Taken at the Cape Town waterfront, Summer 2008 “It Takes Smoke To Bloom: Thoughts on Hope.” Last night, I read some articles on two people groups of which I have a deep love and passion for. The Dalit of India and South Africans.  The Dalit, the broken people or below-caste “untouchables”, a people who have been systematically dehumanized for thousands of years by the lie of the Hindu caste system. According to that ideology, they are the extras. Not made from the same stuff. Below the animals. Made to clean refuse and born as slaves to the rest of society. My sophomore year at William and Mary, I was involved in a Christian dance team (led and choreographed by a beautiful woman of God who went on to join the Peace Corps) that danced to Caedmon Call’s “Free the Dalit” to raise awareness of this overlooked people group, which numbers in the millions. Literally millions of families, men, women, and children completely ostracized from their society. One side of the city or village will have drinking water, electricity, telephones, government schools, and the other side lives in abject poverty. Until recent years and civil rights movements and the efforts of some very beautiful organizations and people working together to bring education and sanitation and health and a stab at equality and freedom (Rights, Education, And Development [READ], theDalitNetwork, Ghandi), some of these families have now gained a little access to the freedoms others have taken for granted. And freedom should be taken for granted. Freedom to live, work, play, have families, and hope without oppression should be taken as granted for every human being.  I am grateful for such groups of people who are working to make this kind of freedom a reality.  The other article (Eve Fairbanks, “The Airplane is Faster than the Heart”, GOOD Magazine, Summer 2012.) was written by a fellow white American 20-something girl who traveled to live in Cape Town, South Africa, because she just couldn’t go another day without setting her feet on the soil and seeing that marvel of a nation first hand. She observes, laments, and comes to terms with the multiculturalism that characterizes that port city. Which is strange, for the now-mostly-healthy cohabitation and city-sharing of so many diverse peoples is what makes that city more beautiful than any other in the world to me. Because of the inhumanity and tragedy its peoples lived in and its rigorously separateness and inequality fueled by fear, hatred, and ignorance, seeing the union that has come over the past twenty years is nothing short of a miracle. Desmond Tutu can attest to that.  The greatest marvel she highlighted was her discovery of Fynbos, fire lilies, a plant unique to South Africa. According to her research, it is the smallest of the world’s six floral kingdoms, and the only one confined to a single country. She goes on to describe her discovery: “There was a reason, my roommate explained, that my socks had been gathering so much dirt. Our apartment was full of ashes.  Three weeks before I’d gotten to Cape Town, a brushfire had raged over Table Mountain. Much of what had burned was fynbos, a kind of flower-sprinkled shrubland that covers the Western Cape. I felt bad about the fire, but my roommate told me fynbos likes to burn.  I hiked up behind out apartment to take a look. Cape Town is supposed to be a beautiful city, but … the torched fynbos… was as breathtaking as anything I’d ever seen. The fire had seared the dirt smooth, and clumps of shrubs sat where they’d burned, transmuted into delicate, silvery-black fingers of charcoal. In one or two places, two new green leaves lay flat on the dirt, spread open like lips. Out of the leaves shot a red stalk, and out of the red stalk, a round, insanely neon pink blossom. In the ruined landscape, they looked… shocking and luridly gorgeous…Those neon flowers? Fire lilies, genus Cyrtanthus. They need smoke to bloom.” Reading this, I nearly cried at the poetry of the thing. I will draw the seemingly-obvious parallel that this young journalist overlooked.  In South Africa, the nation in which the raging fire of apartheid burned oppressed and oppressor together in its flames of inhumanity, disparity, and cruelty, a vibrant blossom of new life bursts forth. I spent my time there daily visiting the a local township of Khayelitsha. Townships constitute a land stretching for miles beneath the shadow of Table Mountain, matchbox houses as far as the eye can see, the result of forced removals and confinement of several hundreds of thousands of people during apartheid. The children we tutored were 13 and 14 at the time, born in 1994, the year South Africa had its first free elections and Nelson Mandela was instated as President. They had Xhosi names that translated to “Freedom”, “Love”, and “Liberty”. I will never forget the day that Ntombekaya, my sweet and ridiculously intelligent student, full of dreams for her future, asked me during an verb/noun distinction English assignment, “What is ‘hope’?”. Her simple grammatical question seared something deep in my heart. I swallowed the lump that had caught in my throat, and blinking tears, answered her question, “Hope is both… Hope is everything.” The people of South Africa know hope. Even though the nation is still wrecked with a 25% unemployment rate and economic disparity - the small percent of its citizens sharing the privilege and power of a first-world lifestyle, while millions still live in the third-world, often only separated by miles and education opportunities - great and gallant strides have been made since the end of apartheid. Hope is what inspires the people to never give up in their pursuit of freedom and equality. Hope was the light in the eyes of little Ntombekaya when she would speak of one day becoming a teacher so she could bring better education to her community. Hope bursts forth like a fire lily blossom. Right after everything seems lost, hope reminds us that sometimes we need smoke to bloom.  A prayer:  Thank you, Father God, for reminding me today that the proper response to the continuing lack of freedom that I see in this city, this nation, and the world is not anxiety or guilt, but hope. Thank you for the freedom that you have brought into the very core of my being by your great love and truth. Teach me to do your will. Teach me to shine the light of hope to my sisters who struggle with the brokenness and lies that once chained me and to anyone who has eyes to see. Lead me and guide me to serve and speak for the freedom that you desire for all your daughters and sons across the world. Pour our your grace, your peace, and your freedom to all. And give us the strength to bloom. In Jesus’ name. 
“Its going on seven years now that I converted from Judaism to Christianity, and I am still in that blissed-out, newlywed stage in which you can’t believe your good fortune and you know that this person (in this case Jesus) whom you have chosen (or in this case, has chosen you) is the best person in the whole planet and you couldn’t take all the tea in China or a winning lotto ticket or even a nice country estate in exchange.”
Easter Wedding: A Poem A Body, a Bride, in a stained, torn gown waits for her Groom to ride into town. Eating the spoils of lovers and pride, turned her blood sour and bottom wide. Broken and beaten and prone to despair, with dead thoughts and worries a nest in her hair. She needs a transfusion, a healing, a hope — the one the Groom bought on Calvary’s slope. A knock on the door and a nod of consent, blows dust from the floor as the darkness is rent. Come dear, he says sweetly, as he walks down the aisle. She fears, but is calmed by his tender-eyed smile. A Carpenter-Prince, Poet-Warrior King, From his wounds, takes a bandage, and washes her clean. The past is all gone and the future made new.  For the Groom saved His Bride long before the “I do”. 
Richmond in Christianity Today →
“I think there’s more power in Christians enjoying creation, and enjoying it to its fullest that ultimately points more towards God and more towards Jesus, because it’s us as His creation, living the way that we were supposed to live.”
This Just Happened. The owner of one of Captain Buzzy’s, a favorite coffee shop and hangout of mine, passed by my table and gave me a free cookie.  “Thank you!” I exclaimed. And enjoyed it.  Walking up to the register later, I told him, “Thank you for the cookie!”. “Oh that was from John,” he said, matter of factly, “He was the gentleman sitting at that other table having lunch. He likes to come in here and buy cookies for all the ladies.”

This Just Happened.

The owner of one of Captain Buzzy’s, a favorite coffee shop and hangout of mine, passed by my table and gave me a free cookie. 

“Thank you!” I exclaimed. And enjoyed it. 

Walking up to the register later, I told him, “Thank you for the cookie!”.

“Oh that was from John,” he said, matter of factly, “He was the gentleman sitting at that other table having lunch. He likes to come in here and buy cookies for all the ladies.”

I don’t know if you noticed, but it is full on Springtime in RVA. There are birds that hop and flit around the branches outside my bedroom window that wake me with their chirps every morning. The other day, I walked out to my car to discover a little frog sunbathing on the roof. Everything everywhere is blooming, just walking through a garden today, I discovered my shoes were covered in a coat of yellow pollen. All the usual signs of Spring.  There’s one sign of Spring I don’t remember ever noticing before this year.  Almost as numerous as the saplings and seeds are the inchworms!  Hanging from trees and leaving behind them their little lines of silk. They are on my car windshield when I drive under a tree in a parking lot, they camp out on the porch shingles below my 2nd floor window. And today, I found one, inching about on my shoulder. Together, apart, together, apart.  I put him on a nearby tree and took a picture with my non-smart-phone, so please excuse the low-quality smudge that is this little creature. I marveled at him. Her. It. The inchworm.  I marveled at the inchworm.  Moving along. So. Slowly. What incredible patience they must have! They move along according to how they were made, and there’s not much they can do about it. So little by little, step by tiny step, together, apart, together, apart, they travel the distance.  Inchworms travel distance like humans travel time.  Minute by minute, we can only get to certain events, certain life stages and blessing and celebrations, realizations of dreams, one. moment. at. a. time.  Inch by inch. Day by day. We travel through time.  The inchworm doesn’t hurry. The inchworm continues on. And every once in a while, it roots a strand of silk and takes flight, just enjoying hanging in the breeze.  I am realizing in a deeper way that certain things just take time to unfold. The things we look forward to as future destination points are not things to worry or fret over. They are not things to doubt or fear. I am learning that there is abundance of joy and blessing for every inch of time I travel through. God’s love is always shining. Even when skies are cloudy, the light of His love can still break through, when we look up with gratitude and expectancy.  If I, like the inchworm, must travel through the rest of my days moment by moment, then I want to enjoy each one, delighting in what and who God has given for each inch of the journey.   “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life…Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?  And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.  But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?  Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’  For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.  But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. -Jesus, The Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 6:25-34) Oh, wisdom of the inchworms. 
Tired of Goodbyes I am tired of saying goodbye.  I am learning to be grateful for the time we do have together, be it short and unpredictable and but a vapor.  I am taking the risk of keeping my heart wide open and loving deeply and fully. The risk of getting hurt or saying goodbye too soon is nowhere near as frightful as the pain of having realized that you didn’t love and savor nearly as much as you could have. When I do get hurt, I simply run to the Healer and Comforter of our souls, and somehow, in His grace, I am restored. If my sleeve could wear this heart, the world would see and not doubt that Jesus is alive and true and reigning, and that I am a walking miracle. I am ever grateful for the abundance of authentic and loving relationships I have been given, and for the promise of many more to come. I am looking forward to a future full of hello’s, and the hope that all the goodbyes are just a promise of “see you later”.   And now, Faith, Hope, and Love abide.  and the greatest… the greatest of these is Love.  Love. Covering a multitude of sins, Love. The truth, setting free, Love. Casting out all fear, Love. Always hoping, Love. Always patient, Love. Enduring forever. 

Tired of Goodbyes

I am tired of saying goodbye. 

I am learning to be grateful for the time we do have together, be it short and unpredictable and but a vapor. 

I am taking the risk of keeping my heart wide open and loving deeply and fully. The risk of getting hurt or saying goodbye too soon is nowhere near as frightful as the pain of having realized that you didn’t love and savor nearly as much as you could have. When I do get hurt, I simply run to the Healer and Comforter of our souls, and somehow, in His grace, I am restored. If my sleeve could wear this heart, the world would see and not doubt that Jesus is alive and true and reigning, and that I am a walking miracle.

I am ever grateful for the abundance of authentic and loving relationships I have been given, and for the promise of many more to come. I am looking forward to a future full of hello’s, and the hope that all the goodbyes are just a promise of “see you later”. 

 And now, Faith, Hope, and Love abide. 

and the greatest… the greatest of these is Love. 

Love. Covering a multitude of sins,

Love. The truth, setting free,

Love. Casting out all fear,

Love. Always hoping,

Love. Always patient,

Love. Enduring forever. 

Something strange happened today… I went up to Church Hill, with the intent of going on a prayerful walk around the neighborhood and taking in the day. It’s not every year that a February afternoon is full of the sights and smells of Spring. At 2:59, I parked CABLAN on Grace Street, outside the entrance of St. John’s Church. The brick sidewalks, stone walkways, and historic Richmond homes with wrought-iron gates welcomed me to the neighborhood as if stepping back in time.  My intention was to walk a few blocks and maybe grab some coffee. I had no idea what was in store.  Passing by the entrance to the historic church, I saw that the iron gates, that usually have locks on them during the week, were pushed open. Intrigued, I decided to walk around and breathe in some history. My heels clicked on the steps up the hill, and the graves of patriots and their families stretched out to the left and right of the winding path. The air was sweet with hyacinth and warm, dreamlike.  I asked God that He would show me something new or impart some wisdom or lesson as I looked up at the steeple under which such history was made some other Spring day long ago in 1775. God must have laughed. I always ask such little prayers. He is always exceeding expectations. As the path wove, the face of the church came into view.  A crowd of Colonial gentlemen were gathered in front of it. Six or seven, dressed in their Sunday best. Waistcoats and wigs, stockings and leather satchels. I blinked.  James Madison, father of the Constitution, wearing a green tailcoat, waved at me with a little flourish, smiling knowingly.  I blinked twice. Then waved back.  The church bell began to ring. It was 3:00.  James Madison opened the great red front doors and stepped inside. He was followed by the others, including Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and of course, Patrick Henry. They entered the sanctuary, and I stood watching from the edge of the cemetery path, seeing but still astounded. I realized I’d stopped moving.  Before the doors had closed shut, one last solitary figure rounded the cobblestone walk towards the door. I might have gasped. He must have been seven feet tall! Tri-cornered hat trimmed with gold and his deep blue coat long and stately, the man was surrounded with a natural air of peace and dignity.  Caught up in the unreality of the moment, I stared into the past as Commander Washington himself tipped his hat towards me with a fatherly grin on his lips. As the church bells rang out their last over the city of Richmond, he turned and entered the doors. I watched as they clicked shut.  A breeze swept my hair from my shoulder, and I was alone among the crumbling graves. St. John’s steeple stood tall and silent in the soft February sunshine, her doors unmoving, holding the breath of her great secret.  I waited a full minute, amazed.  A smile spread over my face and I exhaled a laugh.  Well, now, who knew? Four years at William and Mary and daily running into colonials, and I was completely unprepared for this!  Leaving the churchyard, I passed by the plaque memorializing those famous words that I somehow knew were being echoed within the stained glass windows of St. John’s: “Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me Liberty, or give me Death!” -Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775, proclaimed at St. John’s Church, Richmond, VA Currently, there are 27 million people are enslaved worldwide. To quote the Do Something Now Campaign, “This isn’t just a massive statistic… these are people. Real, living, breathing people. Men, women and children living without hope…. we want to be known for the kind of worship that is about more than music. Worship is love in motion.”  Patrick Henry stood in God’s house those many years ago, crying out for freedom. God is about Freedom. “I know that the Lord maintains the cause of the needy, and executes justice for the poor.” - Psalm 140:12 “Father to the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners to prosperity.” -Psalm 68:5-6 Jesus came to proclaim freedom for the captives, release from darkness, and declare the Lord’s favor. Christ offers freedom from addictions and despair and He alone can bind a broken heart. I know. He’s redeemed this heart and restored this mind. But the Church ought to be about her Father’s business.  Jesus is still saving. If there was a lesson in today’s walk, it was that the time is now. To act. To love. To fight. To give. To seek. To find. To live in a way that overflows freedom and to work together as the Body of Christ, following Him, our Head, to loose the chains of the oppressed. Sometimes it’s a smile, a word, a gesture, a phone call, a reaching out that crosses bounds. Sometimes, it’s partnering with a community, a specific organization, or redirecting a career path or going, seeing, touching, doing.  But the time is now for freedom. Let freedom ring, for the God of Freedom still reigns. “He has told you, O mortal, what is good,  and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God?” -Micah 6:8 Check out these sites for more practical ways to get informed and get involved: Do Something Now Campaign: http://dosomethingnow.com/ International Justice Mission: http://www.ijm.org/ Living Water International: http://water.cc/ Mission Year: http://www.missionyear.org/ **note. This actually happened. Also, consequently, it is the second time a member of my family has had a run-in with colonial dignitaries this week. My mother, who works at the Virginia Legislature, had M&M’s delivered to her on Valentine’s Day by Thomas Jefferson, himself! They were pink, red, and white, and had little pictures of his face on them, like the nickel. But candy. Apparently, colonials are stalking my family. 
“So many people live their lives for God and die without ever truly knowing the God they serve. That’s the key word: serve. They never graduate from being slaves of God to being His friend. A friend knows his Friend’s heart. A bride knows the intimacies of what makes her Bridegroom tick. Yet so many people never know. They think they’re doing great and they do the miracles and they preach to hundreds and they never hear His heartbeat.”
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