Sometimes after church people stop me and tell me something that they experienced in worship. Thought I'd share this one...
As we were taking communion this past Sunday we were singing a song that called us to the tender arms of Jesus - something about "He would wrap our arms around us..." This woman who was telling me this after church had a rough week, feeling pretty beat down and wounded. She was telling me that as she was coming to take communion she noticed one of our young teenagers as she passed by and she innocently smiled at this teen. But as she smiled the teen came up and gave her a huge hug - out of the blue - for no reason at all. These two don't really even know each other. As the woman got back to her seat and began singing about the arms of Jesus she realized that she was just embraced by Jesus through this young teenage girl. That Jesus had seen her pain and embraced her.
As she was telling me this story she began to cry. God moved in that moment. It was beautiful.
Makes me think we should learn from this teenager and be a bit quicker to hug, a bit quicker to respond, a bit quicker to embrace.
Thanks TCC for being a community that embraces one another. A community that reaches across the boundaries of age and race and culture and economics and simply embraces. Beautiful.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Rap artists
One of the things we want to do as part of our youth and neighborhood ministry is to empower young people to be leaders. We want to walk alongside people, especially youth, to help them discover that God has given them strengths and talents, and that they can use those to change their neighborhood and have an impact in this world for the Kingdom of God. So when I heard about the Fruity Nutty 5 Campaign from the Victory Garden Initiative, I knew of a few teenagers who might want to get involved.
The Victory Garden Initiative, a Milwaukee non-profit that empowers communities to grow food, had a contest that 5 neighborhoods would win 30 fruit and nut trees. Each applicant needed to have a creative essay about why they wanted the trees for their neighborhood, and why their neighborhood would benefit from having them. I mentioned this to a few teenagers down the street who are in the TCC youth group. They were fired up. They wanted to get some fruit trees in our neighborhood! They decided that for the creative essay they would make a rap video. I encouraged them to go for it, and that I would assist in any way I could. They got together and wrote the lyrics, made the beat, and put the rap together. We got someone to shoot the video, and suddenly we had an essay to submit.
We also had to obtain signatures from other members of the neighborhood who would support having these trees in the neighborhood and people who would be willing to have one or two planted in their yard. So as the youth were being empowered to make their rap video, we were gaining support among the rest of the neighborhood and trying to unite everyone for this cause.
I don’t think any of them anticipated winning, but last Saturday it was announced that our neighborhood would be the winners of 30 fruit and nut trees! I’m so proud of them. They put in hard work and time to make a positive change in their neighborhood. It is my prayer that they, as well as many other youth in my neighborhood, will continue to discover their unique gifts and strengths and use them for the benefit of others and the Kingdom of God.
Check out the winning video here.
The Victory Garden Initiative, a Milwaukee non-profit that empowers communities to grow food, had a contest that 5 neighborhoods would win 30 fruit and nut trees. Each applicant needed to have a creative essay about why they wanted the trees for their neighborhood, and why their neighborhood would benefit from having them. I mentioned this to a few teenagers down the street who are in the TCC youth group. They were fired up. They wanted to get some fruit trees in our neighborhood! They decided that for the creative essay they would make a rap video. I encouraged them to go for it, and that I would assist in any way I could. They got together and wrote the lyrics, made the beat, and put the rap together. We got someone to shoot the video, and suddenly we had an essay to submit.
We also had to obtain signatures from other members of the neighborhood who would support having these trees in the neighborhood and people who would be willing to have one or two planted in their yard. So as the youth were being empowered to make their rap video, we were gaining support among the rest of the neighborhood and trying to unite everyone for this cause.
I don’t think any of them anticipated winning, but last Saturday it was announced that our neighborhood would be the winners of 30 fruit and nut trees! I’m so proud of them. They put in hard work and time to make a positive change in their neighborhood. It is my prayer that they, as well as many other youth in my neighborhood, will continue to discover their unique gifts and strengths and use them for the benefit of others and the Kingdom of God.
Check out the winning video here.
Monday, April 30, 2012
House & Home
“I had this dream of showing my kids the house where I grew up,” my sister said. I never thought of showing my kids the house where I grew up; I never thought of having kids. “Yeah,” I said, as if I had this thought.
“It's such a magical place, with the woods and the old fort and everything,” She said, then sighed. “But why would my kids care? I hope mom and dad get a good price for it.”
Megan called. Megan doesn’t like the phone because you can’t read facial expressions, whereas I like it for the same reason. So when Megan calls, it's because she has to. I said bye to my sister and switched over. “Hello?”
“Hi,” she blurted above background noise that was becoming foreground. “Some kids just came over and asked to stay awhile. Would you mind coming down? Ben’s not home yet.”
My eyebrows pressed together like WWE stars and a wrinkle refereed between them. “Yes,” I said, manipulating my inflection into that of a cheerful giver, “I’ll be right down.”
Megan greeted me as I walked in. “They just rang the doorbell and said the police are at their house,” she whispered, “so I said come in. What else could I do?”
At the table, two sisters had opened the older one’s birthday present: a princess crown-making kit, complete with tiny sequins and beads and glitter and other girlie debris. “Wow,” I said, “that’s pretty cool.” The older one looked up at me. “You want to play?” She asked. “No thanks,” I said.
Their 10-year-old brother was in front of the TV, watching Phineas and Ferb and holding Megan’s baby. “Look at you,” I said, “you hold a baby better than I do.” He shrugged and responded, “I always hold my baby sister.” I smiled and shook my head.
At the end of the episode a casual messenger came to the door and said, “the police are gone, ma said come back now,” and left before I could ask for their credentials. I scanned the street. The police were gone and the crowd was going too. “OK guys,” I said, “you can go home now.”
The brother stared at me like he didn’t understand.
“Come on,” I said to the sisters, picking up the princess paraphernalia. “Do you want to keep the box?” I asked. “Yes,” the older one clutched it. On the front there was a picture of a beautiful castle. It looked as though it were built of sand and clouds and glass.
“It's such a magical place, with the woods and the old fort and everything,” She said, then sighed. “But why would my kids care? I hope mom and dad get a good price for it.”
Megan called. Megan doesn’t like the phone because you can’t read facial expressions, whereas I like it for the same reason. So when Megan calls, it's because she has to. I said bye to my sister and switched over. “Hello?”
“Hi,” she blurted above background noise that was becoming foreground. “Some kids just came over and asked to stay awhile. Would you mind coming down? Ben’s not home yet.”
My eyebrows pressed together like WWE stars and a wrinkle refereed between them. “Yes,” I said, manipulating my inflection into that of a cheerful giver, “I’ll be right down.”
Megan greeted me as I walked in. “They just rang the doorbell and said the police are at their house,” she whispered, “so I said come in. What else could I do?”
At the table, two sisters had opened the older one’s birthday present: a princess crown-making kit, complete with tiny sequins and beads and glitter and other girlie debris. “Wow,” I said, “that’s pretty cool.” The older one looked up at me. “You want to play?” She asked. “No thanks,” I said.
Their 10-year-old brother was in front of the TV, watching Phineas and Ferb and holding Megan’s baby. “Look at you,” I said, “you hold a baby better than I do.” He shrugged and responded, “I always hold my baby sister.” I smiled and shook my head.
At the end of the episode a casual messenger came to the door and said, “the police are gone, ma said come back now,” and left before I could ask for their credentials. I scanned the street. The police were gone and the crowd was going too. “OK guys,” I said, “you can go home now.”
The brother stared at me like he didn’t understand.
“Come on,” I said to the sisters, picking up the princess paraphernalia. “Do you want to keep the box?” I asked. “Yes,” the older one clutched it. On the front there was a picture of a beautiful castle. It looked as though it were built of sand and clouds and glass.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
From Infant's Lips
The pitch and intensity were consistent.
MWAAAH! ah.. ah.. ah.. WAAH! ah.. ah.. ah..
The clock was closing in on forty minutes, and I held in my arms an inconsolable child who had been screaming for each of the 2400 times the hand had ticked.
I threw my head back against the rocker in exasperation. She was fed, changed, burped and swaddled. She had rejected the pacifier with all the gusto a five-week-old can muster.
I kind of wanted to leaver her on someone else’s porch steps. Like you see in the movies, it’s a dreary, damp night and a desperate mother scampers up to a respectable looking front porch, places a Moses-basket containing a squalling baby on the steps, and ding-dong ditches the poor unsuspecting homeowners who are then left to raise the child as their own. It’s terrible, and I would never actually do it, but I wanted to in that moment.
The clock was inching in on forty-five minutes.
She has to stop sometime…
I started to pray, because, let’s face it, that seemed like a more viable option than the Little Orphan Annie scenario I had played out in my head five minutes earlier.
Lord, give this child peace…and rest…and…just…make her stop please.
My child’s emphatic dirge wailed on.
MWAAAH! ah.. ah.. ah.. WAAH! ah.. ah.. ah..
It never ceased. Never changed. The consistency (while frustrating) was impeccable.
Pray like this..
Mother Teresa once said “Our greatest work is prayer;” if such is the case, it’s a wonder the Creator hasn’t fired me yet.
I can program and plan, pour out and serve all day long. But prayer, that greatest work, that’s tough.
Scripture says “Pray without ceasing.”
I pray when I think about it.
When I’m “not too busy.”
When I’m desperate.
It’s getting close to an hour, and she is still crying. Unceasing, unaltered. The same cry she’s been belting for the last hour.
Pray like this.
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