October Update: Eggs in the Microwave?

Dear friends,

About seven years ago, I learnt a very important lesson in the dorm room of Martin Hall at Anderson University: Never try to boil an egg in the microwave. My roommate came back that evening and observed that the room smelled like really good food, not realising an egg had just exploded in the microwave. The next day, we had to air out the room so that the "yummy" smell that is now foul wouldn't linger too long.

Fast forward seven years. I was on dinner duty tonight because Kathrin (one of my housemates) was away at a conference. When the eggs that were supposed to be hard-boiled were still a bit runny, my immediate thought was, "Microwave! But just for a few seconds without the shell on so it doesn't explode." (I did learn my lesson... Sort of.) If not for Stefan (other housemate who is married to Kathrin) pointing out it still might not be the best idea, we'd have another egg-splosion.

It's a funny story to tell now, but it makes me reflect on the fact that there will always be lessons to be learnt -- and some to be re-learnt.

There's still much to learn about living life here. Like the fact that running around barefoot is generally acceptable in Kiwi-culture (CGM staff - yes, I'm fitting in quite well here ). Or that chickens that are to be eaten are called "chicken," and chickens that are pets are called "chooks." Or that rugby is a big, BIG part of Kiwi-culture, and not just because the All Blacks just won the Rugby World Cup last Sunday.

I was recently reminded that what I learnt from XZBerlin, the team I interned with in Germany, is not applicable only in Berlin. The truth is, being Xristo (Greek for "Christ") Zentrisch (German for "center") is something I can take with me regardless of what part of the world I might find myself in. I'm still learning the "hows" and "whats" of being XZ (Christ-centered) in Auckland looks like, but I'm most thankful for the Stefans who help avoid egg-splosions.

Holiday Programme
It seems strange to think that our holiday programme (VBS for the folks in the States) was two weeks ago. The majority of my time in my first month here was spent working with Danette Beisley to get things ready for that week, and all of a sudden we were done. Even though it got increasingly stressful closer to the week, watching the adult volunteers work together with the youths to get things set-up and running was fulfilling enough. Getting to spend some time with the kids that we had gotten to know through our involvement with the Bible Clubs in two of the primary schools made it even more worthwhile.

Prayer Requests:
Visa Update: This week, I had to call the FBI (something I never thought I'd do, but that's another thing to check off my bucket-list!) to check on the process with the background check from the US. I was informed that the current processing time for background checks is 8 weeks, and they won't have information for me until next week at the soonest. As frustrating as this process has been, the track record has shown that things will fall into place at the right time. Will you pray with me that this process will go smoothly?


Visioning: In the weeks since the holiday programme has ended, the church leadership has spent quite a significant amount of time in conversation about what next year will look like. Pray with us that as we transition and cast vision for the next year, we will really hear who God wants us to be in our community, and how to live that out.

Also, I have new contact information. Send me a message if you would like to have it.

Thank you all for your love, prayers, support and encouragement.

Love you all.

If Home's Where My Heart Is...

With the "honeymoon" phase wearing thin, homesick is starting to sink in a little bit. So yesterday, while sitting outside the Beisleys' home, I made a list of things that I'm homesick for:

* City lights at midnight
* Freshly-picked cherry tomatoes, sweet corn and strawberries
* Beading and solving the world's problems till 2 am
* Smells and smiles from Schwarze Olive
* Watching people line up to board planes
* Hymns and liturgy
* Reading Pride and Prejudice on the bus/train home
* Driving through acres and acres of cornfields with healing music, my emotional roller-coasters, and the Creator
* Popping bottles into the machine at Kaiser's and getting groceries with store credit from the recycling
* Community dinners
* 2 ams with the BFFs saying, "I don't understand yet why the heck you do what you do. But simply because of friendship, I will support and encourage you, and I will push you to keep walking when you're tempted to give up prematurely. And if necessary, I will arrange a boycott if you try to run home when life doesn't seem to go the way you'd hoped."

The list ended there for the day, but there was so much more I could have added.

For years now, I've wrestled with the idea of home.
My first TCK friend Will once explained it as, "home is where I lay my head that night."
My friend Nichele has never set foot on the African continent, but because that's where her ancestors came from, a part of home is in Africa.
My friends John and Jodie may have been born in the States and still return there every summer, but home is Haiti.
My friends Kathrin and Stefan moved to Auckland a few years ago, and home has been New Zealand ever since.
My friend Steve says home is in his pocket. It's what happens in community.
My friend Ian has made the cruise ship he's been working on for the last couple years his home.
My friend Laura once said home is wherever her parents are--no matter which French-speaking country it might be.


Tonight, it hit that home is all that and more.

Home is roots. Roots that go beyond Singapore, to the ancestral homes in China.
Home is blood. Lay a finger on one of the blood-kin and I'll pray fire and brimstone.
Home is together. Coffeeing, eating, laughing, crying... together.
Home is possibilities. Possibilities of roots that give wings to dreams.

Home is nowhere, anywhere and everywhere all at the same time.

And all is well and good until trouble hits too many homes at one time.
And then we wonder how the heck to explain that one part of our world is crumbling even while the rest of it still appears intact.
And then we take a deep breath.
And pray.
And cry.
And (eventually) let go.

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
- MercyMe

P.S. Finally posted photos from our Holiday Programme on Facebook. Click here

Jars of Clay

So here I am again

So full
Yet so empty

So much to say
Yet so wordless

So much restless fighting
Yet so much peace


Today I stood and stared at the ocean
Waters from the past reminding me of things I used to love
Things I used to be passionate about

Things that set me free
Things that taught me about Love


And then I wonder...
There's a whole world of water out there
Why am I sitting in a little sampan again?

Sampans aren't always bad things
Trouble is which sampan,
And what oars do I use to keep from drifting to dangerous waters?


They gave me books to read
Manuals to study
Flashcards even

But they all became sampans too

There's still a whole ocean out there


How do I dive deep
But not drown?


Someone told me recently
Forces are coming together
To bring congruence between my head and my heart

How?
When?
And until then, what?




And then...
"For right now... I don't know what the ans. is so just keep being the best you. When you can't take it... write me e-mails. I will read all of them and respond to them first thing (even tho I have e-mails from 4 weeks ago I need to get to)"

"Therefore, since we have this ministry, as we received mercy, we do not lose heart, but we have renounced the things hidden because of shame, not walking in craftiness or adulterating the word of God, but by the manifestation of truth commending ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, in whose case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelieving so that they might not see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not preach ourselves but Christ Jesus as Lord, and ourselves as your bond-servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness,” is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.


But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you.


But having the same spirit of faith, according to what is written, “I BELIEVED, THEREFORE I SPOKE,” we also believe, therefore we also speak, knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and will present us with you. For all things are for your sakes, so that the grace which is spreading to more and more people may cause the giving of thanks to abound to the glory of God.


Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal."


And suddenly I'm thankful Dr Majeski made us memorize this for our NT2 midterm.

Perspektiven on Post-Christianity

Kathrin and I have a lot of conversations. Most days, we agree on most things. Some days, we agree to disagree. Other days, we disagree only to later realise we were both actually saying the same thing but in different ways. She tends to be more optimistic than I am about most things, so even her choice of words reflect that optimism. And it's usually not till later that I realise it was a matter of perspective. We could be talking about something that I've already gotten used to people disagreeing with me about, so my defenses are already up and ready to shoot down anything that could speak against my point. Even if she actually agrees with me, I don't actually hear her agreeing with me until I let my defenses down.

I've been thinking a lot the last few days about Christianity in Auckland. According to sources in American christendom, Auckland apparently falls into the bubble of post-Christianity. At least, that's what I learnt from the papers I've written for seminary that involved research on Maori ethnology and the development of the Christian church here.

But that's a problem. The resources available in the States were limited, and it was even more difficult to sieve through those resources to find the ones that weren't tainted with bias toward either parties involved in the Treaty of Waitangi. So the question remains: How the heck am I supposed to accurately find out about the history of both Maori and Pakeha, AND an accurate history of the Christian church here? Because if we don't know about where we've come from, how are we to figure out how to move ahead?

The thing is, if Auckland is as post-Christian as sources in the States paint it to be, then our approach to living out Christian faith here will be more complicated than simply presenting the creation story and praying the sinner's prayer. (Seminary friends, remember that conversation after Old Testament?) Because for someone who has either never grown up with a concept of God, or with a tainted perception of God, the creation story is just another narrative, like a literary work or a Shakespearean prose. And for us who grew up in the church, God and the Bible have always had some authority along with our parents, teachers etc. But for someone whose only understanding of an authority figure also has physical, emotional or spiritual abuse attached to it, the idea of an authority that is more concerned with love and grace than with legalism will still be difficult to grapple with.

Then there's the question of, if Auckland IS post-Christian, what happened that led us down this road?
Was it the doing of the well-intentioned (but maybe not so well-informed) British missionaries who, in the perception of the native Maori, were all the same as the other Brits did not keep up their end of the Treaty of Waitangi?
Was it the selfish agendas of church politics that caused division, leading to people leaving the church discouraged by how their idealistic perception of Christianity had just been shaken up and torn apart?
Or what's the story?

A part of me feels horrible that, as much as I've prided myself to be a student of anthropology, I've been in Auckland for over a month but haven't even started to really try to understand the world outside the church walls here. But I'm also realising that just because some aspects of the suburban Te Atatu Peninsula don't actually look too different than Anderson, Indiana, I don't process that the experience of Christianity here (whether you call it a religion, a faith, an experience or whatever the word is) is any different from the Christian bubble of Anderson.

I guess it's all a matter of perspective, eh? We each approach the idea of Christianity with a different perspective, but am I willing to listen to the stories behind why someone's approach is different from mine, or am I going to be defensive, the way I am in some of my conversations with Kathrin?

But there are more and more questions rolling around in my head. It's unsettling, but who's to say it's a bad thing?

UnProfessional Love

Doug asked me about a week ago if being on this side of Seminary was anything like what I expected. I wasn't exactly sure how to answer him because I don't know that I really had any expectations. Or maybe it was that I hadn't really thought it would be too different from the other stuff I was already involved with while in Seminary.

My biggest regret of my undergrad life was that I zipped through it so quickly that I hardly had time for people. I was involved in many things, but I never found the time to simply sit and listen or just be. Yet somewhere in the middle of the chaos of those years, I stumbled upon this idea called Love.

As those years drew to a close, I knew the lessons I learnt came from more places than just my music classes. In fact, I had gotten so tired of the professionalism of those looking for a career in music. All I wanted to do after I was done with college was to find some way to simply love people.

Which was probably why Seminary looked like the biggest joke ever. I didn't need more professionalism to show me how to love people. Besides, all that I had seen professionalism do was set people up against each other and make them compete. Even in music, together sounds better than alone (except when you get a bunch of flautists together--sorry, I just haven't let my music nerd side hang out in a while so I couldn't resist that). Yet we try to outdo each other with our ability to double- or flutter-tongue, or how much control we have over our vibrato or how quickly our fingers can move over the ivories.

But we lose sight of the bigger picture. Music was supposed to be a personal expression--whether it's the composer or the performer, not a show of who's better than who. I finished undergrad thinking, why can't we just flippin' love each other? It really isn't that hard.

The truth is, Love IS that hard. Between the 3 years of seminary and the 5 years of fighting church politics, the idea of Love that was already planted in my head was beat down, thrown around, pieced back together, and then beat down, thrown around and pieced back together all over again. But each time it was beat down, thrown around and pieced back together again, it grew bigger, bolder and scarier. And not because it was intimidating in and of itself, but because it demanded more of me.

Suddenly Love wasn't just about saying the right things at the right time anymore.
Suddenly Love wasn't just about giving all the time anymore.
Suddenly Love wasn't just about doing things anymore.
Suddenly, I realised Love couldn't be a profession.

I'm reminded again of the annoyingness and the pain of rediscovering love this time last year. And as I reflect upon the last couple of weeks of getting ready for this week's holiday program, it hits me again that Love isn't about putting on a uniform and doing things. Love isn't about getting the job done or making sure that programming runs smoothly. Love isn't about plastering a smile on my face as I greet kids that come into the gym at Rutherford Primary School each afternoon this week.

Love is about making room.
Love is about creating space for things to happen.
Love is about intentionality even when we feel like we've been running on empty for way too long.

And then I stumble upon the answer to Doug's question. The reason why life on this side of seminary doesn't seem too unexpected is because Love is still tormenting me with the reality that I still have no idea what I'm actually saying when I tell someone, "I love you".

And I guess for five years now, I have waited for this season where there's much less bookish professionalism and all that's left to do is to let life continue to teach me about Love. Because as it comes down to it, life and creation and all the thing-things (thank you, Phoebe Pether) that loiter around here are simply an expression of the Creator's Love.

Truth be told, I'm well aware that lately my attitude toward life in general hasn't been great. Even if I've just been through a lot of change, even if I've been running on close to nothing, those excuses for bad attitude can only last for so long.

Professional Love says keep putting that smile on your face and act like all is well in your world.
UnProfessional Love says take the time to grieve, then take the time to deal with it. Because you know the source of this Love never runs out.


This morning, I finally took time to go for a walk. Part of me felt guilty that I've been feeling so empty that I wasn't sure I'd have anything to give the ones involved with the holiday program. All month long we've been working toward this, and now that it's here, I'm empty and frustrated--mostly because I've been empty for so long and tried to ignore it. And I've felt the nudging from the Creator to back away for time alone, but I kept coming up with stupid excuses to avoid crashing. When I woke up this morning, something finally snapped. I needed to get away, even if only for a few minutes, or I would crash and burn.

Stefan and Kathrin live close to the boardwalk on the Peninsula where we get a pretty good view of the Auckland skyline. Well, we do most days, but today was not one of those days. Instead the fog had clouded the skyline of the city. After spilling my guts to the Creator for a good few minutes and apologising for being less than sufficient, it finally hit me.

I love cities. Berlin, Portland, Singapore, New York, Atlanta, and maybe soon enough, Auckland. Even on rainy days and cloudy days, I love cities regardless of whether I can see the skyline. I love cities because of its odd mix of people, the clutters of litter and the loudness of it all. But most importantly, wherever there are people, there will always be some kind of a mess or something to be frustrated about. C'mon, we're human. Humans are messy. But I love the mess anyway, because that mess reflects so much of my own imperfection. But even more than that, it reflects the creativity of a God who gives grace for more than I can even think or ask.

The creativity of a God with very unprofessional Love.

A Child Named Hope

There once lived these two little girls
They called one of them I
The other, they called Hope
They were best friends growing up

I was always lost in some deep thought
She was not one to settle for easy answers
The grown-ups always told her
Hope had all the answers
"If you would only listen to her"

Trouble was,
The grown-ups may have been right about Hope
But Hope also knew
I had to wrestle with the questions
For wrestling was necessary
So I could take ownership of the answers she found
All Hope offered
Was the steadfastness of friendship

In her years of wrestling,
I had to peel away the layers of idealism
She learnt she had to start seeing the world for what it was
Instead of what ideals she wanted it to be
I started putting distance between herself and Hope
For Hope's answers seemed too easy

The years flew by
And the distance remained between the friends
Hope often cried herself to sleep wishing things were different
I had to walk her journey alone
But Hope also resolved to keep pace from the distance

Hope had an older sister
Her name was Love
Love's wisdom was encouragement to Hope
So that her strength and friendship could endure
While I had her heart broken over and over again

The day came when I hit rock bottom
Hope found her in the corner of that dark room
I had been around Depravity too much
The scars from her own battles were many
But even more
Were the pieces of her heart
Shattered from the stories of brokenness she encountered
To live without hurting would be an unnatural existence

I grew afraid of being alone
For in those dark corners of loneliness
The pain and the scars tormented her
In that time,
Hope and Love found her

That night,
Hope held the candle as Love rocked her to sleep

But I was ashamed of the distance she had put between them
For a long time she pushed their friendship away
For a long time she was convinced
The only way she could have Hope and Love back
Was to completely walk away from Depravity

But Hope and Love pursued her
Hope showed her she never left
Even in her years of friendship with Depravity
Hope simply made space
For Depravity to teach her to be real

Enough time has passed now.

I sat in the middle of a conversation last night frustrated that all I could offer was another story of depravity. I found myself second-guessing the things I had said, angry that I didn't have more humour to offer.

But the truth is
Between the emotional scars that I am slowly finding healing from and the stories from the streets of Atlanta and Berlin
Between the wounds of close friends that I carry (because Hope, in her twisted sense of humour, gave me way too big a dose of empathy) and the faces of children in the reservations of South Dakota
I have seen too much Depravity that to live without hurting would be unnatural

I have also known Hope for too long to live in despair
But for me to try to write Hope, Love or Depravity out of my life would be compromising my story.

So all I can do now is to go out
And see anyway
Hurt anyway
Love anyway

Live anyway.

Three Weeks in Aotearoa

Today officially marks three weeks since I arrived in Auckland. Several friends here have made the observation that I didn't really land in Auckland, but rather just hit the ground running.

In this last week, I finally took the time to kind of jump out of my own skin metaphorically and look at the last few weeks from an "outsider's" perspective. Am I surprised that I hit the ground running? No. I probably would have been more surprised (and wonder what on earth is wrong with me??) if that didn't happen.

I'm not a "sit still and wait upon the Lord" person. I don't do that well. My host/roommate, Kathrin, and I had a conversation about that this week. She said something along the lines of, "I feel like I've been given a yellow light for a long time. I'd rather just have a red or green, but instead I'm simply getting yellow. That's ok... I have a lot of patience----NOT."

And I think that's kind of where I am. I've been at the yellow for so long that now that I'm finally here, I'm excited. I'm eager to go, to do, to be... But at the same time, there has to be the balance on the other side. I have to stop. I have to slow down. I have to take the time to grieve all the change that has happened in the last few months.

Do I absolutely love being here? Yes.
Do I absolutely love the people here? Yes.
Do I feel like I fit in here? Yes.

But still. There needs to be time to stop. To breathe. To rest. To cry.
And a big part of me wants to say, "We'll get to that later. Right now we're gaining momentum, so it's not quite time to crash yet."
But yet if I don't stop for a quick break now, I will crash and burn. And it will be ugly.

Sigh.

One of these days, self-care is going to get so much easier. One of these days, self-care could even come in the form of simply popping a "soul-soother" pill or something like that.

But until that day, we keep plogging along and do the best we can to take care of ourselves.


Alright, moving on.
So here are a few things I've been involved with since I got here:

Church at Westside Christian Fellowship (WCF)
Church service usually starts at 4:30, but because we're renting space from the Anglican church, we usually get to church around 3 to set up for our service. "Church" usually ends with a pitch-in dinner, and everyone brings a dish according to the theme that's been decided. That has been a great time for me to get to know people at the church, hear their stories, hang out, and wrestle with the kids and the youths. By the end of the day, I'm usually exhausted--usually because I spend WAY too much time running around trying to avoid getting tackled by one of the youths or kids. And even though it's exhausting, I love every minute of it. For a global nomad, the feeling of acceptance and settling into some kind of family structure is comforting. And so for church to always feel like it's a rowdy family reunion feeds my soul.

The church family here has also been great with taking care of me. People have constantly been feeding me and taken me out for coffee (it might even be possible that I've consumed more coffee in the last 3 weeks than during my seminary years. Except it's happy coffee--coffee you drink for fun, not stay-awake coffee!). A small group of like-minded crazies at church have taken it upon themselves to check up on me that I'm doing well spiritually and emotionally and processing life healthily.

Holiday Program
In a little over a week, we will be having our holiday program. The theme for this year is "Passport to the Holy Land". It's pretty much Vacation Bible School style, and it will be on October 10-14. Danette has been working very hard on getting this together, and I've been given the opportunity to watch and learn as well. Pray with us that this will be an event that allows relationships to develop amongst the kids, the group of helpers and our community. Pray also that it will bring life change that lasts longer than just the event itself.

Hiking at Piha
Last weekend, my hosts and housemates Kathrin and Stefan, and our youth pastor Steve led a group of university students on a hike to Piha and I got to tag along. To everyone who has been telling me New Zealand is beautiful, you are absolutely right. Stefan is amazing at photography and took a bunch of pictures. I haven't had the time or technology to upload the photos I took yet, so here's the link to the photos Stefan took.

Piha

So much more to write since life has been so full for the last couple of months. Once I get around to a regular routine of writing again, I'll do my best to not simply do the verbal diarrhea thing. But for now, time to get things ready for dinner tonight!

Meeting Wairua

Her feet settled in comfortably into the sand as she placed them one in front of the other continually. They felt like they belonged. As did she, right there on the beach with the cool waves gently washing up around her ankles. This was home, and she was settled. At least, until it's time to move again.

The sunlight was beginning its retirement journey for the day, and even though it would have felt more normal for melancholy to settle in around this time of the day, her feet still felt light. She was beginning to gain momentum when she noticed a solitary figure keeping pace with her not too far off in the distance. She knew right away who it was, but this time the figure was dressed in a red, white and black finely woven top with what looked like a Hawaiian skirt.

She smiled and gave a slight wave of acknowledgement. It was comforting to know that she hadn't wandered too far since the conversation at the coffeeshop. But the distance between them confused her. She didn't feel as distant from *Wairua as their footprints in the sand reflected. As much as she wanted to close the distance between them, the voice in her head kept saying, "Ohhh, watch it. Watch it!"

Her eyes were fixed on the feather on Wairua's headband as she started inching closer, trying to ignore the voice in her head. "Ahhh, scheiße!" she yelped, as the pain shot straight from her foot to her heart where that old wound laid wide open as if salt had just been rubbed directly into it. Refusing to let that first shot of pain stop her, she tried again, but could make no more progress than she did the first time. She felt the first tears coming on and tried desperately to blink them back, but they spilled out as if the floodgates had finally been open.

She looked back up to Wairua, the pain on her face as raw as the fresh stab on the old wound. She hoped for a band-aid or perhaps a magic carpet that would smooth over the broken bits of shell that covered the distance between them, but all she saw were the tears on Wairua's face and the rays of sun reflecting from the little bottle of liquid she wore around her neck.

Chills went down her spine as she recalled the last time she saw that bottle. Suddenly it was like time flew backwards by three years, and she was meeting *Sarayu for the first time. She wore a bottle around her neck the same way Wairua did. Her body went limb and she fell upon the sand, and as each piece of broken shell pierced through her skin, the pain shot straight to her heart the same way the first one did.

It couldn't be the same bottle Sarayu had, could it? The pain and hopelessness of those years suddenly felt so raw all over again. But Sarayu had walked her through those days of sitting in the dark corners wanting to have nothing to do with this thing called Life, and gently put every one of those tears she shed back then into that bottle she wore around her neck. That she could feel as light as she did walking on the beach just a few moments ago was something she celebrated everyday. So where was this searing pain coming from now?

"My child," Wairua whispered, "This isn't about three years ago anymore. Back then you knew me as Sarayu, as Papa, as Jeshua. I'm still Sarayu, Papa and Jeshua, but in Aotearoa, I'm also Wairua, the Spirit of Life. These shells between us are the broken pieces of you, connected between your heart and the people and lands you have been with. You heard it once earlier tonight. Change sometimes hurts. My child, you have been hurting for so long and I don't know why you keep trying to hold up this shell. You and I both know that you do change better in vulnerability to community than alone, and yet you keep holding back from genuine community. We talked about this during those eight hours in that airport, didn't we?

As long as you're not living life here with complete abandonment,
As long as you're not giving your heart away freely and completely to this land and this people,
You're still living in fear.

And giving your heart away doesn't mean simply giving love away. It also means being vulnerable to receive love. You are not less of a person simply because you are broken and empty. But you will become less and less of a person if you keep trying to give away love without being willing to receive Agape in return."

Wairua knelt on the sand, and with her bare hands began brushing off layers and layers of sand from the first piece of shell, cutting her fingers over and over again in the process. She wore a gentle smile on her face as her tears mixed in with the crimson droplets. The smile grew warmer and bigger as more and more of the cream-coloured shell revealed itself.

The first piece of shell finally came loose, and as Wairua dusted off the last sand bits, her smile became one of victory.

"This, my child," she said, as she set the first piece aside and began working on the next one. "This is my blood, shed for you.

As often as you do this, remember Me."


* Maori for "Spirit"
* Borrowed from William Paul Young's The Shack

Soul Food From Aotearoa

Haere Mai. Welcome.

Too much time has flown by since the last time I blogged.

No, I take that back.

The amount of time has been right, but so much has happened. As much as I enjoy crafting words, I don't know that I have the sufficient vocabulary in any human language to describe all that has happened in the last couple of weeks.

I guess the most important thing I have to say here for today though is: I'm now in Auckland. And for that I am thankful.

I've been here less than two weeks now, and already my soul is so filled. Do I still have doubts about whether Auckland is the right place for this season? To tell you no would be a big fat lie. I'm still waiting for the day that we actually formalize the visa process and for the immigration folks to tell me, "Sorry. Denied."

I guess I should back-track a little.

Yes, I made it to Auckland. But I'm here on a tourist visa at the moment because I'm still waiting for a background check in the States to be processed for the visa application. The whole process is kinda complicated (but mostly just annoying) to explain, but simply put: If we waited for the background check to be processed, it would take at least another month from the time I mailed the request to the States to the time we would hear anything back. So we figured I'd come in on a tourist visa for now and apply for the work visa after the background check comes in, seeing as I have enough financial support for now so that Westside doesn't have to pay me yet.

Clear as mud? I'd be happy to explain all the details to you eventually, but that's not the point of this entry today.

The point is, I'm here. I don't have a clue what I'm doing, but apparently Things are happening. And I'm blown away by the fact that simply because I finally decided to stop shuffling my feet around and come in spite of immigration regulations, I get to be a part of Things here. And somehow, trying to put these things down on pen and paper (or keyboard and screen?) makes me feel like I'm cheapening the spirituality of all that has happened. And the fact that my soul has been so, so filled makes it hard for me to not be cynical about it.

I've been having an internal debate between myself and the conversation Jenny and I had back when I heard back from Chad that the folks at Westside had given the go-ahead to continue conversations with me about coming over. A big part of me finds it difficult to believe that good things can come so easily. After all, there were still so many questions left unanswered.

• Would I fit in theologically?
• Would I find the soul friends quickly enough to help me process transition the way my Anderson community had before I fall back into my unhealthy coping measures?
• How the heck is the Greater Being going to equip me enough to work with kids?

But those are not the important questions for now. The scariest thing is that there already are people here who will walk this journey with me. They've listened to some of the ridiculousness of the questions I've been asking. They've helped me try to balance out the head and heart sides of ministry. They've been so intentional about taking care of me physically, spiritually and emotionally. Part of me wants to say, "Yeah, but I'm new. How long will this last?" while another part wants to say, "Shut up. Just because you've had your share of church folks hurting one another doesn't mean you're allowed to stop believing in the power of Agape."

But again, that's still not the point. I can keep rambling, and keep digging for cynicism then further still for truths that combat cynicism, and still completely miss the point.

The point is, I'm here. I've done a good job so far of covering up how tired I really am, and how I feel like I'm running on nothing. This year has been long. The journey to finally be physically in Auckland has been exhausting. The ability to simply sit and let Things happen is clearly coming from a Being far greater than me right now. The truth is, Things will happen at Westside regardless of whether or not I'm here. I get to be a part of these Things not because I'm a good person, or because this is a reward for my willingness to let the world be the village that raises me.

I get to be a part of this because Agape knew this was my love language. And for that, I am in awe.

I apologise if I haven't been very coherent. The desire to finally put some of these thought bubbles down into words has been great, but even greater has been the desire to simply sit quietly in awe of all that has happened and the One that has weaved these stories together.

Love you all, and appreciate each one of you so much for being a part of my village.

Coffee Shop Conversations

She sat behind her computer typing away furiously with a slight frown. Occasionally she would look across the rows of trees below to let her thoughts breathe for a few seconds, and the frown would ease up just that little bit as she sipped her cappuccino.

For that few seconds, she let her mind race back to the last time she was in that coffee shop and a slight smile crept up on her face as she continued typing furiously. It was the beginning of a summer that was about to change her life, except she didn't realise it yet. And the people around that table--an eclectic group nonetheless--seemed to fit in so well with the fact that they were just outside of Berlin, Germany. "If Portland was the capital of Weird in the US, Berlin would probably be that equivalent for this part of the world," she thought to herself. Of all the places she had traveled to, it would of course make sense that these were her top two favourite cities. She was, after all, weird and proud of it.

She took another sip of her cappuccino as she furiously tried to put to words all the thoughts and theological implications that had gone through her head in the last week or so. "In every circle of friends, there has to be an old soul," she smiled as she remembered that comment she made in passing in one of those conversations. That was when she realised she had so many people in her life to fulfill the many layers of human relationships that were required for healthy human functionality. Each one of them gave her something different to be thankful for, and something else to think about. And she was becoming increasingly confident that regardless of where in the world she went to, it wouldn't be difficult to establish these circles again from next to nothing.

So lost was she in the attempt to process the current theological ramblings that she jumped when she finally looked up again and saw him sitting there.

"Holy crap, Papa! Don't do that to me again!" she let out in a harsh whisper. He simply smiled back.

"How long have you been... Never mind, don't answer that." She knew. He had followed her from the house to the bus-stop, to the train station. Then again, she was pretty sure he was at the airport with them earlier that day as well when the kids in the youth group decided to head there after church. And the last time she was at that spot. And the day she moved to Anderson. And TKGS. And...

"Ok, ok. Got it. I'm guessing we need to talk?"

Again, he said nothing and simply smiled.

"I know I've been doing a lot of thinking, and very little feeling," she finally said after some time passed since his silence. "And we both know that I've been doing a lot of thinking so that I can avoid feeling. I'm frustrated because I'd rather be in Auckland. But truth be told, this whole process has worn me down a lot, and I'm not even excited anymore. Everyday is just blah because I want a sense of "normalcy" and don't laugh because we all already know my life has been and will continue to be anything but normal. But that's not what I mean. Even if it turns out that Auckland would only be for a little while, I want to feel at "home" somewhere for that little while. I want to be able to walk into a shop somewhere and say, "I want this for my living space, and it's reasonably-priced and sized," and be able to buy it instead of thinking that it won't be able to fit into my two pieces of luggage. I've loved being able to drop everything at the last minute to go spend time with people because I don't know when's the next time I'll get to see them, but a loose schedule like that for more than just a couple of months is about to drive me crazy. I may have spent a lot of time with the Kenyan sisters this summer, but I'm still used to having SOME kind of structure. Am I ranting?"

He still said nothing and simply smiled.

And that was when she understood. Through all these transitions she craved nothing more than just one constant. That Constant had created all the circles she had just been so thankful for to hold her through each change, but Constant was still constant. And Constant constantly gave her space to think as she needed to think, feel as she needed to feel, not feel as she needed to not feel...

Constant constantly gave her space just so she had space.

"Hopes told you you had the gift of giving space," he finally said after she caught her breath.

"But I only have space to give because YOU give me space," she said.

"My child, I don't need answers from you. I don't need you to figure me out. I don't need you to rant when you're frustrated, sing when you're happy, or cry when you're upset.

I just need you to be you."