Standing in the Gap

This week at church our head pastor gave a sermon on prayer.  He talked about how prayer can and does change things.  As Christians, we believe that there is power in prayer.  We can intercede on people’s behalf and pray for them.  I have experienced the power of prayer in an extreme way in the last year, and certainly the last few months and weeks.  The power of those prayers have changed me. Pastor Jacob said that our prayers are like ‘standing in the gap’ for others.  I have used that very same phrase to describe how it has felt receiving the prayers and presence of my loved ones recently. I would love to begin to share some of my ‘stand in the gap’ moments.  

 It has been 7 weeks since my mom passed away. That number seems so small and yet so large. Just two weeks after my daughter, Eliza Hope, was born I got a call that my mother had suffered what they thought to be a stroke.  A few days later, it was confirmed she would likely need assisted living moving forward. A day or two to follow, it was confirmed that the effects of the stroke had continued to worsen and she would not make it.  My father and older sister let me and my other siblings know that we had about a week before she would pass.  We all began to make arrangements to journey to say our goodbyes. 

March 17. A date marked out in time forever. The day I found out my mother would pass. That morning, I woke up and I remember sleepily passing by my nightstand and realizing I had a dream she had died. I knew in my bones that call was coming.  

March 20.  Another date marked out in time. The day my mom went to be with Jesus. Surrounded by her husband and four children, just an hour after I arrived…she waited till we had all made it by her side, and then after her youngest said goodnight and left…as the rest of us shared memories of growing up and singing and humming ‘His Eye is on the Sparrow’ and ‘Hymn of Promise’….she slipped away to be with Jesus.  I was the last to leave the room…I was also the last to arrive, so I’m sure I just needed a little more time.  I wanted to memorize her. Take in all of who she was.  Slowly breathe in the complicated nature of our relationship the last 7 years as her health had declined. Slowly breathe in the beautiful best friend she had been to me my whole life.  Slowly breathe in the ways we argued and the ways we made each other laugh.  Slowly breathe in the things that made my eyes roll…and the things that made her infuriated. The things within me that were exactly like her and the ways I had grown into my own person. The things that made us both immeasurably proud of each other.  Those things are eternal. Like her spirit, they are always with me. Once experienced and lived out, each moment of our life exists around us, it stays within the universe forever.  I sat there with her a little longer because I needed to soak in our relationship here on Earth one last time and acknowledge that I would now say, ‘hello’, to a new relationship with her in life beyond death.  I spoke the 23rd Psalm over her body and left the room. I’d now stepped through an experience we are all assured…our parents will eventually pass.  

March 27.  A third date marked out in time.  The day we celebrated my mom’s life and buried her remains. Many years before, on my first day of college I called my mom to tell her that I had just gotten sick and wasn’t sure I could go to my first class. As my mom listened she assured me that I could go to class I said, “But, mom, did you not hear me?  I just threw up!”  Her reply, “Yes, Regina Gail, I did hear you and you can go to class. You do this every time you’re afraid of something new. Every new school. Every big event. You get sick.”  I was taken aback because even I had never noticed this within myself.  My mother had.  March 27th was no different.  I woke up unsure I could even get in the car to make it to the church. I knew I would get sick.  And then I heard, “Yes, Regina Gail. You do this every time you’re afraid of something new. Don’t be afraid.”  

As we stepped through the funeral and burial there is so much I could reflect on.  That my husband’s family had all driven across the southeast to stand in the gap for me and say, ‘we’ve got you.’ That four of my dearest friends did the sameThat my mother in law had been Jesus in living form to me through the entire process of her passing. Each time I turned around, I saw one of my people calmly standing as if to say, “We’ve got you. We’re standing in the gap.”  My teeny tiny four week old Eliza, slept most of the day.  Toward the end of the visitation I tried to wake her to feed her before the service began.  Right as I sat down and the funeral service began, she woke up and immediately spit up everywhere. (Life is never a picture of perfection.) As Jeff began to walk out with her, my dear friend Brittany scooped her up returning Jeff to his seat.  She was standing in the gap.  

As we drove up to the burial site, I knew Eliza would wake again to feed at some point, so I wore my nursing cover to the plot and sat down.  And, just as I suspected, as my mom was buried, Eliza awoke to eat. I wasn’t upset or flustered, just calmly began to nurse and rock her.  As I sat there holding and feeding this brand new life, I watched as the one who did the very same for me was laid to rest.  I watched as several of her grand babies, including my oldest daughter, laid flowers in the ground with her.  My mind was so quiet and simultaneously noisy and full that when the pastor told us that the service was complete, I did not know what to do.  I sat there for what felt like hours, but was only minutes. As I stood up, I figured everyone was gone, but as I turned around...off at a distance were my four friends...standing in the gap.  They asked if I needed more time and took Eliza so I could have a moment alone. 

I sat back down next to my little brother, while my oldest sister and niece sat behind us. My little brother turned on a piece of instrumental music that was playing as she passed away. I closed my eyes and silently began to cry trying to take in that this was real and once I got up the moment was passed. You only bury your parent once. 

Just after turning 35, holding my 4 week old baby, I had just buried my mom.  I wanted so badly for someone to say, ‘I know how you feel. I’ve been there. Here is what you do now.’  But, who has been here?  Still in the healing of labor, feeling depleted and drained from lack of sleep and now, high on the adrenaline of loosing the one who gave you life.  I needed to make peace with this moment being real...I needed to make peace with this moment passing.  When I opened my eyes I looked to the right of my mom’s grave and saw the next plot over.  “Regina ‘Jimmie’ Crouch.”  My grandmother who I was named after. It struck me. There was one woman who knew exactly how I felt.  I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t connected the dots until now. My mother.  At 36, holding me, her 6 week old, buried her mother in this exact same spot.  She knew every bit of what I had been feeling.  Her feet had stood on this ground. Her tears were soaked up in the ground beneath me.  And I have never felt more seen by her in my entire life.  

She never told me what that felt like. And I never asked. What did it feel like to be so young, and newly postpartum and grieve your mother?  All she ever recalled were the facts.  She had a dream the night before she found she had passed.  She was 36. I was six weeks old. And she flew on a plane to celebrate the life of her mother.  She would often say I was her joy amidst a sad time.  And that was it, it always seemed a sweet, simple statement. Now I know the depths of it.  I don’t know if the events of the day for her looked like what mine did.  But what I do know is that there is a piece of Earth in Hollywood, SC where we have both stood, straddling very strangely between new life and new death and we have both shed tears. My mother stood in the gap for me the day of her funeral.  And in the loneliest moments of my grief to follow, I continue to hear her voice say, “Don’t be afraid, Regina Gail.  You can move through this.  I’ve been there too.”  

A Step Back...to Learn a Story

I think it’s important to know someone and their story in order to truly understand how they have come to believe what they do.  There have been so many things happening in our country at warp speed that my brain has barely had time to process.  What I’ve been able to process are these words I hold dear to my heart: “God who knows our hearts and weighs our souls, knows we know and holds us responsible to Act.”-Proverbs 24:12.  For better or for worse these words are tattooed on my wrist as a reminder that, I believe God has called me to a life of action.  To seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.  Love, compassion, conviction—these “feelings” are all, in fact, actions.  But, goodness knows we’ve seen that many of us carry different ideas of how these feelings should be acted out deep within us.

I thought I would take a step back.  I’ve noticed the friends who believe differently than I do when I see them in public...I've seen their body language change when we’re together, and even….seen the friends slowly unfriending me.  I’ve been guilty of it too…in person, my body tenses up…online, my fingers get excited and click ‘unfollow’ at an exorbitant rate. Now—it’s Facebook—it’s a social media world…it’s not truly reality.  And truly…mind are not changed by my posts or yours. But, the culture we’ve created leads one to feel sad when the ‘unfriend’ button is clicked.  There’s also nothing more real than the body language between two people when you know you fall on different ends of the spectrum on these very deeply rooted issues and each one is nervous to engage in conversation…so you just remain silent and slowly…the friendship looses some layers.  Believe it or not…this is happening right now.  Not just to me…I see it happening to other friends and family as well.  Division…with each change…with each refresh of our homepage.

Now…for the step back…it’s dawned on me that perhaps people don’t know me well enough to know why so many of these issues might cut as deeply as they do. AND I don't entirely know why others think as they do either...but I can only start with me. I know merely saying, “I’m a follower of Jesus” does not transcend to all sides…those disillusioned to church certainly don’t get that and those who are Christians who fall on the opposite end of the spectrum do not necessarily hear that either.  SO…Let me introduce myself. 

I was born Regina Gail Rigney.  To two parents from rural South Carolina, just outside of Charleston.  Both of my parents were professional musicians and eventually my father went into the United States Air Force and my mother became a Church Choir Director and Head of Christian Education primarily working in The United Methodist Church.  I was born on the island of Guam where I lived till I was 2 and then moved to Italy where I lived till I was 6.  I never even lived in the U.S. till I was in the 1st grade! I only lived in the U.S. for 2 1/2 years before moving back overseas to Panama where I lived till I was 10.  In Panama, I served people within the community living in poverty alongside my mother and took Typical Panamanian Dance lessons.  I moved to rural Alabama for one year, following my fathers retirement and then moved to New Orleans, LA where my family still lives.  I grew up attending Isidore Newman School, a college preparatory school that was initially founded as a Manual Training School for Jewish Orphans in 1903.  About 40% of the students I attended school with were Jewish.  Upon graduating high school I attended two universities, Belmont University in Nashville and Oklahoma City University both of which were Christian affiliated.  I completed my Bachelors of Music in Musical Theatre and Dance and attended two years of Seminary and worked as a Junior High Youth Minister before moving to Los Angeles where I danced in a Modern Ballet Company and served LOTS and I mean LOTS of tables.  I also did some time serving at an orphanage in Sierra Leone, West Africa and helped to start an non-profit called Firefleyes building creative arts rooms and providing creative arts and sports components for already established orphanages. Upon moving back to Nashville, for a short time, I worked for a non-profit as a Volunteer Coordinator working with the unhoused community and finally settled into being a Children’s Ministry Director.  I met and married my awesome husband, native to Tennessee, and moved into his house in rural Tennessee.  I served at a church a short time where I was quickly let go for many reasons that seemed to be pointed strongly at the fact that I was a new mother.  Currently, I am working as an Administrative Assistant at a large church outside of Nashville and I am finishing my Masters in Religion and beginning the Ordination process in the United Methodist Church with hopes of working in missions and outreach and congregational care. AND…I have, who I believe to be, the cutest and smartest 17 month old ever. :-)  You may think…what does that matter right now??  I think it matters a lot.  Potentially, you know more about the experiences I might have had that have shaped my views to lean very heavily on care for the outcast (ie refugees), you might know why I feel strongly about rights for all people (including the LGTBQ community)…living in rural Tennessee you can see how I might be around a good amount of people who think differently than I do.  Seeing as I am seeking ordination and the UMC has only ordained women for 50 years maybe sheds insight into why I might feel strongly about women’s rights.  Since I grew up at a Jewish affiliated school, with friends whom I love dearly who are Jewish, you may know why I could have been DEEPLY offended by the Holocaust Remembrance Day speech that lumped all those effected into some crock pot, as if everyone was just as effected as our Jewish brothers and sisters and why I believe this to be another example of belittling a group of people our society as deemed as "other."   Knowing that I held dying babies in Africa sheds a piece of insight into why hearing stories of refugee families with no place to go shatters my heart and has led me to be staunchly against this ban.  Serving alongside my mother as a 9 year old in Panama shapes my desire for people to know that no matter who are or what you believe or how uncomfortable it makes me…I desire to show you God’s love and for you to know that you are always welcome in my home...even if we think differently. AND…knowing that I grew up as the child of a United States Air Force Officer perhaps helps you know that I do, in fact, care about this country. But, I do not believe myself to be first a U.S. citizen, or a Republican or Democrat…I’m first and foremost a follower of Jesus Christ….and I’m doing the best I can in a space and time where there are heart breaking, earth shattering things occurring. 

I’ll take a step forward and say that I think we all need to take a step back and look at one another’s stories.  We will never understand each others perspectives if we just press the unfollow button or the unfriend button and allow ourselves to be covered in our own bubbles once more.  I’ve seen lots of posts saying “Can we all just go back to pictures of babies and puppies.”  The answer is….no (though don’t worry…I’ll still post plenty of baby pictures, hah)  There is too much going on right now that MATTERS and the stakes are too high…  EVEN if you agree with the POTUS and his administration…you cannot deny the division around us.  And a mere eye roll is not going to fix it.  Love. Understanding. Brutally Hard Conversations, RECONCILIATION.  These are the things that are going to fix it.  And, yes, my friends…ACTION.  People stating their opinions.  No, social media is NOT the correct forum to CHANGE someone else's minds…but it is a means with which to put out what you strive to be about.  Real life conversations can and should be prompted by those posts but…we have to be willing to do more than give awkward body language…we have to be willing to engage…in love and respect.  Love and respect, rooted in a space where we MUST assume our FRIENDS to be coming from a good place.  Let’s look at our friends stories (PLEASE share yours with me!) before we start slicing and dicing our village….that’s the kind of division that will actually build a wall.  A free one. 

I lift My Voice...

When I was in the sixth grade I came home and asked my mom if racism still existed.  Now, you may question whether I had been living under a rock or not…and you’d be right in a sense.  

I grew up in a Military family and lived outside of the U.S. until age 6.   By age 11, in 1997, I had only lived in the U.S. for 2 1/2 years of my life.  Now, I was well aware of other issues at play in our world.  My eyes were opened to extreme poverty living in Panama and I stepped through Desert Storm as a young child in Italy.  But, in the fifth grade I gave a speech for Black History Month where I celebrated the accomplishments of Oprah Winfrey and Marian Anderson (the first black opera singer to sing at The Met)….my brain truly believed racism was a thing I studied in history books and celebrated the divide we had bridged in school assemblies.  

In sixth grade I found myself living in Alabama.  My father had recently retired from the military and I was the “new girl” in school.  I was describing “my old friends” with a friend one day (as the new girl typically does) and mentioned that my friend Tasha would probably come to visit.  My friend said, “Is Tasha black? That sounds like a 'black' name.”  The answer was, ‘yes’, but that fact seemed irrelevant and perplexing that it had even been asked.  I answered his question and he said, “Well, I can’t hang out with her then.”  My brain quickly did the math to realize I had encountered real life racism for the first time.  

When I came home to my mother, I had been processing all day.  I didn’t understand.  My heart was hurt.  Full of questions.

I’m not sure my mother realized just how sheltered I had been...growing up in rural South Carolina in the 50's and 60's she knew first hand what segregation looked like...but the language of division or 'us and them' had never been used in our home.  She quickly acknowledged and affirmed the reality I lived until this point was a blessing and that racism was a present reality.  We sat down and decompressed the conversation that had happened earlier.  And we discussed how I might respond when I encountered something like that in the future.  

We soon moved from Alabama to New Orleans….and although much more of a melting pot and although I went to an amazing school with an incredible number of people who exposed me to different cultures, races and religions…I was surrounded by affluence. I was surrounded by opportunity.  And thankfully, I was surrounded by acceptance.  The social and racial divide in Greater New Orleans, however, is daunting and, to be blunt, in your face.  If I thought I encountered racism in small town Alabama….I uncovered a very real, present-day problem for our culture.   (This is in no way a knock against either state….for I have dear friends from Alabama still and New Orleans is the hometown I dearly love.)

Now, even with these experiences I’ve always thought that racism and segregation were still not as bad as they used to be.  Can I say how ridiculous it is that essentially that previous statement means, “Well….atleast we’re not AS racist as we USED to be?”  Disgusting.  Unacceptable.  And furthermore, I’ve found my ignorance in the recent continued shootings spraying across our country, for I thought there were far more people of acceptance in this country than there truly are………..racism between black and white, gay or straight, Muslim or Christian, housed and unhoused, mentally ill and not.  This list goes on.  And my heart aches.  Merely putting a hashtag and the city or the group of people I’m praying for does not cut it anymore.  I’ll still be praying….but I lift my voice to say I want to create change.  I lift my voice to say we can’t stand for racism ANYMORE.  I lift my voice to say this country should be about love and we should DEMAND that.  Because I believe our children will grow up in a world where racism is a thing of the past….in history books….where we say, “we were WRONG THEN and we embrace HUMANITY NOW.”  I believe we are in the midst of a great shift in our country....and I lift my voice to say I am a person of love and acceptance, with the deeply rooted belief that God's love will conquer the hatred and separation in our midst.

Love has to speak out to be heard over the triggers and venomous words inundating our country.  I lift my voice. And my fervent prayer is that you will too.  

Results--Tales of a Mom in Ministry

I've now been a mommy for 10 months!  As a dancer and yoga enthusiast I was anxious to get back to working out.  Life as a mom, and certainly three months in as a working mom, left much less time for this than I originally anticipated.  And quite honestly, I wasn’t entirely motivated to work out at all.  

My first few months back to work feel a blur. BUT…I do know that from time to time I would race to the gym for thirty minutes before time to pick my daughter up from school. I found myself incredibly frustrated that so many of my post pregnancy comrades seemed to be shedding their baby weight so quickly….while I stayed in the exact same place.  It drove me crazy I that was not seeing results. 

Since April I’ve been going to spin classes twice a week.  And a month ago I added a Weight Training class…nothing crazy….it’s jazzercise with weights, to be honest.  Every week I step on the scale and there I sit….coasting at the exact same number I saw on the scale 6 weeks postpartum.  Seriously?  For a dancer and performer minded human this could not be more frustrating.  I don’t eat terribly and I drink a gallon of water daily.  I have all the ingredients for success.  What gives?  

Who knows….but I stopped trying to figure it out and started praying that God would help me to be confident and happy where I am.  Now….I’ve been praying for this mindset shift for a few months now…and I’ve gotten really good at pretending I’m cool with it all…but the other night a game changer occurred. 

I tend to pray a lot while I work out….pray that I actually make it out alive, haha…but mostly, it’s a great tool to quiet my mind.  Working out has always been a way for me to find Sabbath and rest…even in the midst of exerting energy. Two days ago I got to spin class a bit early…as I slowly pedaled I took a deep breath and all of a sudden I thought, “I really feel great. Genuinely great.”  Not just physically, but emotionally.  It’s been 10 months since I felt anywhere close to my old self.  I’ve felt glimpses of it here and there…but  in that moment I truly felt my spirit lift. As I started to pedal faster and faster I could feel that workout adrenaline beginning to climb.  I felt God’s presence and I thought, “you don’t do this for results.  You do this to be faithful.”  I said it again in my head.  “You don’t do this for results. You do this to be faithful.”  

My eyes began to tear a little and a I began to smile.  I pedaled faster and stronger for the rest of class than I ever have.  

I don’t work out to loose baby weight.  I work out to be strong, healthy, to quiet my mind, to gain energy to give to my family and my life.  I work out to be faithful to the body I have been given.  This phrase hit me as hard as it did because honestly the same can be said for so many things.  I am not Evelyn Mae’s mom because I expect results….yes, it’s a byproduct at times…but through out her life I will not always see positive results…I’ll continue to love her and be there, however, because I am faithful.  Marriage isn’t always filled with those fluttery butterflies but I am Jeff’s wife always because I am faithful.  And I didn’t walk in to ministry because I expected to see results.  I walked in to ministry because God asked me to and I am faithful.  This may be the biggest, hugest realization for me.  Perhaps a 'no brainer' to everyone else in ministry….but I am learning that being faithful doesn’t always produce a positive outcome.

Much like my frustration on the scale, recently I experienced a situation where I was rejected in ministry.  The kind of rejection where even after you sit back and look at all your ingredients you still go, “How did this happen?”  I think I always thought you could see a successful ministry by your results and I’m learning that some times you have to remind yourself that we’re in ministry because we’re being faithful to God…not for any tangible results we may see. 

The question has been asked, “Will you continue in ministry?”  

The answer is simply, “DUH.” ;-)

I felt The Holy Spirit ask me to journey in to ministry when I was 16 and I began working in full time ministry when I was 22….because I am rejected once does not mean I run….anywhere.  Especially when I feel confident in my heart that I was being faithful to God.   And just because I don’t see the number I used to on the scale doesn’t mean my working out is in vain.  Great is thy Faithfulness, Oh God.  I will keep going to the gym.  And I will keep serving God. Why?  Because, God’s hold on my life is greater than a scale and it’s certainly greater than the rejection of a few.  

It Takes A Village...

9 weeks ago Jeff and I gave birth to our first child, Evelyn Mae.  We call her “Evie Mae” for short.  She is a delight.  She’s patient, observant and a bit of a mama's girl…with each big smile and attempt to make small noises I can tell the moment she’s able she’ll be running full speed ahead.  Every time she develops a new “motor skill” I jokingly say, “do you think you’re already off to college?”  Man, being a parent is the best.  But…there are days…there are moments…that are hard.  For all you parents out there I don’t have to embellish on this statement.  The tiredness that comes with a newborn is to the bones...and although each moment is beyond words worth it…you some times need a breather.  I have to ask for help.  I’m still not so great at this.  But the simplest things seem impossible without an extra set of hands… I say this at 9 weeks and I know come 2 years I’ll have way more to say…if we add another kiddo in to the mix I’m sure I’ll have more on top of that…but at 9 weeks, this is what I know and I can say…parents are superheroes…and a side kick and then some sure makes a difference. (I'm so glad for my "sidekick and then some.")

At 6 weeks we made our way to church for the first time. We had a bunch of family in town and so we decided to go to my brother-in-law’s Preview Service for his church plant, The Village UMC.  At the end of the service we were all given $5 and challenged to take our money and multiply it in some way to benefit our community.  The only catch was…the money could not come back to the church.  Anyone who knows me knows I love a good challenge…I like to do things big.  We were asked to spend the first while in prayer, then come up with a plan for the money, execute our mission and come back in a month with our stories.  We did a similar project at Brentwood UMC when I worked there and, at the time, my project prompted travels to Sierra Leone, West Africa marking a life changing chapter in my world.  I was PUMPED to pray and see what God would reveal this time.  I prayed.  I fell asleep while praying.  I prayed some more.  I prayed for sleep…oh, wait…I’m praying about a project.  What to do with this money?  It needed to be something GOOD!  Something BIG!  

We came up with a project to raise money for 10 Winter Sleeping Bags and 10 Tarps for the unhoused community for Open Table Nashville.  Jeff and I are both huge advocates for the work this non profit does and we were excited to watch our money grow.  We would need $700.  So far we’ve raised $200.  One would think THAT IS AWESOME! WOW…$200 from $5, what a gift.  And, I have been excited, but in the back of my mind I’ve been thinking…but it needs to be more…it needs to be bigger.  

About a week ago I was at my friends house and I was talking to her mom about this project and other mission projects I had undertaken in the past…I told her I just wasn't quite sure when God would lead me to my next big thing….she laughed and she said, “Regina…you’ve said all of this to me while you are bouncing and calming your very biggest thing.”  Oh….my daughter, you mean???  Oh geez, I’m short sighted…back to praying I go…”God, help me see the big picture.”

On my way home today I stopped by Starbucks to see our Uncle T and he asked about our project.  He started talking about all of the other projects folks were doing and *wam*, there was my short sightedness again smacking me in the face.  You see…my $5 was not the only $5 given out on that day…and my $200 is not the only money raised.  This isn’t a Girl Scout Cookie Sales Competition… it’s not about the amount…it’s about the trust we put in God to do big things with our one small part.   I’m one small piece of God’s puzzle and together with OTHERS great work will be done.  

It brought me back to my struggles as I have begun to enter motherhood.  I have a hard time when what I do isn’t the biggest or the grandest of adventures…I have a hard time when my house isn’t Pinterest perfect and the meals aren’t always homemade and I can’t clean that bathroom, fold that laundry, bounce my baby and empower the orphan in Africa too.  It’s only been 9 weeks…can anyone tell I majored in Theatre in college?...thank goodness God loves me :-)  

But seriously, I need to come clean that this is what God is doing in my heart right now.  God is showing me that much of what I think matters…doesn’t.  I preach it...but it's time to live in to it a bit more.  The biggest isn’t always the grandest…most of the time the biggest thing we can do may seem to be the smallest.  It’s the 9 pound baby I hold as I type that I get to watch grow in to a beautiful woman of God. She doesn’t care about all the big things…she just wants to be covered in love.  

And $5 turning in to $200 is enormous and just because it doesn’t manifest in launching a non profit doesn't mean I’ve missed the mark.  Because…it isn’t just about me, my gifts and my efforts…there are others around me ready to lend a hand, ready to bounce a baby, ready to multiply their $5, add it in with mine and we will love up a community together.  Nothing is ever fun or fruitful alone….it definitely takes…a village.  

Dear God,  Help me to know when I need to ask for help.  Help me to trust the journey you have me on.  I need naught worry about creating the biggest or the best because you have already done that.  Help me to gather those around me to celebrate the giftedness of community.  Lord, you say where two or more are gathered there worship will be...I am not a singular unit...forgive me of my short sightedness as I strive to love better each day. Amen. 

Teach me to Forgive

In recent months I have been learning a lot about being a better friend.  Not that I think I was an awful friend before necessarily, but I have come upon circumstances where I have been challenged to love better.  

Forgiveness is one of the hardest things to learn.  Although, from a young age one of the first things we learn how to do is say, “I’m sorry.”  Somehow, as we get older these simple words become harder and harder to utter.  Not only is it hard to say, but it’s hard to accept. 

But, as Christians, we believe that forgiveness and grace are available to us always.  Grace, meaning the unmerited favor of God…we didn’t have to do anything to get this love and forgiveness.  Christians believe we are to strive to show this same grace and forgiveness in our own relationships. 

I’ve gotten the being willing to say, ‘I’m sorry’, thing down (obviously, I still mess up from time to time)…but the forgiveness…well, I kinda suck at this.  I’m certainly not near as good at it as I need to be.

I went to a music concert the other night and like a series of events that only God can orchestrate they sang a few songs through out the night that knocked me down a bit. 

Mostly based off of scripture, one song went, “Time is a thing we can’t recreate…can’t bottle it up for a later date…teach me to number my fleeting days.”  What are you spending your days doing, Regina?  Judging people and their choices, refusing to forgive a friend?  Who do I think I am sometimes?  Hmm…learning to number the beautiful days given to me.  I need to soften my heart. 

The next song really drove it home, “ True love has no defense, it cannot stay at an arms length or sit on the fence.  It knows it’s closest friends will betray and it stands by them faithfully anyway…Love is patient, it holds on tight, holds on tight when the train derails…love will never give up.”   “It’s not keeping track of who’s winning, who’s lost or who's scored…true love is kind.”  Woah...I need to forgive better. 

My eyes were covered in tears.  Even when we’re wronged by a friend…it is our job to find forgiveness…and because we love them, we have to strap on that seat belt and go for the bumpy ride…friendship is not a scoreboard.  I’m not sure why I understand that for my marriage but the friendship part doesn’t always check in.  

I want to be a better friend.  I want to forgive more.  Love more.  Judge Less.  Put down my scoreboard.  Get off the fence and stand faithfully rooted in an understanding of true grace.  

Gates of Charity Close?

When the Church stops being the Church.

I watched a video on Tent City, an un-housed community here in Nashville, a few months back.  A pastor spoke out about allowing the members of this community to remain within his community, although temporary, stating “at some point the gates of charity have to close.”  Hearing this and even thinking about it makes me sick.  It’s statements like this that bastardize the church and create a bad taste in the mouths of many towards Christianity. 

Unconditional love we preach.  As a Methodist Open hearts, open minds, open doors….we exclaim.  But we for sure draw a line.  All churches do, really. 

We’re all guilty of it, myself included.  I could go off on the fact that we should be following Jesus...a  man who called us to get our hands dirty, follow unconditional love, stop being so narcissistic and focussing on our own four walls and our own programming development…but for today I’m going to vent about a specific situation where the gates of charity close and we start to operate as a business as opposed to a community of faith.

My mother began working for the Methodist Church when she was fourteen…probably even sooner…but that’s the earliest I remember her talking about having a job.  She became her small churches choir director in the country of Charleston, SC.  She got her degree in Music Education and Vocal Performance and continued working for larger churches, developing their choral programs. Not only was she a member of Charleston Opera Company, a soloist performer all over town, she worked at different churches around Charleston during her early career. As time went on she and my father traveled across the globe as a military family.  Each church my mom began attending she quickly stepped in to the role of Director of Music and Christian Education.  She built music programs in churches from the ground up on Guam, in Italy, Panama, California to name a few.  She was a rock star.  Musicals, Cantatas, Symphonies, Volunteer Trainings, Sunday School Curriculums…you name it I grew up watching my mom do it.  To say that who I am and the desires of my heart to use my love of dance and music in the church world were shaped by my mom would be an understatement.  Through out most of my childhood she showed me how it was done. 

On August 2 my mother will have been sick in the hospital for exactly a month.  We’re honestly not sure what is wrong.  She’s gotten better in many regards, but something is still neurologically off.  I’ve learned through various experiences that when we find ourselves in prolonged illnesses that while we sit in a hospital bed, unfortunately the world does turn on.  Days go by, experiences happen…life keeps going.  It’s harsh, but real.

My father got a call today stating that the church my mother has worked for the past 14 years has decided after one month that they will be rehiring someone in her place.  Now, there are lots of logical reasons behind this decision.  A Church is, afterall, a business at the end of the day.  Programs continue and need developing.  Children still need Sunday School Teachers to be trained….but it raises my eyebrow and makes me wonder…

After 14 years, more hours worked above and beyond what my mother’s paycheck was and the call of duty, many overworked weeks and weekends later, many job responsibilities well outside her job description later…she is left unemployed.  Now, I understand the rationale behind the decision and I know the United States is so great and has lots of resources to help in situations like this…that is not the point at all…the point is…what is the church?  What is it supposed to be?  I’m not going to answer the question…I’m only going to say…I think at some point some people think the gates of charity close and I think those people give the church a terrible name.  That’s a name I wont ever be a part of.