To Grandpa

I remember you with a smile, a mischievous grin
weaving a tale of times long past
teasing us to show your love

I remember you with a sparkle in your eyes,
amazed at God’s world
tender with memories

I remember you with a deep belly laugh
knowing no strangers
banishing silence from the room

I remember your strong plumber’s hands
fixing to everyday problems in crazy ways
winning 42 long after they began to tremble

I remember much about you, Grandpa.
I can still hear you laugh as you tell a good story
I can still see that look in your eyes when you remember something precious.
I can imagine how you’d solve my uneven floors

You brought a lot into this world, filling it with laughter and tales, setting examples of hard work and faithfulness. And all you brought, you left behind a thousand fold in the lives you touched and the generations you taught.

Working Together

As a Christian, I am often embarrassed by the squabbles that occur within the church. Tangential issues suck up the time, energy and creativity of churches instead of seeking to be the powerful agents of change that we could be. Today I learned of a unifying issue of real significance: ending slavery. The campaign called The Amazing Change is joining together organizations, churches and individuals to bring an end to the terrible forms of slavery that still exist in our world.

This is an issue close to my heart. When I was in Thailand I saw the sex trade in action. It is quite pervasive there. I spent time with girls who had been saved from this degrading life and I learned how they can never go home again. I played with children who were orphaned by AIDS because their mothers contracted the disease in a brothel. Although slavery feels far removed from our shores—it is here, too. I see signs of it in the “beauty parlors” with darkened windows in Chinatown.

I’m not saying that the church in ineffective or that this is the only unifying issue. In my work at religious non-profits I’ve seen amazing things happen through the church and through cooperative church efforts. I am refreshed; however, to be reminded that we are still able to pool our resources and creativity to do God’s will in a very big way.

Indoc"train"ation

It seems that all native New Yorkers have completely internalized the entire subway system. They never seem surprised by service changes and always know an alternative way to get to where they are going without checking the few and far between maps posted in the stations. Some even have the vast bus system equally memorized. I have wondered if all children born in the city have a chip implanted to give them intimate knowledge of the MTA. After three years here, I am still learning new ways to get places that are second nature to my New Yorker friends.

This morning I saw just how early the training starts. A child, young enough to be in a stroller with a sippy cup, asked his mother “is this where we get on the 7 train?” His mother replied, “no, this is where we get the N train.” She then repeated it till he understands that this is the station where the N train is and the station where they catch the 7 train.

At his age I was barely aware of trains beyond the Little Engine That Could.

Passion

I’ve often wondered what exactly my passion is. I know people who are passionate about ending hunger, passionate about giving the small business person a chance, passionate about evangelism, passionate about music, photography, dance, travel . . . the list could go on. They manage to order their lives around this one thing. They become experts it in and seek opportunities for it.

This week I saw a 15 year old on Good Morning America who found his passion. I was inspired. Zach Hunter is a modern-day abolitionist. At 15 he speaks to large audiences with the composure of a well-seasoned preacher. He just wrote a book about slavery. And here he was on Good Morning America talking to Diane Sawyer. I was shamed.

What if we all caught that kind of passion about something . . . . anything? Can you imagine what our world would be like?

So, I’ve spent the last few days thinking about my passion. I don’t think it’s as defined as Zach’s. I do have one, and that’s making sure people know God loves them. Right now I do that through my work at an international relief agency praying I hope that the people who are helped come to know their worth in the world, I do it through my work at church, and, I hope, through my friendships. I often forget my passion and let other things crowd it out. That is the difficulty—keeping focus.

I do wish I had a more specific passion like ending hunger or war or homelessness. I do want all these to end and I have seasons where I work passionately toward their end. But when it comes time to step up beyond speaking to my friends and family about it and throwing some money at the cause, my spine gets a little weak. So, I’ve decided to work harder on my passion and give it some more attention and nurturing just to see where it takes me.

What’s your passion?

Something New

I tried something new today—belly dancing. It’s offered through my gym and I’ve been meaning to go, but for some reason was a bit afraid to do it. So, today I went and had a great time. It was great fun to be in a situation where you’re supposed to wiggle your giggly bits. Granted I think I looked a bit more like a chicken having a seizure than a mysterious woman gracefully shimmying to the beat with mesmerizing arms. But hey, everyone’s got to start somewhere. I also liked it because it loosened me up—something I desperately need. I can be so stiff sometimes and I hate that. Anything that can make me even an iota less self conscious is worth its weight in gold.

Note to self: try new things more often.

Converting to Pedestrianism

When I was a kid I misunderstood the street signs that said “Pedestrian Crossing” to be “Presbyterian Crossing” and asked my mom why Presbyterians had to cross there, and I wondered where we Baptists could cross the street. I had never seen a “Baptist Crossing” sign. My mom explained through her laughter what the signs meant and the Presbyterians and Baptists can use the same crosswalks.

This week when my mechanic called me saying that what I thought was a routine problem with my 13-year-old car was far from routine and extremely expensive, I decided to become a pedestrian. I sold my car to the shop. This was a huge step for me. I have hung on to that car many years longer than I should have. It carries in it 13 years of memories. Driving to Kingston Canada, to Ft. Lauderdale and everywhere in between with me singing to the radio at the top of my lungs.

Living in New York makes having a car a convenience and not a necessity, so I’ve decided to try out the pedestrian lifestyle. It means I’m going to be waiting on a train tomorrow morning to go to church. But it also means I can sleep in since I don’t have to get there an hour early to get a parking space. It means I’ve given up a level of independence—I can’t just hop in my car and go places when I want to go. And that’s going to take some getting used to. I’m not one to give up her independence easily. But on this week when we heard that global warming is very real. I think it just might be a sacrifice worth making.