will be graduating and heading on up into Intermediate, where they finally get to hang out in youth group with those cool big kids--an experience all fun and terrifying at the same time.

I remember being 11. I started being a part of the worship team at church, which brought with it questions of why I'm even serving when I don't get what being a Christian meant. It was the same year I wrote in my journal that I felt like a rubbish bin that was used by the once-bestfriend where she unloaded and unloaded all her junk, then set me out on the street for the dumpster-man while she ran off to play with the pretty girls. The dumpster-man that never came.

I look back on those experiences now and wish there had been an adult in my life that I could talk about those experiences with. Adults who would allow me to question my faith instead of telling me I just needed to know the Sunday School answers. At 11, Sunday School answers weren't cutting it anymore for my faith journey. I knew them all, but still they did nothing for my feeling like a complete fake when I sat at the piano in front of the church because what I claimed to be believing had no real meaning.

And then I look back again at the faces of the precious year 6s whom I've had the joy (and sometimes sorrow) of walking with in the last year. I wonder if I've done enough to help them along their journey. I want to say to them, it's ok if you don't understand the faith thing. It's ok to have questions. It's ok to be socially awkward. You don't have to pretend to be looking forward to Intermediate if you're terrified deep down inside that you're not going to be the big kids at school anymore.

I want to tell them, I was a mess when I was 11--still am a mess today. But we have a friend who knows our mess and will not leave us out on the streets for the non-existent dumpster-man. And you have friends in this place we call Church who will walk with you.

In a little less than a month, we'll be kicking-off kids' church for the year. Just like the coloured-pencils I looked forward to every year, I hope whatever we end up planning for the kick-off will be that same celebration of a rite of passage for these kids. But more importantly, I hope they know that these same people (maybe not the exact same faces, but the same people we call the Church whanau) who celebrate their rites of passage with them now will continue to celebrate every milestone with them along the way.

Happy 2013, my little people.

Requiem for Joy

Children are children all over the world
They share the same big sky of blue

RT @ChannelNewsAsia *JUST IN* Shooting at an elementary school in Connecticut, USA: police

The earth is like God's egg. He sits on it and protects it.

Francisco and Martita
El Salvador/Romania
Keren
Gerson
We sat across each other at IHOP years after you were gone.
Holding hands.
Crying.
Praying.
Too soon.


They share the same sun and the wind and the rain
The moon, and the same stars as you

RT @ChannelNewsAsia Children among dead in #newtown shooting in Connecticut, US

And then there are earthquakes and volcanoes.

Sieg and Sanna
Hannover, Germany
Amy
I don't remember your name.
But I slept in your room on your bed after you were gone.
And watched your parents and sister quietly grieve.
Too soon.


They find games to play, just like you, everyday
They have birthdays and holidays, too

RT @ChannelNewsAsia Up to 27 killed in #SandyHookElementary school shooting in #Newtown #Connecticut, 18 dead are children. Gunman in 20s

There was the one in Japan two years ago.
I was 7, and I cried and cried hoping it wouldn't get to New Zealand.
I wasn't ready to die yet.
- Stella Maaka-McCrea, 9

Todd and Steph
Auckland, New Zealand
I don't know half the story.
Only that it happened
Too soon.


Did you ever think children all over the world
Are just little children like you?

RT ‏@nzherald "Our hearts are broken today ... for the families of those who are lost." @BarackObama

Today we're lighting a candle for faith. Does anyone know what faith means?

"Faith is like believing in something that we cannot see." - Esther McNickle, 7

How are we supposed to light tomorrow's candle for joy?

I think of sweet Essendon at school.
She's not bossy, just a little angry sometimes.
Always ready to protect.

I think of kind Jesse at church.
I told you last week I would help you put up the decorations.
Always ready to  help.

I shudder at what it would be like to lose them.
Or to walk with them through an episode of innocence lost.

And then Jen reminds me...

this is my father's world.
oh, let me never forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
god is the ruler yet.

So we light a candle anyway.

Hope, Faith and one for the
children in Connecticut and around the world

We sit in darkness and grapple with what it means to make room for joy even when we're not ready for it to come.

"For darkness will not overcome the light."

"There is no way to God except through human frailty ... Only when we encounter God in our deepest, darkest places do we have something to offer the world" - Jim McInnes, Te Atatu Bible Chapel

Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison
O Come Emmanuel

Service Project

This post is really about a week late...

Two weekends ago, we took the kids out for a service project.

Listening to the lady at Hospice explain
what they do and how we are helping them.

Auntie Enid with Stella and Hannah

If you remember, we had thought about getting the kids to do a service project with Hospice West Auckland over the Easter weekend, but it didn't work out. We then found out that the Hospice needed baked goods so of course, the logical thing to do was to get kids together to do some baking. The younger kids, years 0-3 in school (aged 5-8) were going to help do grocery shopping while the other kids, years 4-6 in school (aged 9-11) would do the baking at Auntie Enid's.

Imparting the all-important
life-skill to Woody:
How to beat an egg

To be frank, I had reached the point of exhaustion and grumpiness where I simply wanted to get the service project out of the way. We had told the kids we would try to do something aside from Sunday gatherings at least once every term, so this was going to be the one thing we did this term. So I really didn't have too many expectations of how it would go. As long as it wasn't a completely disaster, we didn't get kicked out of the grocery store and Auntie Enid's kitchens weren't completely trashed, I would have considered the project a success.

Rebecca and Jesse working hard

And of course, the kids surprised me.

Not only were there no stares from strangers at Countdown, or food fights in the kitchens, the kids all did a great job working in teams. The baking got done in a lot less time than I expected, and no one got grumpy or cranky.

On the drive back from Auntie Enid's, we launched into the, "what did you learn from this?" conversation. Again, my only expectation was that as long as they didn't drift off down some rabbit hole as we were talking, I would be content.

Auntie Enid served up hot
chocolate milk for a
well-deserved break

And again, they surprised me.
They each had a spiel about loving and serving one another, which was what we were doing with the baking. Knowing my own tendency to take the social service rather than the gospel train in these conversations because it was easier, I tried to steer it back toward Jesus. To my surprise, Stella remembered what we talked about early in the year about the body of Christ and how we each had a part to play. Woodrow talked about team work, and Jesse talked about Jesus feeding the five-thousand.

Awesome chefs!
From left: Jesse, Woody, Rebecca, Auntie Enid,
Stella, Cassidy, Hannah

These kids... You just gotta love them.

Listen to the Children

vi·o·lence [vahy-uh-luhns]
noun
an unjust or unwarranted exertion of force or power, as against rights or laws

Woke up that morning
Still heart sick
Another act of violence
Another child whose innocence was robbed.
Oh Lord, how long?
Listen to the children...


Stop Kony
Make Kony famous
Their signs and websites read.
Discussions back and forth
Bickering for and against
But what about the children?
Oh Lord, how long?
Listen to the children...

Katniss. Peeta. Rue.
Gale. Cinna. Haymitch.
Thresh. Cato. Prim.
All just names in a book
Stories. Fiction.
We laugh.
But what if they weren't just fiction?
Make Snow famous.
Sure. Then what?
What about the children?
Listen to the children.

You wanted my time at the breakfast table.
So I sat and I waited.
You said nothing,
So I talked.

His name wasn't Peeta, and he wasn't a baker's son.
He simply lived on Kurfürstenstraße while his girlfriend worked the streets to support them
He had no identity to anyone who hadn't heard his story.
He was just "another one who made a bad life choice"
If you consider getting sold to drug-dealers at twelve a bad life choice.
Where were you?
Why didn't you redeem him?
Didn't you hear the children?

Her name wasn't Prim, and she didn't have a protective older sister.
She simply tried to figure out how to make sense of the world
After life robbed her of her innocence.
Make her violator famous.
Sure. Then what?
What about her?
Why didn't you redeem her?
Didn't you hear the children?

I don't understand.

I walked away from breakfast
Moved on with my day
How could you, the God of Love
Allow such violence?
Didn't you hear the children?

Walked in to church.
Ariel shows up with the last book in the trilogy.
And again I wonder.
Violence.
Poverty.
Inequality.
Why, Lord?

Listen to the children...

They ask if I have anything I'm thankful for.
How can I be thankful?
Wasn't this the whole point of passion week?
You came to redeem
You came to deliver
So why don't you hear the children?

I stare at the screen as the song lyrics appear.
But my mind wanders back to Constructive Theology classes
How can I possibly construct a theology that you are good
When there's so much violence in the world?
Are you hearing your children?

But your goodness isn't dependent on what you do or don't do now.
That you are Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer should be evidence enough.
Right?

And then I hear little Phoebe
Her voice louder than everyone else in the room
"Glorify, glorify
Let your name be lifted up and glorified
Let the earth tremble at your name
Let your name be lifted up and glorified"

How can I glorify you?
I know you are deserving, and I am unworthy
But how do I justify glorifying a God that allows violence?
Listen to the children,
I hear you say.

My mind is still spinning as Steve starts introducing the next song.
"Draw me close to you..."
And I start weeping

The first night in Anderson when I cried myself to sleep
You were there

My first Sunday at Park Place when we sang that same song
You were there
Back when I was still innocent and the world wasn't so bleak
You were there


And then I hear you saying,
"You are a child too.
I hear you.
I see your heart that's buried under all the ashes."


But that doesn't solve anything.
It doesn't make the world a better place.


I've been feeling a lot like Abraham
And I think you know it
Uprooting and moving isn't the hard part--
I'm used to being nomadic now
Most blessed of tent-dwelling women is Jael
Yeah, yeah. Alright.

I may never get to Canaan,
And it will be alright.
But do I have enough faith that you will protect me from Pharaoh
So that no harm has to come to Sarah?
Do I have enough faith to leave Isaac at the altar?
Do I have enough faith that you will give me my heir
So that I don't have to take Hagar?

How do I teach kids about Abraham this week when I'm relating too well to his weaknesses at the moment?

Victor Hamilton writes,

"Possibly their mistake is seeing the promise of God not as a privilege, but as an obligation. Instead of saying, "We're going to have a baby!" they say, "We've got to have a baby."

And then I realise...
I've been fighting you
Asking you why I have to wear the title of Children's Pastor for this season
Why I have to do something so unfamiliar
Listen to the children.
I won't do them any good.

I heard the children.
What?

I heard the children. I hurt with them.
But I also see your heart. That's why you're here.
You don't see them as a babysitting gig
You don't feel the need to impress them with entertainment
You do exegesis for them
You listen to them
I didn't put you here to do things for them
Remember? 

Hopes said it to you in a loud, audible voice before you left Anderson

You make room

Remember?
You make room for people of all ages to simply be
That's what you're good at
Have you forgotten?
Try and do anything else and you're likely going to flop 

You ask me to listen to the children
I have.
That's why you're here.
You make room for them to ask questions and feel pain. You make room for their animals even if you don't believe they have souls or will go to heaven. You make room for them to be silly, creative, funny and thoughtful. 

You make room for them to find me 

I heard the children in Uganda, and Panem, and Berlin. But I cannot give you answers for them. They are not your responsibility. Your responsibility is for your immediate community.

And then I realise...
I asked you to listen to them as if it were your obligation.
When really, it is our privilege if you do.

For that reason alone,
I will sing as little Phoebe did.
I will listen to the children.

It Used To Be Less Complicated. (Or So It Seems)

Dear God,

Hi. I mean, good evening ma'am. No wait, I mean... Papa?

Sorry. I've forgotten how to do this. It's been a while.

I haven't forgotten you, but the whirlwinds of the last few months have zipped in and out way too quickly that, in trying to restore the damage, all I had time for was to manage that trying-really-hard-to-look-as-sincere-as-I-feel-but-probably-coming-across-as-really-awkward smile every once in a while, just to acknowledge that I'm well aware that my insistence on carrying on the restoration work with all my power-tools isn't actually being helpful, and that it was probably hurting you to watch me too.

But truth be told, and you and I, we both know this.... I don't know how to do this. I've been working with power-tools for way too long, and all the wisdom that I have sought know that it's time to drop the power-tools. But we don't know how to even start looking for a new method because this is the first time a whirlwind of this magnitude had come through. I can't speak for everyone else, but I myself am looking forward to discovering the new methods, simply because of the adventure that it brings with it.

Yet I'm frustrated. And exhausted. This new chapter should be exciting and challenging, but still fun. But I'm feeling like my energies have been completely sapped and before I've even had time to recuperate, to celebrate endings and beginnings, the to-do list for the restoration project started to nag and nag and nag. And in the midst of all the nagging, all the questioning is not helping. The questions of, "Are you sure you're the one for this undertaking? You grew up way too quickly for your own age and you were never really a kid or knew how to be a kid, so what makes you think you'd know how to get kids involved in this restoration project? And shouldn't you be feeling guilty you're not working hard enough to meet all the datelines of your to-do list? And if you don't even know how to make time to care for yourself, what makes you think you will be able to care about the others? And you're running out of time, shouldn't you hurry up and work harder?"

And... and... and... And I'm just exhausted. Who the heck did I think I was anyway, that you would entrust me with such a huge undertaking? I'm tired of dreaming big dreams that make me so afraid because the gap between here and there seems so big that I know full well, if I tried walking by myself, I would fall right through. And I'm afraid that there might be nothing below to catch me if I fell through, yet at the same time I KNOW you are there.

But God, I'm human.
Ma'am, I'm exhausted.
Papa, I'm afraid.

Yet I will keep on walking.
Because I don't know how to stop when I hear that voice saying, "One more step, my little one. One more step then we'll take a short break from working on helping you walk instead of just toddle around."
And that voice that says, "One more step, my sweet lover. One more step towards my love, and I will be here to hold you when you fall apart."

And so I will keep walking. Because there's work to be done. And because now that I remember what it's like to catch you at the lemonade stand in between the power-tooling and how the "how are you?"s happen, I think I'll have a little bit more for tomorrow.

"Oh yes, my everlating impatience. nothing new; but i miss someone to tell me to relax...to say, "keren, mañana."
...
So please...lay down the time countdown to my life...give me a pillo to rest my head...and hold me...
we'll deal with it...tomorrow."
- KEB, 12.30.06


The road goes ever on and ever on...

Almost Disneyland

This is going to be another quick entry before heading down for breakfast and another full day ahead. But I haven't written in a couple days, so here we go.

Thursday morning, we visited a local public school in a poorer side of town. We hung out with some of the kids and painted games with them out in the courtyard. Most of group spoke little to no German and the kids spoke little English. But that's the beauty of humanity that transcends language barriers. Rather than say too much more, I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Left: Aaron and Adrian entertaining themselves.

Left: Amy Froese (Dr. Walter Froese's great-niece who was in town to help us translate) entertaining the kids

Left: Sandra, Verena and Paula, the three girls I painted with.

Left: This was the game we painted.

Just before we left, we went to say goodbye to them in their classroom. Apparently Jack had been entertaining them with a rendition of Lady Gaga which pulled off a round of laughs all around mostly because our group had NEVER seen or expected that from Jack. As we were saying our goodbyes, the kids asked for our autographs. And of course, Jack had to sign off as Gaga.

We then came back and cleaned up then went out for the evening for a bit of sightseeing - mostly just the artsy side of town. That will probably one of the places I'll spend quite a lot of time at after the group leaves. Something about the quaintness of the place and the people I'll get to meet there seems strangely appealing.

Bonhoefferhaus

Then yesterday we visited the Bonhoefferhaus. This was the very same place he was arrested, and where he did the majority of his writing. In spite of what the other seminarians say, I'm really by no means a theological nerd - except when it comes to Bonhoeffer or Nouwen.

But Bonhoeffer.

Something about the simplicity of the house he lived in was kind of odd but at the same time, a true reflection that he did actually live out his thoughts and writing. It really was a simple house, and it wasn't even fenced off or given added security. And one could pass by it and not even realise this was the Bonhoefferhaus.

So much more to process about Bonhoeffer, and why he's even more of a hero to me now. But I don't want to ramble, and I'm starting to need my morning dose of coffee.

Hey if you want to see pictures, here's the link to the Facebook album. You don't have to be logged in to see the pictures.

Today there'll be a bit more sightseeing, then we'll go to the cultural festival close by. Tonight is also the Champions League finals where Bayern plays Inter. We'll be going to the US equivalent of a sports bar to watch the game and hang out with the people there. Funny how football unites the world. In case you didn't already know, I'm also looking forward to the actual World Cup season and hanging out with the local football fans. I don't care what the rest of the US thinks, football is the game you play with your foot, not your hands.

Alright, breakfast/coffee time. Love you all.