Taken.Blessed.Broken.Given

When I was like 19 I wrote this list of people who inspired me, that I wanted to write letters too, to thank them for being who they were and putting whatever it was they did out into the world, I don’t remember all who was on it, but the ones that come to mind are Bono, John Butler and Shane Claiborne. I don’t think I ever did write those letters, but tonight with my hand on my heart and the threat of tears at the corners of my eyes I got to tell Shane Claiborne, that through his book irresistible revolution, I felt like he was a friend of mine who walked with my in a time when I was getting to know myself and who I am meant to be. That was a pretty great moment.
I am in a bit of a strange place these days, struggling with what my faith means and with my general coping, not that this is new, but lack of community and “what it all means”
This weekend I went on a retreat, at Kingsfold, it was supposed to be two days but I couldn’t quiet my spirit enough to stay the whole time and ended up coming home after one, I am going to be okay with that, but that doesn’t mean stopping to looking at the hard things. On my one day, I read Henri Nouwen’s “Life of the Beloved” the book is supposed to be a spiritual dialogue with secular humans, it was funny how this appealed to me, I guess I was looking for something not completely typical and Christian to ground me spiritually when lately I have been feeling extremely negative, (this is mostly because the religious people around me are fucking crazy)
The book defiantly brought things out to chew on, and to lean on. The premise is that we are the Beloved, and that living as the beloved requires being present in four elements and mindsets.
Taken. Blessed. Broken.Given.
I mean I suppose I could write out the book again in different words, but that wouldnt do it justice, there is this one part that talks about how, shattered glasses still reflects light...and that sits beautifully with me, and is a good way of summing up the book.

I do want to live the life of the beloved, and get back to my center, it’s a journey, and I’m tired but I’m not giving up yet.
Im glad this blog turned out this way because my original draft was a rant.ha.

Success

Recently I saw a quote...and after just searching it now I see it attributed to a number of people, so I'm not entirely sure who actually said it, but none the less, I really like it...

"The Planet does not need more successful people. It desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers and lovers of all kinds"

It stuck in my head for a few days and I realized these are words I really want to describe me, but what do they really mean, and how do they really look in real life?


CCharlie and I went for coffee the other day and I brought my bag of sharpies and my art journal and mapped it out. Something about being there with someone else, chatting and overhearing coffee orders helped me to really think of what these meant. And I wanted to share my musings with you. These are musing, point forms, things im still figuring out, things I do not claim to be but hope to learn...

Peacemaker
Choosing to make peace and to live in a place of grace. Bringing positive energy to situations of conflict. Speaking up. Having courage to be unconventional in situations where asked to choose a side.

Healer
Putting your hand against a wound. Emotion or Physical. Being present during painful events and not letting people be alone. Valuing support and hard experiences. Using your bound with someone to encourage deeper healing, showing people they are worth more than what they have been through.

Restorer
Very "step four" I think this is more about restoring broken relationship in ones own life, making amends when you see you've done wrong. But also living GRACE so that when others make amends this can happen. Encouraging restoration in others. Keeping your word.

Storyteller
How do you do this when its not your own story? maybe that’s the point...only telling your own story and not that of others. Inspire by telling your story. Create spaces where stories are safe to be told. Validate storytelling. Really listening. Having knowledge that words matter, that they hold immense power.

Lover
"I love because He first loved me.." live in this. Lover means give and receive. Knowing this is a wellspring.

the emotion of public transit

There is something about the bus that always seems to bring out my emotions, I think it’s because for me it’s a very solitary event, I can’t even think of the last time I took the bus with someone other than strangers. This is where I end up deep in thought and consequently I either become that weirdo who is laughing by herself on transit (shout out to Bri) or that girl who is trying to hide the fact that she is crying. I had this moment yesterday but it wasn’t because I was sad.
Story time.
When I started working at the seed I had a very extroverted person on my team who was very evangelical, he was constantly praying with guests, which I just thought was so beautiful! And something that I wanted to do, but I was kind of scared, praying out loud with people was still uncomfortable for me. So I prayed and asked God to give me a situation or a moment in which I could pray for someone. That night a women came and knocked on the door of the office I was in and asked to use the phone for a long distance call. When this would happen it was kind of hard because you want to give the person privacy but you are also there in the office… once she was on the phone this women started crying almost hysterically as she spoke to her partner, she promised him she was going to get off drugs and start doing better, she promised that she would do it for him and for their children. When she got off the phone she asked if she could sit with me for a while as she wasn’t ready to go back onto the shelter floor. We started talking and she told me that she told me about her life, several horrific details of addiction and poverty, of terrible abuse she had endured and she told me about her children and how she wanted to change so they could have a mom. I asked her if I could pray with her, which she agreed to. This is a moment that changed the rest of my experience at the shelter and quite frankly my life. This guest then went on to treatment and when she was finished was back at the shelter. I excitedly referred her to the housing program which she was accepted to and moved out , I heard of some bumps in the road for her from her housing worker but she was doing a lot better and headed in a good place. Yesterday my bus was stopped at a red light in my neighborhood and I saw her walking with her daughter and another mom with some kids and a stroller and I was completely stunned, 2 years later, this was the full circle, she was just a lady walking with her kids and a neighbor, she was not a recovering addict living in a shelter. She was a mother with her child. She looked happy. That’s when I become the girl crying on the bus.
When I left the shelter I compared it to breaking up with the love of my life…so I will continue with my cheesy metaphor, I’ve got those first date butterflies with housing and I feel something developing…working “street level” will happen for me again, that is undeniable but for now…this seems worth my time.

Street Art Project April 21: Appreciation

I recently saw this video and I though that I myself wanted to do something similar... I currently do not have the resources to pull off something fancy but I still wanted to pass along the general message, below is how I set it up and what might be considered creeper shots from across the road of people doing the project.

Remember who you are

As a part of the leadership program I'm a part of through the Mustard seed we had a assignment to write our personal vision statement. This is something we are going to continue to look at, this is my first draft, but I'm pretty happy with it so I don't think it will change to much.

I am on a Love Tour....
This means to live a life rooted in Christ, fully committing myself to being present and aware that every situation and interaction is an opportunity to be love, accept love and learn new things about love.

To explore and be an active part of Community and Art.
To validate the worth of all people I come across, valuing the gifts that I have been given and the gifts of others.

To chase "goose bump" moments and to fearlessly pursue the "small voice" that is so often dismissed as impossible.

To reflect what I believe and to live with my heart just as visibly on my sleeve as the one on my face.

I didnt ask for Whipped Cream, but Thanks!

from the lovely cork journal:

"....Then I met with Kristal, and that girl definatly understands my vision! Because I, in my thoughts about school, I'm thinking more and more about how I don't feel like I need an degree for validation and how I truly truly believe God gives gifts and how that should not be discounted.

I was thinking how the things I want to do "professionally" I don't ACTUALLY want to do "professionally"
I want to be a part of a community. Community that takes care of each other, that teaches and learns, forgives and gives, community of equality, community that values worth and sacrifice and community of people seeking Jesus, of people loving Him and loving like Him.

And, for me, the idea of going to school, so I can make sure others see my gift? to ensure I can get a job in the future? That kind of thinking doesn't sit right with me.
Life is a whole opportunity for education. Every person and experience is a vehicle for my learning and personal transformation.

I wonder if school would cloud my natural instincts with theory. or if not having a "education" would cloud other people with doubts of my ability?"




*** the thoughts expressed in this post are very much of me processing this decision, I may very well end up going to school, I also don't think there is anything wrong with going to school and think its great when people make that choice, I am simply trying to figure out what I want and what is going to work best for the kind of life I am going to live, and ultimately what God is calling me to.

sage and sweet grass

a tear filled prayer time, a resolve to just "write the letter" to see what it feels like, a solid feeling in my heart that I know what I'm suppose to do, what God is speaking to me, an argument in my inner dialogue about how just going about what I normally do is not the right thing and that things will not change if I stay where I am.

a handing in of the letter, a deep breathe, disbelief, did I actually just quit my job?
This job that I LOVE, this job that has taught me so much.
Yes I believe I did. It came down to a decision of self preservation, what is more important, my emotional health (which is largely damaged because of the night shift)or preserving the identify I have created, preserving this person who is wrapped up in yellow.
I go back to a time when I sat under a tree dripping with flower in south Africa, noting the callused feet of a man who has walk much of Africa, being asked to outline my personal 10 commandments....be the created not the creator... I know God has more for me, please don't misunderstand that I don't mean the shelter is beneath me,far from it,I will always value that place, I just know this is not the long term plan, and I've been holding on so hard for longer then necessary...so the end of this journey was much like the start, I'm not saying me and the mustard seed are done for ever, my time as night team lead is done though.

This morning in my prayer time I found this prayer:

Good Shepherd, who finds the lost one
the "me" I have known has disappeared.

Will I ever recover the person I have been?
Will I ever find and feel good about myself again?
Will I discover who I am and who I am becoming?

Protect me in this great vulnerability.
Assure me that I will come home to myself,
even though "my self" may be different.

Silence my impatience.
Calm my worry.
Restore my joy.
Solace my distress.
Help me to befriend my new self
with tender hope and welcoming love.

-Joyce Rupp

let me be empty

There were a few moments from our trip that really stood out for me and I would like to share them with you. Lets take a look in the brown leather journal that I filled while I was there

"we went for dinner at UGM (union gospel mission) and like the day before we decided to split up so we weren't this clump of new faces. We were with the second group to go in for dinner and Jon (who was going with the Alis of Chad Williams)and I sat down at a table with only one other man at it. The man sat with his face down, focused on his dinner tray, we start to eat as well and I look up and over at him and tears are streaming down his face and he is quietly sobbing. Jon and I exchange confused looks and I start to push my tray across the table with the intention of going to sit by the man, but then I hesitate, what if he doesn't want to talk to me? I get up and I go over to him, I ask him I can talk to him, he says that fine, I ask him whats wrong and he begins to spill about a life of pain, of physical pain from several accidents and emotional pain which drove him to years swallowed by a alcohol addiction. I ask him if he wants me to get one of the staff and he shakes his head "there isn't anything they could do" I pause "I don't usually do this ... I don't want you to think I'm a religious freak but I believe in Christ" I begin to tell him what I believe and how I believe in healing. After stammering nervously through this explanation I ask him if I can pray for him, he nods tears still clinging to his cheeks, I place my hand on his arm and we pray, he leaves shortly after"

Later in Seattle

"Jon and I are walking slowing behind Jordan and Janelle, they are ahead waiting at a stop sign and a small older lady calls out to us from the bench she is sitting at, I approach and ask her name, Sylvia, she begins to tell me that she is temporally homeless and that she was hoping someone would buy her a sandwich, my heart sinks a little as we decided not to take any money with us. I explain to her that tonight we are in the same situation as she is and that I don't have anything to share with her, again I hesitate and start with "I don't usually do this..." and I ask if I can pray with her, she clasps my hand tightly and says "pray honey" I pray and say goodbye..."

One thing about these prayers was how powerful they felt I walked away knowing that God was there. Its strange that in both these situations I said to the person I was talking to "all I can do with you is prayer" when really prayer is a huge deal, and depending on the person doing the praying, can be a hugely vulnerable act, one that is very personal and genuine.

I often pray with people at the shelter, but I think sometimes things can get muddled in my head, I work for an agency that provides basic needs and i feel like i should be providing a tangible "something" whenever someone comes to me, these experiences of prayer on the streets are something I am sinking into in my "work" its really a blessing....

material word

I get strange attachments to some of my material objects. One of them is my backpack. I was gifted this backpack by two friends just before I went to Africa. Its traveled with me basically everywhere and we have many stories together. We've seen many airports and many dirt roads. This backpack has been with me to camp, to work, to south Africa, Swaziland, Mozambique, Zambia, India, Vancouver, Saskatoon...basically everywhere I've gone since I was 17.
Tonight I packed it for a new adventure. Adventure isn't the right word though...pilgrimage...
My shift is over in approx 5 hours, 3 of my friends will pick me up and we are headed to east Hastings in Vancouver, we will each bring minimal changes of clothing and a sleeping bag...we are going to go experience street life for a week and a bit.

I would be lying to say I wasn't nervous, I would be lying to say I am not feeling a bit of anxiety over this. Homelessness is far more then not having shelter. And its not something that we will understand after only a few days. In fact I slept under a bridge one night before and sometimes looking back on that experience I laugh a little thinking how profound I found that night...it was profound but it was only a fraction of what the reality of homelessness is.

I think God calls some people to intentional poverty, I remember thinking that in Africa, because in reality what we have to offer as followers of Christ are not material things, nothing that would fit in a backpack, but it is the hope of Christ...its hope that the pain we feel here and the nasty stuff we go through is not all there is, its hope that we are loved by perfection and that He offers us freedom for all the things that hold us in shackles. Sometimes I feel like I may be called to interact with poverty in a different way, not as a helping hand in a yellow shirt, but maybe just as a girl who loves Jesus who is seated on the pavement beside you. Maybe this week will make that clearer..

art liberated

a few months ago I saw this artist at market collective and her work totally inspired and freed me, I've been doing my own portraits ever since...the freedom came in the fact that they dont HAVE to look like who I'm drawing (although some of them do which is COOL)

pins and needles

I don't desire authority. I don't desire big. or process. rules. reasons. exceptions. bus tickets.

I desire my hand against a wound. I desire soft voices. I desire sitting on a floor. looking up and listening. I desire dialogue and pillows.

Work has felt weird this week, which is strange because I have been away due to illness most days.

I feel bogged down by passive aggression and working against the grain.

So many faces...so much anger. The rhythm of God is slow...but I wonder if this is His idea.

Last week I had a awesome conversation with K and W. There were only two chairs so I sat on the floor and told him things i learned in my class. Something felt good when he threw his hands up saying "Someone understands!" but it mostly felt bad as he shows me scars from abuse he endured as a child and tells me about electric cords. She is so quiet and I feel like holding this moment in cupped hands.

They saw him down town messed right up on some drug and I don't know how I feel.

I desire music. and coffee.and cigerretts.and gentle. I desire God's presence. His audible breath and the fact of love.

inheritated habits

So I have this box full of Cards, notes, letters, random scraps that are special to me and I was going through it last night. I decided that I was going to go through and get ride of all the envelopes because they are just a waste of space. I opened up this envelope which holds a card from my Oma, I decide that I don't want to get rid of this envelope and I open up the card, then something catches my eye in the envelope and I find this:



cutest thing ever right? they are little hearts cut out of napkin, cutest birthday valentine found 4 years later ever!

and one of them says:



"Birsday" was how she said "birthday" (because English was her second language) Although In the card she wrote birthday so she must have been trying to figure out the correct spelling...

I just thought this whole thing was super cute and super special and I'm so glad I found this

a story from victoria

One of the things on "My life's to do list" (this is the term I use instead of bucket list) is to one days share ALL my journals with one person...I don't know if there is ever going to be a person who is going to want to sit through my whole life experience,but whatever hahaha. One way that I can share parts of my journals though is this blog! I was recently looking back at my journal from March 2010, I had gone to Vancouver for a wedding and then spent a beautiful week in Victoria with Brianne and Matt.
Anyway here are some journal clips

"Jen texted me about something called "tent City" Bri and I looked it up and its a place near by where homeless people camp out. Tonight we went to look for it but came up with nothing.
Its funny cause in thinking about going there to look and in what Ive already seen in life I wonder what my hoped for outcome is...hopefully one day I will be able to recall the things I've seen and pair them with a heart filled action"

"I am back at Solstice (coffee shop) I found it all by myself and I walked up to the counter and asked "what good?" and just asked him to pick what to make me. I've ended up with something dark...some sort of mocha...I will drink it only cause the barista (its a gender neutral term right?) had a wonderful beard.

As I was walking around I came across a panhandler...well he was standing asking people for money as they went by. I asked him how his day was. He said "horrible" because he hadn't made anything. I asked him if he wanted something to eat and if i could go with him and buy something, he said yes and we started walking, then he asked if he could just have the money. I said "why?" and he said he needed it for liquor and I said "no" he replied with "but i need to have it everyday" i again asked "why?" and he said "because I'm an alcoholic" I said no and again offered food, he passed and i kept going. I came across a old man in a walker with signs that said "I am 73 and homeless everything helps" I asked him how he was and he said "today I am very happy" and began to tell me about his health problems. He has cancer and just found out they would remove it by surgery. His name is Jack, as I was talking to him, the first guy walked up and asked if I was still willing to get him food. I said "for sure" and followed him. I had to run to catch up. We went in a mall I asked his name, Tre, 26 years old, homeless in vic since he was 18, lives at "tent city"
I bought him Chinese food, and asked if he wanted me to stick around or leave him alone. He said he'd like to just eat and gave me a hug.
Not even two minutes later he walked by me without the food. He either stuffed his face or trashed it. Either way is fine I guess. Mean while I purchased a burger for Jack but when I got back to him he was gone...across the street was someone else.
His name was Sean and he kissed my hand twice. I think he has cerebral palsy...that's my story from this morning.

I was thinking about how I wasn't expecting any sort of transaction from my un-sheltered encounters. I feel that its to easy for people to be like "I will buy you food, you tell me the story of your life or something that will enlighten me"

Stories are/ can be piece of your soul. I wouldn't expect someone to give me that in exchange for some nutrients"

investing

I did a post it note street art project at the mustard seed a while back and recently bought a new pack of post its for a different project for a seed guest, but at the end of it I had several sets of post it notes left. CCharlie and I have decieded we want to invest in and spent more time hanging out in Kensington, so when we were there tonight I decieded that we should do some post it note art. Several of them blew away before living a long happy life but many of them were seen and commented on, this one lady actually came up and hugged us after she saw what we wrote.

It must be noted that CCharlie needs so mentoring when it comes to being a street artist, several of the post its that he wrote said "are you loved?" instead of "YOU ARE LOVED" but his giant tallness was helpful for putting notes up in high places.














We left way more then these pictures reflect but it was a kind of on the go project not a lot of time to stop and take picture

love hides everywhere

I walk past this tree on a regular basis...figured the random heart shape needed to be accented with some safe paint...

Gideon didn’t have an encounter with God on a mountain top

Simply put, the mustard seed tends to break my heart. I was writing a letter to someone the other day about how I remember being in jr high/ high school and being afraid of homeless people, then having an incredible experience in east Hastings and no longer being able to look at un-sheltered friends without thinking "beloved"

When I was walking around the shelter tonight I stopped and saw this written in the bathroom, I noticed it yesterday but didn't read what it said and now i just feel sad. This is the only place they can find for quiet. I think about myself and people in my life and how we talk about "me" time and how refreshing it can be to just be alone for a while and then I think of being in some sort of devastating situation where I would need to live at a shelter and have 300 roommates from all walks of life, in all stages of being, some happy, some angry at the world, some using drugs, some dealthy sick, and I think about feeling trapped there and how my only quiet place might be a bathroom....

A while back at a event for hands at work my Friend heather said "Sometimes the experience runs so deep its hard to find the words but we must tell their stories"

This is how I feel about the seed, I'm hoping to find the words soon...

Oma

My Oma passed away when I was in India. Talking to my Mother before I made my way home we decided i would read something at the funeral. When I got home I found out that based on Catholic Law I had to read whatever the priest choice. SO because I didn't get a chance to read the letter I wrote I will post it here. Its written like it would be read out at the funeral (I am just mentioning that because there is a part near the end that might seem strange to read)

Dear Oma

I'm sorry that I wasn't here to say goodbye. I'm grateful though that my last memory of you was one that I walked away exclaiming how adorable you are and how much I love you.

1John 4:12 says

No one has ever seen God but if we love one another God lives in us and His love is made complete in us.

When I think about you all I can think of is how much I love you and how much I know you love me.
Thank you for always expressing your love, your joy and your pride in being my Oma.
There are many things I remember about you and cherish, like when you would volunteer in our elementary school (this action making you "Oma" to many of our friends) when you would take us swimming, Shu-pan and Stumpot, Stories that started with "well you know what my Mother always said" your willingness to pray for my friends in Africa and your endless support of the choices I make.

So...no one has ever seen God but when we love one another his love is made complete in us.

Thank you for loving us the way you did because through that I have been shown an aspect of God's love.

Something Sister recently said was "No regrets only beautiful memories" this is true of how I feel also.
Thank you for always being apart of my life.
Oma, I love you and as cliche as it may sound I wont forget you
Rest in peace

-Lacey
PS I wont talk to Strangers

I have another letter I need to read. This is a time for honoring my Oma but there are people who were apart of her life that I'm sure she would want me to address now. So..

Dear Mother and Dear Sister

As I have said No one has seen God but when we love each other his love is made complete in us.

I don't even know how to express the gratitude each of you deserve.
You were both such a blessing to Oma, even when it was hard and when you were unsure of what to do.
I want you to know that the way you loved her inspired me and is so true of the verse i have repeated.
Thank you for loving as you have.
I adore you both.

-Lacey

brushing your teeth out a window

So today Laura and I went to the market, I have arranged for some punjabi dresses to be made and I'm pretty excited about it...I wanted to share this picture and a story with you about this picture.

Laura and I were on way home in a rickshaw, the traffic was ridiculous...then a head i saw a elephant! I guess my excitement was apparent because our driver started to laugh, i got a crappy picture as we drove past but then our rickshaw driver swerved to the left so i could get a better picture...in the process he hit a cart full of coconuts, and I achieved the above photo...as we were driving away I asked Laura to look at this situation from outside of our perspective and how it is actually such a hilarius story...

incense burning in a taxi cab

India and I are still trying to figure each other out, and as I feel that process is going to take a while i dont know that I can really blog, I do want to share some clips from my journal to maybe help you see where im at and what im doing.

I wrote this piece after my second day at "Kalghat" which is the Mother Teresa home for the destitute and the dying.
Its a building big enough to house 80 people and opposite to the west the point is not to cure people but rather to give them a place to die with dignity and love. I stayed mostly on the womens side and it really made me question my understanding of the word "beauty" these women skin and bones, blind and not all there putting there hands together to there face and saying "nameste didi" (which translates to something like the divine in me see the divine in you sister) are beatutiful! I feel like im getting in the way of the nuns as i sit and stare, i hold hands, i caress shaved heads and smile into faces while repeating bengali words that i dont understand...anyway lets see what i wrote in my journal that day

"I also spent more time feeding people, there was one little lady who I hand fed, she is blind and would go into convulsions and scream and as startling as that was it is still sch a blessing to be able to do this. I found myself thnking "anyone could do this...I'm not really making a difference" but i guess thats where i have to think I am the one doing this today and this is a love offering to God and hopefully a blessing to this women"

these entries are a little out of order but here is another one

"I helped give out meds and spoon fed one lady both snack and lunch. No teeth and I think she was part blind, skin and bones but oh so beautiful. Everytime I ran a hand over her head, I was thinking about Jesus as I placed rice and bits of orange in beloveds mouth I asked "God please see this as an offering to you"

I keep looping through the thoughts of "I need to come back to Kolkata, I need to make a routine here and build relationships, I need to work every day with those who are dying and spend my evenings in prayer with the sisters" and "Im never ever coming back to India"

maybe one to make people laugh

"oh! this morning at the mother house there was this dak haired boy with starter dreads (like he hadnt brushed his hair) and a beard and dressed very earthy and probably my soulmate and i found myself thinking "are you allowed to think someone is hot when your sitting in a convent?"

before India we must make sure that Calgary knows..