A Reflection, a Farewell

Every Tuesday night I have the privilege of leading a bible study at the house of some of my wonderful parishioners. We start around 9pm and end as close to 10pm as I can get us without going too far into the night. Then we gather in the kitchen to continue to chat and eat whatever delicious food and sweets are present that night. By the time we leave (often somewhere between 10:30 and 11pm), I am so sleepy and stuffed that I zone out as another couple drives me home.

A few nights ago, we had bible study, realized that we only have a few weeks left together, and scheduled our very last bible study (which will end up being us gathering for food and possibly talking about Jesus a little bit). That evening as we drove home, I noticed the odd sound of country music coming over the Malaysian radio station. Thomas Rhett's "Die a Happy Man" washed over my ears and I smiled. Oo how I miss country music and seeing the stars at night and bonfires. I felt ready and eager to be "home" in the United States.

Then as I kept listening to the lyrics, I felt sorrow and maybe even regret. It's hard to name exactly the emotions that flooded into my heart, but it wasn't the joy of leaving, it wasn't the excitement of seeing my family at home.

"If I never get to see the Northern lights
Or if I never get to see the Eiffel Tower at night
Oh, if all I got is your hand in my hand
Baby, I could die a happy man"

The premise of the song is that this man has some "bucket list" items, but he sings that even if he doesn't get to do all of those things, he would "die a happy man" just because he gets to spend his days with this woman. I know this feeling all too well. Daniel and I used to move the furniture and dance in the living room. Or we would turn his small apartment into a movie theater. We went on some pretty incredible dates, but my favorite times together have been when we didn't have to spend any money at all. We were just together and happy. We have dreams and plans, but even if they didn't work out, we are still so happy simply being together.

But as I heard this song, I realized that we did get to see our metaphorical Northern lights this year. We did get to see our metaphorical Eiffel Tower at night. And while it's true that our love would be just as incredible and we would be just as happy without these experiences, the truth of the matter is that we have done things this year and seen things that we never could have imagined in our wildest dreams.

And I don't think I've been as grateful as I should have been. I took a lot of it for granted. I think part of it is because I never could have imagined being here and seeing these things this year - or maybe everything happened so quickly that I haven't had a chance to digest it- but I won't use that as an excuse. Until I started to hear that song play over and over in my head, I don't think I fully realized how amazing our first year of marriage has been. Every once in a while we would turn to one another and say, "We are living in Malaysia. How odd the way life turns out," but I don't think it all sank in the way it did the other night.

We saw the famous tea fields of the Cameron Highlands in Malaysia.
We dipped our toes into oceans and seas that I never would have thought we'd visit in our lifetime.
We rode a 40 year old elephant and fed an eight year old elephant!
We watched the sun rise over Angkor Wat.
We watched the sun set on a beach in Bali.
We rode on a crazy cable car in Langkawi and walked on a long curved suspension bridge.
We spent part of Thaipusam at Batu Caves.
We saw the giant reclining Buddha at Wat Pho.
We ate authentic pad thai from a street cart in Bangkok.
We watched a storm roll into the city, sweeping over the Petronas Towers and KL Tower, on the helipad of a skyscraper.
I've preached in three countries and had my sermons translated into several languages.
We went to Universal Studios in Singapore.
We also went to the rooftop pool at Marina Bay Sands and rode the Singapore Flyer.
We had dinner on the rooftop of the #1 restaurant in Phuket.
We shared many of these memories with my parents and Daniel's brother.

And last, but certainly not least, we spent the entire year being welcomed and loved by people who knew nothing about us and committed to helping us grow in ministry, in life, and in love.

This past year has been more incredible, difficult, and surprising than we could have ever imagined. And I think I am just now realizing that this isn't normal. This life is a privilege and an honor. This year has been such an unfathomable blessing from God and I know that we will not soon forget the beautiful memories we have shared in this first year of marriage.

It also gets me excited about what God has in store for us next. We are ready- where will our next adventure lead us?

No guilt

Today I woke up around 9am when my FitBit started buzzing on my wrist. My husband asked if I wanted breakfast, I mumbled "yes," and I rolled over and went back to sleep until noon. And I don't feel guilty about it at all.

It has taken me a really long time to be okay with taking care of myself. I used to feel guilty for wanting to stay home when others went out (especially in college). I used to apologize when people asked me out to lunch and I didn't want to go. In fact, most of the time I would go anyway, even if I didn't really want to just because I felt guilty about it.

We are so conditioned from an early age that we must put our family first, we must put our husband first, we must put our children first. And if we don't we are "bad" in any (or all) of those roles. The Bachelor recently showed a clip of Amanda (single mom) talking about how difficult it has been to use the last few weeks to take care of herself because she's not used to focusing on herself since she has two daughters. She feels guilty for pursuing something she wants and for taking care of herself.

There's a lot of guilt that surrounds self-care nowadays. I don't know if it was always there, but I have noticed it a lot as I have become older and more comfortable in my own routine, my own skin, and with my own needs. It seems that a woman, especially a woman with a husband or children, is not supposed to take even a few minutes out of her day to care for herself.

I first recognized this guilt and judgement in myself my first year of seminary. I had a really hard time figuring out if I was in the right place during those first few months. I was missing home, missing my friends, and the novelty of a new place and new people had worn out. So I got back into my routine of running. I'd often run during our chapel and lunch hour, enduring glares and comments from people on their way to chapel. I made excuses, I apologized, and I felt super guilty about it. And then I thought, you know, this is how I am taking care of myself. And even though other people might not be okay with it, I'm sure God understands.

Since then, I have had a long uphill battle with self-care. But I no longer apologize about weekly (or daily) milkshakes with my roommates. I no longer feel guilty about sleeping in when I have nothing to do. I don't judge myself for seeking refuge in my bed for several hours at a time, binge-watching a horrible Netflix series (looking at YOU Vampire Diaries). When someone asks me to lunch and I don't want to go, I simply say, "no thank you" with a smile and don't give it a second thought.

It has taken a lot of self-discovery to be okay with self-care. The more I learn about myself and the more in-tune I am with my body and my needs, the easier it is to not only care for myself, but translate that to others. I'm an introvert through and through so my self-care often looks a bit lonely, a little quiet, and sometimes awkward - sitting in the same room with my husband without speaking. My parishioners (and husband) joke that I nap a lot, but I don't feel guilty about it anymore. I need a three hour nap after Sunday's service.  Without sleep I'm grumpy, unproductive, and not a fun person to be around.

Self-care is vitally important to me because it not only allows me to care for myself, but it gives me the energy, patience, and courage to care for others. And with service to others being my love language, it is important that I have the energy to do it often and well. Not to mention, self-care is biblical. There's a reason Jesus went into the wilderness and into the mountains to pray.

I'm also learning that it's important that my self-care be public and unapologetic. I have so many friends who struggle to take care of themselves and continuously "pour from an empty cup" until they are exhausted, burned out, and bitter. Not to say that this hasn't happened to me (to the point of panic attacks and total withdrawal), but if I am able to be a positive example for self-care even half of the time, I am inadvertently giving other women permission (something we so desperately seek) to also care for themselves.

Although the guilt and judgement associated with self-care is something I'm still struggling with on a daily basis, I'm being encouraged by women and pastors who view self-care as not a "treat yo self" kind of splurge, but a daily, precious, and necessary part of our vocation. And I hope to pass that encouragement on to others and my ministry continues, by not feeling guilty, being unapologetic, and napping to my heart's content.

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.

Generational Love

Ruth 1:1-18

Psalm 146

Hebrews 9:11-14

Mark 12: 28-34

There are 4,200 different religions in the world.  There are 5,000 ethnic groups in the world.  There are 318 MILLION people in the United States alone.  But we aren’t just diverse as a people, we are diverse as generations.  There are more people over 50 living in the United States than any other time in all of history.  That’s pretty awesome.  But it just shows how completely different and spread out people are throughout the country, but also throughout the Church.  If you look around this morning, there are all sort of different people who come from completely different places and live such different lives.  And we are all different ages and grew up in different generations. 

Things are different than they were five, ten, twenty years ago.  I see you smiling.  You know what I’m talking about. Everything has changed - how we communicate has changed from hand-written letters to telegrams to phone calls and text messages.  How we raise our children has changed with electronics and schools transforming.  Even the way we worship has changed.  My parents had no idea what “contemporary worship” meant when they were growing up.  

And let’s be honest, it divides us.  There are many people who love traditional worship, many people who love contemporary.  There are a lot of people who say no cell phones for kids until they are fifteen years old and some who will give in around 8 years old.  Generations are different and I think it’s a good thing.  It is certainly a natural change.  

But there is something that unifies us.  And I think Jesus and Ruth both get to it in these passages.  You heard most of the backstory with Ruth - her husband dies and there is no other relative to take as her husband.  Naomi does such a noble thing there with Ruth - she tells her to go back to her people and find a husband so that she might not have to live a lonely life and a life of poverty.  Naomi didn’t have to give Ruth that blessing... and Ruth certainly could have taken that blessing and left.  But she did something different.  She, because she felt connected to Naomi in a deeper way than just being her daughter-in-law, stays with Naomi and loves her like her own mother.  I think as a church, we can really learn from that.  

They weren’t from the same tribe of people, they didn’t have the same friends.   But something connected them.  Somehow, during their time together, Naomi was able to pass down something so incredibly vital for Ruth, that Ruth wasn’t willing to part from her.  She knew she would live in poverty and that she could never marry another man and have children.  This meant shame and complete loneliness during that time.  But there was a love and connection that kept Ruth from following her sister-in-law back to her old life.  Naomi had instilled in Ruth the traditions of her people and the value of her religion.  

“Do not press me to leave you
    or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
    where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
    and your God my God.

Where you die, I will die—
    there will I be buried.
May the Lord do thus and so to me,
    and more as well,
if even death parts me from you!”

That is beautiful. 

It was the unity of God and the unity of kinship that kept those women together, even through the most difficult time in their lives.  But it wasn’t just the kinship and unity of God, it was love.  Naomi loved Ruth enough to allow her to go back to her family and find another husband and live a fruitful life.  And we know how much Ruth loved her mother-in-law - enough to stay with her and live a life of poverty.  

In the gospel, Jesus tells us that the two most important commandments are to  “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength” and  "You shall love your neighbor as yourself."

Naomi was able to pass down both of these commandments to Ruth.  

One of the most incredible things we are able to pass down to young people is love.  I believe, as a child of two wonderful parents that the most important thing they taught me was how to love.  They were good at it, after all.  They love each other and they love my brother and me.  I can’t think of a single time growing up that I didn’t feel my parents’ love for me.  And I don’t think that they just woke up on the morning of becoming parents and decided to learn how to love.  It’s something that their parents taught them and their grandparents passed down as well.  Love is something that is almost necessarily passed down from generation to generation.  It is love that we have in common with all of the generations before us and all of the generation after us.  It was the love of God and the love of one another that kept Ruth and Naomi together.  

We have that same type of love that keeps us together as a church body.  We have the love of Christ.  We have a unity of spirit that is able to hold us together through space and time - through the generations and through the diversity of the world.  We have unity because of the Trinitarian God.  God so loved this world and Jesus Christ died for the love of the world.  The Holy Spirit was given to the church to remain and nurture the church.  It was given in order to be a comforter, a guide, and a way to keep the church unified.  

Our response to this gift of love and commitment that our God has given us so freely is these two commandments.  Love God with all of your heart and all of your mind and all of your soul.  And love your neighbor as yourself.  This response is meant to keep the church together and provide real relationship within the church and outside of the church.

We celebrate this unity and this relationship in two sacred ways in the Lutheran church - the waters of baptism and Holy Communion.  Baptism is a reminder that we belong in God’s family.  Communion is a celebration and remembrance that we are in this together.  And the really cool part is that it’s not just this church that is unified in Christ.  We are together with all of the saints and sinners throughout all of time and space.  Our grandparents and great-grandparents.  People who have yet to be born.  Every generation and throughout the entire world, we are all of one spirit in Christ Jesus.  

Things are going to keep changing.  Generations will continue to feel further and further apart.  The world will continue to expand and diversify.  But if we are able to teach people of all ages that the two greatest commandments are to love God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul and to love your neighbor as yourself, the unity of the spirit in Jesus Christ cannot be broken.  

Mom (Wife?)

Throughout my entire life I have always wanted to be one thing: a mom.

Weirdly enough, I had never really thought about being a wife.  I guess it would make sense that those two things go together but they never have in my mind. Now, my friends will tell you that I have thought about marriage.  This isn't exactly accurate. I've thought a lot about a wedding. A big party. A white dress. Lots of friends.  But I've never really thought about a marriage.

I don't think I've ever wanted to be alone though. Maybe it's the fact that I have never wanted to define myself by being someone's wife. I don't know what it is, but I have always kind of imagined myself hanging out with my best friend and raising kids.  Who knows, maybe that's what marriage is supposed to be.

Despite being in a relationship pretty consistently since about eighth grade, I have never imagined married life for myself.  (This might have something to do with a broken engagement, but we never really unpacked that during CPE.)

I have, however, imagined my life being a mom.  Since coming home from Honduras in January, I have started researching adoption laws and reading fiction and nonfiction books about adoption.  It has become a problem. (Haha)  But the funny thing about it is that I'm serious.  My friends roll their eyes and laugh at me when I talk about adoption, but I can't wait.  Many countries I've researched require adoptive parents to be married, 25 years old, and have a steady income.  Honduras is just about that "easy."  Three more years and a steady income.

Despite imagining myself as a mom and not a wife, I have never thought I would be alone.  Actually, I'm afraid I might be alone.  You see, I don't have normal plans for my life.

You've already heard about the adoption thing.  To take it a bit further from normal, I don't really want to give birth to any children.  Seriously. Cue my fear of hospitals and the fact that I think I'd be THE worst pregnant woman on earth.  One step further from normal: I think I'd like four or five kids (or more).

I also want to travel and live paycheck to paycheck, loving as many people as I possibly can. Possibly in a mud hut. Possibly without running water and electricity.

Not many people want to live close to poverty and devote their lives to people in another country. Even if it sounds like a good idea for a few months, it would be hard for most people to put their dreams of a normal family, house, and stability on hold for five or ten years. It's hard for me to think about it and it's something I've thought about for many years.  It's hard for me to ask someone to disregard what they think of as a "normal" relationship, and plunge into the unpredictability of adventure and love.

I'm already running and I need someone to run beside me and be my partner.  I don't know if that means marriage or a husband.  And that's pretty terrifying. Especially considering I'm in a relationship with a man for whom I'd give all of that up.

But maybe that's okay.  Maybe that's the point.  Maybe we are supposed to be so in love that we would give our dreams up for one another but we are also so in love that we would never ever ask one another to.

Such is life. Paradox.