Good news

The passage from this morning comes from the Gospel according to Saint Luke 2:41-52.

What is the good news in the passage?

That's how we are taught to start writing our sermons in seminary. That's the question that we ask ourselves when we are stuck. That's what my husband annoyingly repeats to me when I turn to him with an over-dramatic sigh and say, "I've got nothing."

Sometimes - I think I can safely say most of the time - it's not terribly hard to find the good news in a biblical passage. At least at the surface, it is typically something like, "Jesus heals" or "Jesus brings us into community" or "we are all a part of the Kingdom of God through Christ."

Other times, finding the good news in a passage is not that easy.

Sometimes, finding the good news in life is just as difficult.

As I think about the last few days we have had together as a community at Luther House Chapel, I can't help but think that this is one of those times when finding the good news is not so easy.

Christmas is supposed to be a time of joy, festivities, being with family, eating good food. But this Christmas we had to lay one of our sisters to rest much too soon.

And as we sit here this morning, looking for the good news in this passage, we are also looking for good news in this place, in this season, as we mourn one of our very own in great sorrow.

This morning, verse 48 sticks out to me - "His parents didn't know what to think." As I sat at my desk looking for words for this morning, as I stood at the wake and funeral over the past few days, as I felt her absence so poignantly in this community, I didn't know what to think.

I longed for good news, I longed for joy and peace - in this congregation and in this passage, but I was unable to find it. And I kept going back to that verse - "They didn't know what to think."

And not even a week after Christmas, we encounter this passage and we ask a similar question as Mary asked of Jesus that day, "Why have you done this to us?" We ask God in the midst of our grief and pain, "Why now? Why her? When we loved her so dearly, when she was such a part of our family? Why have you done this to us?"

And then this next comment from Mary sticks with us even more: "I have been frantic, searching for you everywhere." In the middle of this season of our own grief and sorrow, we sometimes look to the sky and call out, "Where are you, God? We are searching for you everywhere!" And we are searching for God frantically.

And I wonder, if Jesus had been older in this story, if he had been more mature, would Jesus have had a different answer for his frantic mother? Would he have been more gentle? Because as the story goes, he says, "You should have known where I was. Why were you searching for me? I was in my father's house." I imagine the twelve-year old Jesus adding something like "Come on mom! Stop worrying!"

I also imagine that when Jesus was older and more mature, he reflected on that memory with his mother. I'm sure she remembered it much more vividly than he did - her fear, anxiety, maybe even her anger when she was frantically searching for him. And Jesus lovingly would calm her saying, "Mother, you should know - I would never leave you, I have never left you. I will never leave you."

This is good news.

And if we move back further in the passage, there are two other details that point toward the good news. Stay with me, here.

At the beginning of this story, it says that Mary and Joseph weren't worried about having Jesus right next to them. They assumed he was with the other travelers, so they didn't fret. This tells us one of two things. Either they were pretty neglectful parents, or they were a part of a community that was so closely knit that they were comfortable with not knowing exactly where their son was. I'm going to go out on a limb and say Mary and Joseph were not neglectful parents.

For most people, it might be hard to imagine a community so closely knit that people's children run around and their parents know that they will be taken care of. But it's not difficult to imagine if you are a part of Luther House. We know what it is like to be a part of a community that comes together in one of the busiest times of the year to care for one another and love one another well.

This is good news.

And finally, we can look at what Jesus was doing in the temple while his parents were frantically searching for him. He was sitting among the people listening and asking, he was understanding and answering. We have a savior who sits among us, even in our grief, listening and asking, understanding and answering. We are loved by a savior who understands our pain and our grief because he has endured it the same as we have. He endures it with us today.

And although we have so many questions, so many things left unanswered, the good news is that we don't have to be the ones who answer the questions. We don't have to answer the "whys" and the "whats nexts." We are called simply to obey, to love one another, to carry each other onward in community in the way that our Lord taught us.

This is good news.

Every single day

I remember the evening I thought my husband might finally, fully understand. 

The night he thought his life was in danger. 

I remember the evening he told me about it- he sounded a little bit silly if I'm honest. I remember trying to give him rational explanations for each thing he was explaining - the way the man acted, the way he was dressed, the bag he carried, his uneasiness. But ultimately I didn't comfort my husband. I made him feel ridiculous for thinking his life might be in danger. In that situation I had the privilege of sitting outside of what happened without fear, knowing that ultimately he was safe because he had come home to me that night. 

The tables had turned in that moment. I was the one with privilege, the one who was safe and unfeeling. And he was the one who felt angry, hurt, and abandoned when I didn’t comfort him appropriately, when I didn’t take him seriously.  

But as I recounted this story to him again a few weeks ago, I remembered the fear in his eyes as he told me about it the first time, I remembered the slight trembling in his voice. I even remembered his hesitation in telling me.

"Do you remember how you felt in that moment?" I asked, "How terrified you were?" 

"Yeah." 

"That's how I feel. Every single day.”

Looking back on it now, I realize that I wasn't just talking about how I feel when I think my life is in danger. I was also talking about the feeling of fear and anxiety as I begin recounting my story. Fear I'll be rejected, fear I won't be taken seriously. 

A few days later as I began writing this blog post, with that same fear and anxiety, my husband read it and said, “Really? Every single day?” 

My wonderful, loving, perfect husband was doubting my feelings, doubting the validity of my story. 

But it’s not his fault. He simply doesn’t know. And honestly, he will probably never truly understand. And it doesn't do any good to blame him for something he has no idea about. 

But it’s time that we women stop doubting ourselves and just tell our stories. 

Because I’m not being over-dramatic. I’m not over-exaggerating. By the time I began wearing a bra and my hips began to fill out my dresses and jeans, I had men hitting on me. All ages of men, all social classes, all races. And it happened constantly. I don’t mean once a week or twice a month, but every day. 

And it wasn’t isolated to one “type” of people. 

If I wore something deemed “distracting” to school, I would be sent away from the classroom. By female teachers and male teachers alike. So every day I was faced with the decision of whether I wore what I was comfortable wearing, or I wore what other people were comfortable with me wearing. 

From a very young age I began hearing things like, “well, what was she wearing?” or “That outfit says she’s asking for it.”  When I asked men and boys to stop staring at my breasts, I was told I shouldn’t wear such a revealing shirt.

And I fell for it. Like most of us do, I fell into the trap of society which tells me that if I wear a certain thing, then I deserve to be treated a certain way. If I look a certain way, it shows I have no respect for myself and no one else will either. I fell into the trap just like every single one of my friends did. But it didn't stop there. Eventually I could feel the shift. It wasn't about what I wore or how I looked, it was because of who I am - a woman. 

Recently, I came to realize just how trapped I still am in this way of thinking. Despite my battle-cries of feminism, I am still trapped inside this culture that says women can be treated however men feel is appropriate. 

As I grow older, I begin to truly realize how dangerous society is for women. 

It is quite incredible to me how much violence is directed toward women on a regular basis and called normal. Women are sexually harassed every single day, out in the open, in crowds. But it's seen as innocent. Men claim that it is "a compliment" or "flattering."

It's the crude comments. The whistles. The pelvic thrusts in my direction. The "mmhmm"s and the "oo baby"s that greet me around the corner. The kissing noises directed at my backside. The stares. The nods. 

My heart beats faster as "fight or flight" reflexes kick in, my hand clamps my husband's (if I'm lucky enough to have him next to me), I walk faster, I grab for my keys or umbrella, I look down at my phone (into which I have already typed "911") and think would anyone actually come help me?

My reaction may sound ridiculous, but as someone who has heard stories that start with "hey baby" and end with three days unconsciousness in a motel room after being repeatedly raped and beaten by at least six men, my reaction may sound justified.

Cat-calls and pelvic thrusts are not flattering and they are certainly not innocent. They perpetuate the thinking that women can be treated as sexual objects simply because they are women. It makes us less than human, less than worthy of respect and honor.

Allow me to share this portion of a "feelings wheel" to the left. Especially notice the section under "fear" that breaks down "insecure" and "submissive." This is what sexism does. Yes, those other feelings are there - frightened, terrified, overwhelmed.

But for anyone who has been sexually harassed or physically assaulted, it goes further than that. Eventually, living in a society where this kind of open harassment and abuse is accepted and sometimes encouraged, we begin to feel worthless, insignificant, and inadequate. After being harassed every single day since we hit puberty, these feelings are hard to ignore. So we blame ourselves.

And when I am harassed I, because of the society in which I was raised, immediately look down at what I'm wearing when this happens (every single day) and think, "I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt!" or "I'm wearing a long skirt just like every other woman on this train!"

I immediately blame myself. I evaluate myself and make sure it's not something I'm doing/wearing to cause this reaction from men. One (male) friend said, "it's probably because you're blonde." And guess what? I thought, "I would absolutely dye my hair black if it meant I wouldn't be sexually harassed like that all the time." I victim-blame myself! Over and over again we do this to ourselves and to others. And others do it to us.

And it not only leads to fear. It leads to feelings of inferiority, inadequacy, and worthlessness. It leads to violence, depression, and suicide. Cat-calling is not innocent. Whistling at someone is not flattering. It kills.

We are not being overdramatic. We are not exaggerating our exhaustion or our fear. Our stories matter. Our stories are what will break us from the chains of this society which tells us that sexism is something we must simply "get over." The chains of this society are thick. And I wonder at how much effort it takes me, a women with these stories ingrained in my very soul, to break free from these chains. And my heart aches at how much more it will take to break our brothers, who likely have never lived these stories and sometime never even heard them, from these patriarchal chains.

So we must tell our stories. We must tell them. Despite the reactions from society. Over and over again we must tell them without hesitation. Otherwise, our wonderful, perfect, loving, well-intentioned husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons will never know the truth.

Cameron Highlands

This weekend we had the privilege of bring driven two hours north to the mountains to meet some of our sisters and brothers in the Orang Asli community. We went with Daniel's church, Bangsar Lutheran Church, to install a solar panel on the small community's church building.

We were surprised that the community was right off the main road and not more secluded.

Most of the houses sat on stilts and made from a combination of bamboo, tarps, tin roofing, and plywood.

The church is large and carefully crafted from concrete.

While Daniel worked with the solar-panel installation crew, I wandered around the community and talked to people (with a translator of course) about the church, people, and culture of living in the mountains. The women in this community really love Bollywood films, so some of the Indian women from Bangsar taught them how to prepare Indian snacks. We made onion pakoras (onion fritters) and corn pakoras (corn fritters). It was some of my favorite food we have had so far (I am finding I am partial to South Indian food).

Adding ginger to the onions for onion fritters.

Frying it up!

Mashing the corn for the corn fritters.

About the time we were finished frying everything, the solar panel engineers had finished with their work. It took a lot of work and shaky ladders, but just about the time the sun started beaming down, the wiring was ready to be done.

Lights inside the church will allow the community to gather despite the setting sun. Kids will be able to work on their homework and read late into the night. 

After the hard work of cooking and solar paneling, we relaxed and hung out with some of the kids (from Bangsar and from the Orand Asli community). And I, of course, went to take some pictures.

The boys from Bangsar were happy to get dirty.

Daniel relaxing in the sunshine.

 That night, we made our way further up the mountain to the Lutheran Mission Bungalow. It's a huge beautiful house that sits above a valley. As we went up, everything was covered in a thick fog, making the trek pretty creepy. After settling in to our rooms, we went back down the mountain about 2km to the town. It was finally dinner time! Steamboat was on the menu. Steamboat is basically the Asian equivalent to fondue. You get big plates of meat and veggies and add it to a pot of boiling soup stock. 

The next morning we were greeted by cool weather and fresh air. We lounged around for a portion of the morning after breakfast enjoying the beautiful view from the bungalow. As we made our way back down toward Kuala Lumpur, we stopped to see the famous Cameron Valley tea fields. 

We also got to stop at one of the most beautiful and largest waterfalls I have ever seen. 

The trip to Cameron Highlands couldn't have been more perfectly timed. It was a great 24 hours of balanced work and relaxation - the perfect place to take a break and recharge. I have definitely found my happy place.

Stumbling Blocks

Two Sundays ago, I preached (admittedly not very well) on Jesus’ teaching about chopping off limbs and hanging a millstone around your neck.  I’m sure you’ve heard it before. I usually try to ignore it as I’m leisurely reading through Mark’s Gospel. 

“If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea." (Mark 9:42)

I can understand Jesus telling us not to purposely put a stumbling block before others.  That seems like a pretty good thing to tell people - don’t purposely cause people to question their faith or turn away from God. 

But what happens when we unintentionally put a stumbling block before someone? What if we had always been taught something that we never knew could be harmful to some people’s faith? What if everyone else does it? Does Jesus think that deserves a millstone around the neck too? 

I don’t know. But if Jesus thinks that any stumbling block we place before others - intentionally or unintentionally - is harmful enough to deserve a millstone around our necks, maybe we should start thinking about the unintentional stumbling blocks as well. 

So that’s what I’ve been doing these past two weeks. What are some of the unintentional stumbling blocks I have put in front of people? Whether I had good intentions at the time, or I simply wanted to hear myself speak, I know I have put stumbling blocks in other people’s “faith way.” 

I think as Christians, we put stumbling blocks in front of people more often than we realize. And we can’t always avoid it because we don’t know people’s situations and we don’t know what might be a stumbling block for one person and might be helpful for another. 

But there is one thing that we do all too often, and it is causing people to stumble more than we realize.   

Gendering God is something we do without even thinking about it.  

We pray to “Father God.” 

We refer to God as “he” in worship, prayers, and hymns. 

We talk about God as a masculine being. 

We reject (openly or unconsciously) the feminine aspects of God. 

It might be that I am more sensitive to this type of stumbling block because I have experienced its effects to many times throughout my life. But I believe that we have the opportunity to actually remove this stumbling block from in front of the entire Body of Christ, just by changing the way we talk about God. 

The way we talk about God influences what we believe about God. And what we believe about God is important because it influences what we believe about God's creatures, God's relationship with us, salvation, evangelism, our relationship with one another (and basically everything else theologically). Gendering God is dangerous because it inherently has the ability to change our vision of and relationship with God. Gendering God can actually cause people to turn away from God and put a stumbling block in front of them. By gendering God, we can inadvertently lead people away from God.

Gendering God is a dangerous stumbling block in front of many Christians and non Christians all over the world, from various backgrounds, and in various contexts. 

But I have found that it is an especially dangerous stumbling block here in Southeast Asia. 

I will start by giving you an example of how gendering God as male is particularly dangerous because this the gender assigned to God most often. But please be assured that in other contexts and cultures, gendering God as female can also be dangerous.

A fellow pastor explained a little bit about child-parent relationships and gender roles in Chinese culture. "Relationships with fathers are very often closed off," he explained, "we cannot call our fathers by name when we are young out of respect, so we call them 'papa.'"  Even when children become adults, there is a very real reverence for older men in the family.  Older men in my congregation are never called by their Chinese name, but called, "uncle" or people who are particularly close use their English names.

Fathers are described as stern disciplinarians who discourage dependence and emotional indulgence in their children.  Of course, fathers still very much care for their children, but there is often no outward manifestation of this care and affection for fathers like there might be between children and mothers. Fathers often remain aloof in the "hands-on" portion of parenting (dressing, changing, bathing, feeding children), unless there is severe discipline needed.

Mothers, on the other hand, are described as "intimate nurturers," who often "baby" their children until they are older.  The relationship children share with their mothers is one of provision, compassion, warmth, and love.

These gender roles regarding parenting often lead to a close, intimate relationship between a mother and her child, while the relationship between a father and a child may be more distant, strained, or cause anxiety and even fear for the child later in life.

When we exclusively call God "father," and describe God as masculine, this affects our relationship with God as well as other people's relationship with God. 

If a person cannot imagine an intimate, warm, caring, personal relationship with his or her earthly father, how will he or she imagine his or her relationship with a heavenly "father?" Chances are, he or she will imagine God as a distant disciplinarian who should be feared, someone who will only step in when we need punishment. This image of God does not foster a close, deep, personal relationship with God. In fact, people may even reject God and be completely uninterested in a relationship with such a distant, impersonal God such as this.  

We must continue to look for ways to describe God and imagine God in comparison and contrast to our earthly relationships - but never prescribing God a gender. Granted, we will never be able to fully grasp all of God, but we can combat harmful images of God, the blocks that cause our brothers and sisters to stumble. Especially when certain images of God are so nonchalantly used and so obviously harmful to people's faith because of the dominant culture. 

By allowing and encouraging people to envision God as something other than their "father" or a "male," we offer a new vision, a more inclusive and relational vision of God's redeeming love and mercy. And we start to pick up those stumbling blocks from amongst our sisters’ and brothers’ feet. 

I, the Woman

On Friday, I picked up a couple of journals from the library at the Lutheran Church in Malaysia headquarters. I was delighted to find some called In God's Image: Journal of Asian Women's Resource Centre for Culture and Theology. I immediately took the latest three journals they had (2000, 2001, and 2002). Disappointed they had apparently stopped ordering the journals or they stopped printing them, I flipped through them, savoring the black and white picture of women in "tribal clothing" and headlines such as "Laws Regarding Women's Sexuality in India." I had found my reading for the month.

In the December 2000 journal, I found this poem by J Jonmoni D Shira. She is a Garo woman of what is now Meghalaya, India and wrote this poem in 1940. They call themselves A-chik Mande, literally "hill people" and are one of the few remaining matrilineal societies in the world. The poem was translated from Garo by Caroline R Mark. Nothing else is said about the author in the journal.

A Garo tribal couple in traditional dress.

I did a quick Google search to see if this poem is well known or published online and found nothing. I think J Jonmoni D Shira's voice deserves to be heard.


I have been born a woman
To bear all kinds of difficulties,
Though I lament my misfortune
I cannot alter it.

Poor Eve committed sin
Before the world;
Bringing heavier burdens and worries
Upon the woman.

From birth, her strength is less
Her face is lovelier,
But I am taught
To be under male domination.

From tender age
I have to live under the control of man,
At the slap of my younger brother
I weep loudly.

I cannot act as I please,
There's not a day of happiness for me
I cannot dream of
Even proposing to travel.

I know and understand
The truth,
The bad and the good, the consequences
And the subject matter.

Yes I cannot
So much as open my mouth
Due to the words,
'Silence, you stupid woman!'

To sit in the dumping place of chaff,
To eat the leftovers, is my lot;
I get ridicule from my fellow human beings
Because of my lowliness.

Though I fall in love
With an eligible young man,
I have been forcibly made to give my consent
To one whom I dislike.

When I fall in love with a young man
I get into trouble,
For a trifling error
They jilt me.

O Young Man, beware,
Deeds do not simply vanish,
Some time, you too,
May fall into a night of sorrow.

Now I am a married woman,
My difficulties have multiplied;
It is now my duty
To suffer agony in bearing children.

For a slight mistake
I am slapped;
The crying child
Keeps me awake at night.

My husband knows not
My hardship and pain,
I succumb
To more diseases.

In the small hours of the morning
I get up and cook,
I spend the whole day
In the field.

I return home carrying a heavy load
And then I work at home,
Though it is very late at night I cannot rest,
For I have to husk rice.

Out of exhaustion my body becomes thin,
I am no more attractive,
It occurs to my husband
To look for someone else.

Nevertheless, my mind
Has pure thoughts,
Though my husband does me wrong
I bear it patiently.

Souls do not keep silent,
You shall not remain superior,
As a reward for your deeds
You will not escape from hell.

You, man, therefore,
Beware,
You must surely look into
The grievances of women.

If my word is wrong,
Refute it,
If you yourself are at fault
Repent now.

Hazed and Confused

The haze is getting to us.

Our morning routine typically consists of hauling ourselves out of bed around 10am (it's a rough life), grabbing a few water bottles out of the kitchen, and remarking about the weather.

"The haze looks like it lifted."
"Probably because of the rain."

"The haze is back again."
"Let's not leave the house today."

We have to go into the open-air hallway to get to the kitchen, so the weather kind of slaps us in the face as soon as we break the subpar seal of our air conditioned sanctuary of a bedroom.

We heard it was going to be bad this year. Actually, we heard that it was already bad this year. But we hadn't really noticed. Until recently.  There's a fun building we can usually see on our way to breakfast or the gym every morning. It looks like something out of Sim City and I enjoy imagining someone on their desktop computer controlling everything about Petaling Jaya and Kuala Lumpur - trading resources and building parks.  But lately we haven't been able to see the building from where we live. The haze has gotten much too terrible.

It is blowing in from Indonesia, where peat fields are burning for no real reason.  The burning and subsequent haze is even worse during dry years in Southeast Asia. This is not only harmful for the people living in haze areas (you know, me and the rest of the hundreds of millions of people here), but it is also harmful to the ozone layer. According to a report on Nature.com, "estimated carbon emissions from these 1997-98 fires were... equivalent to 13-40% of annual global fossil fuel emissions at that time."  And it's not getting any better. According to the same report, "in 2013... fires in Indonesia generated atmospheric pollution that exceeded the previous 1997-98 records over Singapore."

How is this happening, you might ask. Good question. It looks like (similar to most bad, harmful things in this world) big corporations and plantations are to blame. Peat bogs are sometimes drained in order to make room for farming and under the right (dry) circumstances, peat will burn indefinitely. Some peat fires have been burning in Indonesia since 1997. See the pretty map below.

Smoke and pollution from Indonesian fires, 1997.

Now I don't know if any of you have lived in a country with this much pollution on top of this much smoke haze, but I might be able to paint a good picture for you.

Below you will see the area where most of my readers live: Ohio, Virginia, North Carolina, and South Carolina.  While there are some places with abnormally high air quality indexes (probably because of factories), most areas hover around the 20s or 30s.  Even large cities don't have terrible ratings (around 50).

Now this picture shows where I'm living in Malaysia. This is updated from yesterday, one of the worst days we have had with haze since we have gotten here. All the numbers are above 100. Which is exactly why my eyes are burning while writing this post in an outdoor cafe. 

Curious about air quality in other places? Click here.

So let's just say the haze is getting to us. Between the phlegm, burning eyes, heavy chest, and coughing - we are about done with the dry season. The good news is that at least Indonesia has apologized for it...

What I wanted to say to Kim Davis

Everyone has some opinion about Kim Davis, the county clerk who was jailed for contempt this past week after refusing to issue marriage licenses to homosexual couples. 

As a political scientist, I love a good example of civil disobedience. I love American freedoms. Especially now that I'm removed from those freedoms for a year. I particularly love American religious freedoms because they are so vital to equality and equity in this country. 

I don't think people should just blindly follow laws, simply because they are laws. If we did that, the civil rights movement would have never happened. If we blindly followed laws, there would never be change in our society. 

So as a political scientist, there are a few things I wanted to say to Kim Davis as soon as I heard she was arrested. 

I wanted to say, "Yeah girl! Do your thing! Civil disobedience!" 

I wanted to say, "Stay in that jail! Prove your point!" 

I wanted to say, "Good for you! I envy your courage and conviction. Many people would give in after a night in jail." 

I wanted to say, "I'm proud of you for being so committed to your own faith, even if it is different from mine." 

But I cannot, in good conscious, say those things. Because "political scientist" is not the first or most important part of my identity. I am a political scientist. I am an American. I am a supporter of religious freedoms, as many of my fellow Americans are. 

But first and foremost I am a follower of Christ. 

And as a Christian, I can certainly support civil disobedience. I can even support someone who blatantly, purposely breaks the law because her convictions tell her to. 

But I can only support these things if they are for the good of the community. I can only support civil disobedience if it brings about reconciliation, if it brings about shalom. I can only understand and support breaking the law if it brings about the Kingdom of God. (If you need an example of what this looks like, see the Gospel, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, or Shane Claiborne.) 

What Kim Davis is doing is not bringing about shalom in this world that so desperately needs it. What Kim Davis is trying to prove is not meant to bring reconciliation. What Kim Davis is doing is denying rights to people who legally (and naturally) deserve equal rights in our world. 

Imagine a different scenario: a young non-white American comes into the clerk's office to get a building permit for his house. The clerk declares that his religion (whatever religion it may be) tells him that non-whites cannot own land or build on land and refuses to issue the building permit. This clerk is arrested for contempt. 

Imagine a different scenario: a woman comes into the clerk's office and asks to have the county clerk serve as a notary public to notarize her divorce papers.  The clerk declares that according to her religion, divorce is a sin and she refuses to do her duty as a notary public. This clerk is arrested for contempt. 

We cannot let people pick and choose which laws to obey according to their "convictions" - religious or otherwise. Why, you ask? Isn't this violating First Amendment rights, you ask? 

Imagine a different scenario: a man declares that his religion states that all women should be killed. He then begins murdering every woman he encounters. If we abide by such logic as many conservative Christians who are crying out "a violation of First Amendment rights," we would allow this man to continue murdering simply because it is his "religious conviction."  

I support demonstrating our religious freedoms. 

I support civil disobedience. 

I even support criminals in some cases. 

But I cannot support someone who is divisive, discriminatory, and using her religion to harm others.  

We are called by God to not obey the laws of this world. So I am not saying that Kim Davis should obey the law simply because it is a law. There is a time and a place to rise up against the laws of this land (see Jim Crow laws or look up the women's rights movement).  But this is not one of those times. This time, the law is (surprisingly) in line with the Gospel. 

And it is our vocation as Christians is to declare the Gospel - the reconciliatory, wholeness-creating, community-centered, relationship-based, healing Gospel of Christ Jesus to the world. 

Prepaid Cell Phones & Grace

Ephesians 2:18-22

For through [Jesus] we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.

These two verses have been showing up on my Facebook newsfeed a lot lately.  Typically the posts are directed toward conservative immigration reform, but I've been (thankfully) disconnected from American politics for about two weeks now so I have been considering these verses in a different light. 

I am humbled and amazed by the hospitality of the people here in Malaysia.  We have been invited to so many dinners, lunches, and other gatherings over the last two weeks.  People we barely know have picked us up to take us to church and Bible study.  There have been various parishioners who have gracefully corrected our ways of eating traditional meals and were gracious when foods were too spicy for us to endure.  

Even strangers have been incredibly helpful and welcoming to us. One particular story from the past week comes to mind.

We received cell phones from my supervisor when we arrived in Malaysia with the instructions to "fill them up," meaning we need to put more minutes on the prepaid cell card. Totally oblivious about how to do this, we Googled it, hoping we would be able to do virtually everything online for the first few days in-country.  Unfortunately, we weren't able to do anything with our phones online but discovered that we could go to any 7/11 and reload our phones.  

So we went. 

And as if we don't stand out enough as foreigners, we are also probably the only people in the country who don't know how to reload our phones.  So the sweet woman behind the counter refrained from laughing at us, took our money, and handed us the receipt. 

And we looked at her blankly. "So, it's reloaded?" I asked. She pointed to the receipt in my hand and I noticed the long code number printed there. "Umm..." I had no idea what I was supposed to do. 

"I will do it," she helpfully replied.  I handed the phone back over with the receipt and she entered the number, showing me how to reload my phone with minutes.  

Then it was Daniel's turn. For one reason or another, Daniel's code wouldn't go through. It kept directing him to customer service.  So we stood in the 7/11 and tried over and over again. Finally, we went back to the woman behind the counter and asked her to help us.  

The poor woman called customer service, called her manager, re-entered the code, called her manager again, and called customer service again. She was dead set on helping us poor Americans figure out this phone problem. Unfortunately, nothing worked. You could tell that she was just as defeated as we were when we asked for a refund. 

I won't forget that woman. Not because we now know how to reload minutes on our cell phones, but because she was so helpful and so gracious to a completely lost couple in a new place.  She didn't have to stand there for fifteen to twenty minutes trying to solve a problem that wasn't her own.  But she did.  And it made me feel a little bit at home, as if we weren't such silly outsiders in this country.  I don't know why she was so gracious so us, but I am so thankful that she was. 

This week in food

Malaysia is incredible. Marriage is awesome.

I'm still in the honeymoon stage. On both accounts.

So far, I have mostly documented my experience in terms of food. Unfortunately, I only have one exciting picture of our breakfast this morning. If you're not interested in food, you might be disappointed in this post and you can skip over it.

Monday: We arrived today and were whisked off to eat (because that's what you do here)! We had Cantonese food, which was new to me. It was a bed of rice (a theme you will see frequently) with various dishes - cabbage, bean curd, and chicken. It was all very good.

Tuesday: We went to the mall and met up with a friend from Daniel's church. She introduced us to delicious tea, an iced mocha, and the most incredible salted caramel cake. That night we were able to attend the weekly Bible study at a parishioner's house.  They graciously hosted us for dinner - rice, lamb curry, roasted chicken with vegetables, and so many good Malaysian fruits.

Wednesday: Our friend took us out to have Thai food - garlic pepper chicken, pandan chicken, vegetables, and a really spicy soup (over rice).  That was probably my favorite meal until this morning.

This morning we decided we should stop eating croissants and jelly every morning for breakfast. So instead we went down to the mamak (street side restaurant) not even a block from our house and had roti.  Roti is a similar consistency as a crepe and is served pulled apart with a curry sauce on the side. You can also get it with eggs, onions, and other things. It took us a while to figure out how to order, but everyone is really gracious to us foreigners. The best part was that our meal (2 rotis) costs 50 cents. So we will definitely be going back basically every morning. No more croissants and jelly for us!

Roti with spicy curry sauce!

Running on Fumes

I am exhausted. And I haven't even arrived in country yet. In fact, we are just now leaving Columbus. What is this life?

I am so ready for a new normal.  I don't know what that means yet (hopefully it involves naps), but I am definitely ready for it.  In the past three weeks, I haven't gotten anything close to normal.

We moved all of our belongings into storage.
We couch surfed for three days.
We temporarily moved into a mountain house with our family of twelve.
We got married (yikes).
We moved up to Ohio for a week with my parents.
We packed everything else we own into six bags.
We said goodbye.

And now we are weirdly in this in-between place again of not quite able to move forward and really really wanting to be in Malaysia already! Womp womp. That's the beautiful tragedy of airport terminals, I suppose.

The good news is that our first week of marriage has been pretty cool. We have gone to fancy restaurants, eaten a lot of good food, slept in until late, played with our wonderful dog, and played a lot of Spades with my parents.  All in all, if the rest of our marriage could continue like this (minus the whole living in my parents' house thing), we would be pretty happy.

But we are really ready for Kuala Lumpur.  We might be dreading the 36 hours it is going to take to get there, but we are really ready for the malls, the people, our own little house, a crazy year of internship, and lots of really good food.

And I, for one, am really excited for a new normal.  I am so ready to not be living out of my suitcase anymore. I am so ready to empty out onto the bathroom counter the quart size plastic bag I use to hold my makeup.  I am so ready to put my shampoo on the shower shelf for more than a week. And I am more than ready to sit down at night and say, "this is our home."  Even if it only lasts a few months.

So for now, I suppose I should nap a little bit before we get on this plane to Denver.  Because goodness knows it's only a matter of time before I start to get hangry and grumpy and altogether beat by this travel.  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

And in case you're wondering, here's our flight plan:

Columbus -> Denver -> Los Angelos -> Taipei -> Kuala Lumpur

See you on the other side of the world!

Soggy Wedding

I think it is only appropriate that it rained on our wedding day. It was beautiful weather all week (a little bit of rain in the mornings and gorgeous in the evenings) and then Friday came around.  It threatened storms but held off for a while. My mother was giving explicit instructions to everyone around not to tell me about the downpour that was happening while I got my hair and makeup done.

But eventually I walked outside to brush my teeth (in the spirit of a Honduras trip), and all I could do was smile at the drizzle.  My bridesmaids, knowing I can be a bit dramatic and waiting for me to full-on rage, kept delicately asking, "are you okay? How are you doing?"  But honestly I didn't care at all that it was raining.  (To be honest, I wanted the rain to stop only so we could have pictures taken outside with the gorgeous mountains.)

Photos by McKenzie Canaday

All that mattered to me that day, and that entire week, was that on Friday night around 5:30pm I would be married to my best friend.  No amount of rain could dampen my mood because I was the giddiest girl in the entire world.

As we got ready for the grand reveal of my dress, the rain stopped, the sun shone beautifully, and we were able to walk down to the field and barn to take pictures with our entourage.

Photo by McKenzie Canaday

We took photos with our entire family and a lot of friends as guests began to arrive with umbrellas.  I said a silent prayer, hoping the rain would hold off until after the ceremony and I had a feeling we would be okay.

The music started. My dad took my arm. I saw Daniel's smile. We walked down the aisle.

And the heavens opened up.

Our pastor looked over at me as he began the welcome, silently asking, "are we staying here or moving inside?"  I shrugged and said, "we can stay here for now."  Then it down poured.

So we crammed everything inside the barn and tried to dry off as the groomsmen and musicians brought the speakers inside.  I felt as if everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to get emotional about the rain (or maybe I'm just that vain thinking everyone was looking at me).  All I could do was smile.  Still, even as I shivered inside the dark barn, nothing could bring my spirits down.

Everything else went off without a hitch. The rain made things more fun- people laughed and gathered closer to one another, and we chuckled about who had umbrellas and who didn't.  Pastor Gary made jokes about baptism and made some verses up about rain on your wedding day. The whole thing was a blast. I barely remember the ceremony besides the vows and me staring at Daniel through all of the prayers as tears rolled steadily down both my cheeks. (And in case you really want to listen to my voice crack again as I giggle and sob, here's the video.)

Later that night I was commended for "handling everything with such grace."  I couldn't help but think that it was not me with the grace on this day, but God whose grace so overflowed that even the heavens couldn't contain it.  Everything was wonderful. Everything was perfect.  Everything was a little bit soggy (from the rain and the tears).

So I can't help but find the humor in our wedding day as we prepare for our first year of marriage in a city of monsoons.  We started it all off being rained on, and I suspect it won't let up any time soon. But I'm perfectly happy dancing in the rain.

New blog gadgets

There are a few new additions to the right of my blog posts.

The first thing you'll see is a map of where I am at the moment. I want to keep you updated because we will be traveling quite a bit in the next few weeks.

Further down the page, you'll see a link for the Global Service Newsletters. So far I have only received the one for August, but as I receive more, I will post them.

Spoiler alert: Daniel and I are in this newsletter quite a few times! We hope to write for it a few times over the next year. The link is also here: Global Service August 2015 Newsletter

Next, you'll see a form where you can sign up for email updates. You should do it! Because if you've read this blog post, there's a good chance you'll want to read the more interesting ones. And this way, you'll know the minute I've posted one!

Lastly, you will see an option to change this blog into a different language. This is for all of my lovely missionaries who are learning new languages, along with making it easier for people whose first language might not be English.

I'm looking to make this blog accessible and open to anyone who wants to read it, so let me know if there is anything else I can add.

Why Malaysia?

I've gotten a lot questions lately.  They usually follow some comment I make about moving to Southeast Asia for the next year.  So here are a few of them and here are my somewhat vague answers...

So, why Malaysia?

Well, to answer "why Malaysia," we need to ask a few more questions before that.

Why are you moving at all? 

I'm in seminary and it is my third year as a Lutheran student.  In our third year (or sometimes our fourth), the Lutherans are sent out to do an internship for a year.  It is used as a learning experience so that we are able bring those experiences back to seminary for a year and mull them around in community, or go directly into a parish and use those experiences to be better pastors.  We, of course, aren't able to learn everything we need to know, but as we walk alongside a congregation who has a lot of experience forming, nurturing, and teaching future church leaders, we are hopefully a little more prepared for parish ministry.

Why did you choose Malaysia? 

I didn't choose Malaysia, to be quite honest.  No one gets to "choose" their internship.  There is a lot of planning, discerning, and praying that happens before anyone is assigned to an internship site.  We have a director for internship who works with our paperwork and his colleagues in order to place us in the best place for our specific needs and learning goals.  All of my Lutheran colleagues at Southern Seminary were given assignments within the United States- some of them in the Southeast and some of them as far away as California.

What's so special about you? 

Nothing. There is certainly nothing special about me.  I prayerfully decided (with Daniel) to apply for a different internship program that is run by the Global Mission division of the ELCA.  The application process started a few months before the domestic internship process and was a little more extensive.  There was probably ten times the amount of paperwork and an interview in Chicago with the Director of Global Mission.  I wasn't entirely sure what I was getting into at the time, but I knew I wanted to take the opportunity of internship to experience Church in a (very) different context.

Will you be doing missionary work?  Working in an orphanage and building houses? 

Not exactly. Actually, not at all.  My internship will be very similar to all of my other colleagues' internships.  I will be working in a Lutheran church with a supervising pastor.  I'll have all of the usual duties: preaching, teaching, counseling, and visiting.  I'm sure there will be some opportunities in which we might be able to go visit places outside of the city, but that is not what I will be doing regularly.

But seriously, why Malaysia? 

God is calling me to Malaysia for many reasons.  The first one being (I think), is that it isn't going to be easy. The other reasons will reveal themselves over the next year (or several).  But I believe God is at work in this unique opportunity and I could not be more excited about it.

Next Adventures

Daniel and I are trying hard to keep everyone informed about what is happening in our very busy lives. But every once and a while, we will rattle off the next six adventures as if they are just obstacles on the way to the next moment in our lives.  Please trust me when I say that they are not.  The truth is that when people ask, "so what are you doing next?" or "where are you headed?" I automatically (sometimes falsely) assume that they do not want to hear all of the places we are going in the next three weeks.  But maybe they do, maybe they really do care about our crazy lives and the roller coaster that we have only just begun.

So that's what this post is about.  If you really do care about the craziness that is happening in the next few weeks - here it is.

Daniel and I JUST left (two weeks for me, one week for him) internship training with the Global Missions division of the ELCA.  It was a blast, and we learned a lot about the "beautiful secret" things that the ELCA is doing through Global Missions.  If you're interested in these secret or unknown things, just ask me because I have gotten really geeked out about it. We just started a program that focuses on educating women, there's an international leadership program, and there are people all over the world doing really incredible things (like starting a Lutheran church in South Sudan in the midst of a civil war).  

All this to say, Daniel and I are officially a "missionary couple!!"  It sounds so crazy because I don't consider what we are doing next year "mission" work, but it is a pretty humbling title to carry around.  Especially among the other beautiful people who hold that title in this church. 

Right now we are heading to Columbus, OH, where my parents have so graciously kept Cooper for two weeks.  (Thanks Mama and Daddy!!) We will pick him up, love on my parents for about twelve hours, then head back "home" to Durham, NC.  Daniel has one more heartbreaking week of internship down there.  On August 2nd, we will say, "goodbye for now" to our beautiful church family there. It will be one of the hardest goodbyes thus far.  

From there, we will have about a week to pack up all of Daniel's things (and my remaining things) and move them down to our storage unit in South Carolina.  We are excited and sad to say "goodbye" and "see you later" to a lot of our great friends at the seminary that weekend. We are at least very thankful for the opportunity to see some people and get some hugs before we depart for the year. 

Then we work our way back up north to Lincolnton, NC, where we will spend a day with our sisters and visit with Grandma before making the trek up to the mountains of Banner Elk, NC. 

After almost a week of wedding week preparation and vacation in our big family rental house in Banner Elk, 150 of our closest friends will join us for the celebration of Holy Communion and our wedding.  Obviously, that is the event that many people are most excited for.  But I can honestly say that I am just glad that I will finally be married to my best friend.  

After the wedding, we will drive back up to Columbus, spend a week with my parents (honeymooning a bit), then start our very long journey (24 hours of plane-riding) to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia! 

We want to make sure people who care know where we are and where we are going so that they can keep in touch and continue to hold us in prayer. So thank you, for everything you have done in our lives and all of the support you continue to give us.

Words Like Accompaniment

This past week has been a wonderful roller coaster.  I had the insane privilege of meeting 12 fellow "missionaries" who are all preparing for their own crazy adventures over the next year (or three).

Photo by Jenna B.

Now I say "missionaries" in quotations not because I doubt their credibility as "missionaries," but because I don't consider myself a part of the pack.  You see, most people at this conference are giving up their families, friends, loved ones, and congregations to teach or volunteer for a year or more of Global Mission.  It would discredit these fine people to say I am doing the same.

But there is a sense in which I will be a missionary for the next year.  Internship is a little bit different than what most other are doing with Global Missions (I am in an established English-speaking congregation in a large city), but I have already been sucked into the language and mindset of missionary work within the ELCA.

I've learned how to use words like accompaniment, mission, solidarity, inclusivity, mutuality, vulnerability, sustainability, and empowerment when talking about what the Church does and how they do it.

We have learned so much and we have so much left to learn, but what has impacted me the most is the bond that has formed between us in this short amount of time.  It is so comforting to know that as Daniel and I travel this next year, we will not be alone.  We will simply be joining the stories of all the missionaries who have gone before us, walking with the missionaries sent out this year, and paving the way for missionaries who will come after us.

Photo by Jenna B at The Bean in Chicago, IL

Saying goodbye to the rest of this group is bound to be full of heartbreak (as was saying goodbye to the two people who already left this week).  But I am so thankful for this community and the support that we will provide for one another over the next few years as we continue, end, and start seminary education, as we figure out what in the world we are doing with our lives, and as we journey with one another and Christ into the unknown and ever-exciting field of Global Mission.

Death

"Well, you're here. So that must mean something, right?"

This was said in the sermon on Monday morning - the first day of the Global Missions new personnel orientation.  And a couple of us have really latched onto it.

Well, we're here. So that must mean something, right?

I'm in Naperville, Illinois (a suburb of Chicago) for the next week and a half with twelve other missionaries.  And it's terrifying.

Some of us were called here by God. Some of us were looking for something different, something with meaning and ended up here. Some of us were (literally) called by Global Missions to come and serve. And (I think I can speak for everyone) we are a little freaked out. I think we are all freaked out about something a little bit different (if we admit it).

I'm mostly concerned about dying.

Last night, after sitting in safety seminars and health seminars all day, I went back to my room and wrote up my Last Will and Testament, Living Will, and Power of Attorney.  And that made me feel a little bit better, but to be honest, that's not the kind of dying I'm afraid of.

I have pretty much accepted the physical dangers missionary work might expose me to.  I'm also pretty aware of how mortal I am.  I'm not one of those twentysomethings who believe that they are invincible.  I'm also not afraid of dying.  I have a similar mentality as Paul: it would be better for me to die and be with my God, but I'll probably stick around before seeking any sort of martyrdom.

However, I'm pretty freaked out about the other ways I am going to have to die (and be risen).

As a 23 year old, I'm not unfamiliar with this process. As a Christian, I'm not unfamiliar with the implications.  And as a Lutheran, I'm not unfamiliar with the insane amount of grace in the process.

I have died many times over in the past couple of years. Mostly because there have been a lot of changes around me, but also because a lot of things have changed within me.

I'm not a child anymore, but I'm not an old person yet either.  This is a time of change, a time of challenge, and a time of re-creation. I have re-created myself over and over again through the years.  And God has been working on it too.

But when I say "re-creation," I don't mean what some of you might be imagining - molding a clay jar into a bowl, or reusing paper products in coffee cups. I mean something more like smashing a clay bowl on the ground and stitching it back together with putty, glue, and gold leaf.  I mean something that feels a bit more like being a piece of paper torn, chewed up, and blown out of a straw as a spitball.

I have died in the last few years.  Parts of me, whole parts of me, entire pieces of my personality, have died.  Terrible parts, angry parts, proud parts, ugly parts - they have died over these past couple of years.

But there's a whole lot left to die in me.  And to be honest, I'm terrified.

There's a lot of ugly, proud, angry, terrible parts of me that still need some work.  In fact, they need more than work - they need to die.  And it's going to hurt.  It's not going to be pretty.  I'm going to resist it and hold onto those ugly parts for as long as I can.  Because death scares me.

But I'm here, so that must mean something, right?

Either I'm crazy or I know that something else happens in the death of those ugly parts of me.  (I'll give you a hint: it's the second one.)

I know that when the ugly parts of me die, it allows room for new, beautiful things to be risen by Christ.  I know that God is working through the death and resurrection within me.

I know that God does not just let things die (even the ugly things) without some sort of re-creation.  I trust that when I'm failing, flailing, and being downright wrong, God will provide enough grace to keep me above water.  I believe that Christ's resurrection is a clear and beautiful foretaste of our own resurrection at the end of time. It is the most incredible example of what God has done, what God continues to do, and what God will do until the end of time. 

So that's why I'm here. Because I'm really scared of death and I know that this year of mission is surely going to kill me. And God is surely going to resurrect in me the things that need resurrection. So that must mean something, right?

Sowing Seeds

My dad and I do not always get along. I fault him for not teaching me things like what to do when I get a flat tire or where to put the oil in my car or the fact that I have to renew your registration every year on your birthday (or you'll get a ticket).  (I know next to nothing about cars, if you can't tell.)  And it is always in one of those high-stress situations that I end up calling him in tears screaming, "why didn't you ever teach me this!? Why did you just do everything for me instead of showing me how to do it for myself!?"  

And I usually hang up on him, ask a stranger to help me, and eventually call Dad back to apologize and cry about the dozen other things that had gone wrong that day.  And even though I do sometimes wish my dad would have shown me a little more about cars, he spent a lot of his time showing me things much more important. 

We didn't always have a lot of money growing up - my parents spent the first year or so of marriage in a trailer - but even on a military salary, my dad found a way to give back.  Sometimes that meant coaching a baseball team (even if my brother hated it) or putting a little bit in the offering plate at church.  Before I entered high school, my dad retired from the Army and started a new job that paid quite a bit more than we were ever used to.  And although my dad spent a lot of that hard earned money spoiling my family, he also spent a lot of it giving back to people he cared about. 

I was recently asked what two characteristics I value most in a person.  I answered, "honesty and generosity." My dad is the epitome of those two characteristics.  And he valued those characteristics in others as well.  He tried to be intentional about the people he gave to - he wanted to have a relationship with them.  

He gave to Miss Martha in downtown Petersburg and she called him Santa Claus when he brought children's toys each Christmas.  The homeless and poverty-stricken men around his construction sites for his town homes knew him by name and often worked for him for a few extra dollars. He always found work for the handicapped men who came and asked for it.  He tried to be intentional about who he gave to, but he didn't always know if the money he gave would be used for good.  He had faith in Miss Martha and knew she had a heart for giving, but some of the men admitted that they spent the money earned on alcohol.  It was disappointing, but he kept employing them, talking with them, loving them. He continues to give. Sometimes to people you might not think deserve it (including my brother and me). He never thinks twice about it anymore - he just gives.  

This Sunday we heard Jesus tell the parable of the seed sower (4:26-29).  He scattered seed and left it.  He didn't tend it, he didn't worry himself over it, he didn't toil in the dirt with it.  He just scattered the seed and left it.  He went to sleep and woke up and the seed had spouted.  Eventually, ripe fruit came from the seed that was scattered.  So the man took his sickle and harvested because it was ready. 

See, that's what my dad has always shown me. We are called to sow good seeds.  There's no need to worry ourselves over whether they will produce good fruit - God will take care of all of that.  We just have to go out there and sow.  It's what my dad has done his entire life, expecting nothing in return, he has provided for my family, given to those in need, stepped up when he wasn't even asked to. And he never worried about whether my brother and I would grow up to be the perfect adults or if we would go to seminary or work in a casino or know how to fix a car.  He just gave and let God handle the rest.