Part of caring and loving something is dreaming and believing that it can be better; it involves advocating for it to be better and walking alongside it for the journey.
To the U.S. Church: I love you. I care about you. You've taught me to treasure God's Scripture and to earnestly follow the way of Jesus. You've modeled for me and my neighbors the beauty of the Gospel proclaimed with your lips and lived out around tables. You've stepped boldly into the gap, rallying around me as Gospel family. I love you. I care about you. I believe we can do better. The pursuit of justice is not "a liberal agenda" and it doesn't distract us from the Gospel. It is what should flow out of us in response to Gospel good news. By God's grace and grounded in what we see about God's heart for justice (from cover to cover of his word and demonstrated in Jesus' own ministry!), we can think creatively and respond to injustice around us, pushing back the darkness as agents of reconciliation and expressing concern for his image bearers (in terms of both body and soul). Why should a Black mother believe us when we say, "I care about you and your soul," but not the systems that perpetuate injustice and stole the life of your son? Why should an immunocompromised elderly man believe us when we say, "I care about you and your soul," but I value "my liberty" over your health? Why should an immigrant believe us when we say, "I care about you and your soul," but you are not welcome here. Church, I love you. I care about you. I am advocating that we do much, much better. Your songs and your sermons ring hollow when they are paired with them with stopped up ears and closed eyes to the plight of your neighbor. We should be the very first ones to show up—in word and deed. "If a brother or sister is without clothes and lacks daily food and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, stay warm, and be well fed,” but you don’t give them what the body needs, what good is it? In the same way faith, if it does not have works, is dead by itself." James 2:15-17 I hate, I despise, your feasts! I can’t stand the stench of your solemn assemblies. ... Take away from me the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps. But let justice flow like water, and righteousness, like an unfailing stream. Amos 5
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For five years, I've had the gift of working with my refugee neighbors in each community where . I've set out with the purpose of sharing something: employment readiness, English lessons, soccer. Yet, as I spend with these neighbors-turned-friends, I realize they have far more to share with me:
My friends teach me about resilience as they navigate a new job in the US, and even when not everything goes as planned, they try again. They show me hospitality as I’m welcomed through apartment doors, where the tea kettle is whistling and the table is full. I’m learning that a welcoming heart says, “Join us,” and despite my misconceptions, not only when there’s extra. My friends demonstrate vibrant joy as they take seriously the chance to sing, to dance, to visit. My newest neighbors prioritize deep friendship, as encounters begin with an earnest “How are you?,” and consistent presence matters. I’ve been told that to say “I miss you” in Swahili (the language of many of my refugee friends) is like saying, “You have been lost to me” in English. On World Refugee Day, I’m reminded I would be lost without my refugee neighbors. To my refugee friends: Thank you. I am braver, kinder, and a better friend because of the time we’ve spent together. To those who welcomed me so fully and kindly in Memphis, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss you. To the larger U.S. community, I pray we would press into the art of neighboring--of listening, befriending, truly knowing, and advocating. May we be known for the way we spread welcome. Holy Week snuck up on me this year. It shouldn't have, as I've been following the rhythm of Lent more closely this year through a Bible study with friends. While the gravity in the air that's almost palpable made it easy to wrestle with the brokenness of sin that we encounter in Lent, I'm finding it more challenging to turn the corner to the hope of Holy Week and even more so, Easter. I find myself asking, "Where is Jesus?"
Yet, as I navigate the disappointment of cancellations and not knowing, I'm finding that the God of the already and not yet is big enough to handle the lament. And he always does more, goes farther, than we could ask, imagine, or hope for. He doesn't just handle the lament, but he meets us there in it. And beyond meeting us, he invites us to go deeper. Holy Week in the time of COVID-19 looks different, but I can't help but consider how our King of kings might be inviting us to encounter the Easter story anew. This year, Jesus is inviting me to experience more fully the gravity and tragedy of Good Friday. "Jesus let out a loud cry and breathed his last. ... There were also women watching from a distance. Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. ..." Mark 15:37; 40 Can you imagine the sadness and grief as Jesus' followers and friends watched him hang on the cross? When everything is going right in my world, I find it easier to hurry past the brokenness of Good Friday and toward the celebration of Easter. Consider how long that Saturday must have felt. While Christianity is nothing without the glory of the Resurrection, we often forget the necessity of Good Friday. Jesus died to bring far away people near to God, putting the love of God on full display. Today and tomorrow, as I feel the heaviness of the circumstances, I'm leaning into a God who has already carried the full weight of sin on his shoulders. I'm thankful that I follow a God who is no stranger to lament. But the Holy Week story does not end on Saturday. It turns the corner to Sunday. "On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, they came to the tomb, bringing the spices they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb. They went in but did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were perplexed about this suddenly two men stood by them in dazzling clothes. So the women were terrified and bowed down to the ground. 'Why are you looking for the living among the dead?' ... 'He is not here, but he has risen! Remember how he spoke to you when he was still in Galilee, saying 'It is necessary that the Son of Man be betrayed into the hands of sinful men, be crucified and rise on the third day?' And they remembered his words." Luke 24:1-8 This year, as I empathize more fully with the lament of Jesus' first followers, Jesus gives me the gift of feeling also more fully the joy of his resurrection. On Sunday, I'll praise him that because of his resurrection, death has lost its sting. But even as I worship, we still feel the brokenness of this already-and-not-yet world. And I hear God asking, "What will you do with your lament?" While I could languish in hopelessness, I think he is inviting me to more. Certainly, there is place for ample time spent feeling the weight and the heaviness--particularly when it comes to the ministry of being present with our neighbors. This year, I'm noticing my tendency to feel like this world is all there is when everything is right-side-up. With COVID-19 as the backdrop of Holy Week, I find myself more regularly hungering for something else, all the more aware that this world is not my home. Again, I hear the whisper, "What will you do with your lament?" First, I'll praise. Jesus has come and he's coming again. This time, to make all sad things untrue. This year, the waiting feels more prolonged, but I'm invited to be like the women who found the empty tomb and like Peter. "Departing quickly from the tomb with great fear and joy, they ran to tell his disciples the news." Matthew 28: 8 "Peter however, got up and ran to the tomb." Luke 24:12 While I'm asking, "How long, Oh Lord?", I'm reminded that what feels like slowness is in fact, a mercy: "The Lord does not delay his promise as some understand delay, but is patient" (2 Peter 3:9). This year, Jesus invites me to a deeper care for my neighbor--sharing the good news and the hope that is promised to us with more fervor. I'm certain that the brokenness we see so clearly is not how things should be. But perhaps, this posture of lamenting, longing, rejoicing, and sharing, we are more in step with the Easter story than any other time before it. So Where is Jesus? Like they heard on that first Easter morning, he's not in the tomb; he is risen. He's still on the throne, but he's no stranger to lament. And he promises us that lament is not the end of the story; he's coming quickly, but until then, he's with us, inviting us to join us in the art of building his already and not yet kingdom. Today, I woke up angry at Covid-19. Initially, I was surprised; while in recent days, I've felt a variety of emotions, including fear and anxiety as at incessant announcements of breaking news, disappointment at cancelled plans, and uncertainty as we wait to see what's next, anger had not been one of them. So what changed? After turning off my notifications and staying away from the headlines for even a few hours, I finally had the chance to look around. When I did, I was reminded that things are not supposed to be this way. People apart instead of together. Kids in unstable homes instead of at school. Local churches cannot meet. A spirit of anxiety in our society is almost palpable. While not unique to the days of the coronavirus, the fact that we are far from the Shalom that God intends (that is just, peaceful, harmonious, and enjoyable relationships with each other, ourselves, our environment, and God*) is perhaps more apparent, more felt. In light of this, a few reflections for the journey: 1. This week, my local church won't be meeting. Although I understand the reasons behind this decision, I find myself missing already the tangible rhythm of gathering around tables and Bibles and prayer circles with God's family, reminding each other of the goodness of the gospel. While I'm grieving this loss, I'm reminded of local bodies of believers all over the world who are never or seldom able to enjoy this gift, due to hostility and persecution by the government. We certainly are in no way close to feeling the fullness of that burden, but we taste the smallest piece of it. When you feel the pang of loneliness, pray for our global family. And Church, may we care for each other in creative ways in these strange times. 2. Our God continues to invite us to care for our neighbors in bold and extravagant ways. In a time when so many are drawing inward, let us, by his grace move toward others Doing this wisely might look like social distancing on behalf of the immunocompromised, calling your local school district to ensure there is a plan to get bagged meals to students on the free lunch program, or being kind to a stranger at the grocery store. You have many children in many places around this globe. Move each of our hearts to compassionately respond to those needs that intersect our actual lives, that in all places your body might be actively addressing the pain and brokenness of this world, each of us liberated and empowered by your Spirit to fulfill the small part of your redemptive work assigned to us. (Every Moment Holy, "A Liturgy for Those Flooded by Too Much Information) 3. These longings in our hearts for wholeness and togetherness and our awareness that things are not as they should be point us to an even deeper longing for when Jesus restores all things as they should be. Point to the One who makes sad things come untrue. He is here and now too, and he would love to meet you. And the King says, "Look! No more running away. Or hiding. No more crying or being lonely or afraid. No more being sick or dying. All those things are gone forever. Everything sad has come untrue. ... In some mysterious way that would be hard to explain, That everything was going to be more wonderful For once having been so sad." (The Jesus Storybook Bible). *Walking with the Poor, Bryant Meyers It's that time of year again: church lobbies are filling up with green and red shoeboxes and church announcements invite congregants to pick up a few shoeboxes and stuff them with mini toiletries, socks, and tiny plastic toys. In addition to the usual photos of families and churches filling their shoeboxes, my social media feed has featured critiques of Operation Christmas Child. The feedback is diverse and nuanced, and I won't recap them all here. Critiques range from do-gooders having misconceptions about the role their shoebox has in alleviating poverty to claims that Samaritan's Purse fails to adequately cover shipping costs, causing rural pastors to foot the bill to conversions being tied to free trinkets and gifts. As a former student of international development, these critiques matter to me. As the church embarks on the essential of acting justly, loving mercy, and doing good, it is vital that we consider not only what we are doing and how it makes us feel, but also how it impacts our neighbors around the world. Complicating matters further, though, I've had friends share they received Operation Christmas Child boxes while growing up around the world, and such a gift communicated they had friends around the world who cared. Moreover, I'm encouraged by families who want to disciple their children through the shoebox packing experience, and nurture a love for their neighbors and other cultures from a young age. It's probably impossible to know all the answers about Operation Christmas Child. In fact, things are often more nuanced than we, with our affinities for black and white generalizations, prefer. And, this isn't a post to convince you whether or not you should fill a shoebox this year. But, if like me, you've decided to move away from Operation Christmas Child this year, here are are a few options to consider: 1. Pack a welcome kit for newly arriving refugee families Connect with your local resettlement office and learn what items are most helpful for the recently resettled men and women they're serving. Head to the store and have fun picking out the requested items. Some organizations even have the option to put together a kit using Amazon. Teachable moments
2. Invest in the dreams of entrepreneurs around the world with HOPE International's gift catalog Around the world, men and women are using their gifts and talents to provide for their families and tackle the challenges of poverty in their communities. Page through the gift catalog to learn about farmers, animal breeders, tailors, and shop owners, and purchase an item that represents how HOPE-network families will use your donation to serve their communities. Teachable moments
3. Donate your holiday and fundraise creatively. Organizations like Blood:Water Mission and One Day's Wages offer platforms that help you use your creative ideas to fundraise! Whether it's a peer-to-peer campaign, a sponsored race, or a lemonade stand, you can put your skills to work and raise funds for a cause this Christmas. Teachable moments
This list isn't exhaustive, but I hope it's a helpful place to start as we think about how to care for our neighbors--those as near as our own household and as far as around the world--this Christmas. What other ideas do you have? Let us know in the comments! Cheers, Emily About one year ago, I made the decision to start researching graduate programs. Since I've always loved school, this wasn't entirely surprising, but the interesting part was the area of study I'd started to consider: business. While I've always appreciated the business sector for what it is, I've more consistently found my home in the nonprofit realm. And while it's certainly still there, last year I started to see for the first time how business could play a part. During the two years I walked alongside newly arriving refugee women, navigating the U.S. employment system and working toward career goals, I encountered incredible resilience and strength. I watched as women agreed to try again, despite feeling like they'd failed. They also modeled bravery, as they dropped their child off with a neighbor, despite everything her family had been through. In the most mundane circumstances, my friends demonstrated creativity as they found child care arrangements and solved transportation issues. As you'd suspect, I witnessed what many would call "success stories." Instances where everything went as planned, both the client and the employer stuck the landing for the long term, and everyone went home happy. I loved those moments and celebrated them with a healthy number of high fives. And yet, despite the resilience, creativity, and bravery that was more than apparent, sometimes the story turned out differently. Perhaps the course was more zig zagged: a job here, and a few months later, another, and then smooth sailing. Other times, it took longer, and many times, we had a really hard time making it work. Why? There are plenty of reasons, many of them tied to the systemic injustices that decorate our systems and are far too often designed for people to fail rather than succeed. I'm enrolled in an MBA program, because my friends have taught me to believe in something better: a space where all people can use their gifts, talents, and passions to provide for their families; a place where all people who are part of it can call it "ours;" an opportunity for mutual growth and learning; how business can be a powerful tool to curate good; and probably many other things future friends haven't told me yet. The dream on the docket? A business place that employs refugee women while offering all of us shared learning, growth, and joy. What exactly is ahead, I can't say for certain. Captivated by this vision and inspired by the faces of resilience, creativity, and bravery that I call, "friend," I'm almost finished with my first semester of business school! And when I'm reminded of this why, I'm grateful for the journey.
Together, Emily If you've spent much time around me, you know I love a good to do list. And more than having a to do list, I love checking things off my to do list. Why? Checking things off your to-do list makes you feel organized and prepared and reminds you that you're doing what you need to. While efficiency might be good for project management, I'm realizing that it doesn't often translate very smoothly, to life in general. Four months ago, we made a big decision. We left some very good things in order to choose another good thing. Although opting in to something good seemed like it would be cut and dry, it wasn't. No, instead, I felt moments of excitement, and moments later, deep sadness, and all at one messy, interesting time. And transition has taught me that while we are tempted to force things toward being black and white, far too often they are not that way. As human, we're very capable of and often do feel opposite things at once: happy and sad; excited and nervous; brave and afraid. And as we do, we reflect our Creator: who is at once merciful and just; King already and not yet; who walked on earth as God and human. And now, To Do List Emily would say that by now, things should feel settled. Everything should be tied neatly and nicely with a bow, and transition shouldn't feel hard anymore. While God graciously opens my heart and eyes and ears to so many good things: a run in the crisp autumn air, a car pool of friends, or a morning at the gym, some days still feel messy and challenging. In those moments, as anxiety hovers at the door and doubt tries to crowd the room, I'm reminded of the story I've shared with and rejoiced in alongside so many of my newcomer friends over the last few years: the story of a woman who named God as One who sees. He is a God who sees and goes alongside. He's there in transition, and while he's many things at once, he never ever changes. May you know you're right on time for your story. You're right on time for your story. So if you're stuck in the middle of the messiness of transition, put the list away, and rest there awhile. That's where you are today, and that's enough. May grace surprise you kindly, Emily As promised, this post is dedicated to reflecting on some of the incredible lessons and gifts God gave me during my time in Memphis. For a look at some of the not so serious things I learned in Memphis, click here.
Dear Memphis, We got off on the wrong foot. You're trying to build a life from 1,000 miles away, and you're buried deep in one-star reviews on Apartments.com. Yikes. Even though you're fairly certain you're going to die by ax murder or live across the hall from someone who owns an iguana, go ahead and jump into your Civic and drive to Memphis--a place you've never been but are intent on calling "home." You're going to learn so many things here. You won't ever get all the way used to the humidity, but you'll learn how glorious it is to open your eyes in the morning and meet the golden rays that pour in through the curtains. You'll soon see how lovely it is to go outside and feel the warm sunshine on your face. You'll notice people have this strange love-hate relationship with their place. People have a tendency to complain about Poplar traffic, potholes, and MLGW or off-handedly mutter, "Memphis" when misfortune strikes, but when you chip away at that a little, you'll find something else. You'll discover that when it comes down to it, Memphis is full of dreamers and doers who love the place beneath their feet and are committed to make it better. And while you'll find yourself captivated by the heart, grit, and grind that permeates this place, you'll soon see that your own little corner of the 901 has the best people in it. You'll experience what the local church can and should look like. You're miles away from home, but you'll have a gospel family who stands in the gap. God will remind you time and time again that his family is deep and wide and we aren't supposed to live this life alone. And because God is sovereign over the moving of people, you'll have neighbors from Congo, Somalia, Syria, and so many other corners of this globe. Somehow, against the backdrop of way-too-hot apartments and concrete jungles, despite language barriers and lots of other differences, you'll keep hearing "Welcome," and end up friends. One day, when God says, "Go," you'll leave this place. Even after learning so many things here, moving on will feel scary. That’s because he built a beautiful thing here, and isn’t it great you got to be a part? But the same God who brought you here goes with you as you leave—which is a wild and wonderful thing. Thanks, Memphis—for being such a good home. Until next time, Emily I was digging through posts I have saved in my Drafts folder, and look what I found: "12 Months of Memphis!" I started writing this post last year to celebrate my first year in Memphis. Somehow, I never published it, and here we are... one year later... meaning I've lived in Memphis for TWO whole years. What I wrote this time last year remains the same: Don't ask me how [two years] passed by, because frankly, I'm not sure either. I'll celebrate this milestone the same way I intended to on my one year anniversary: by sharing 12 (not so serious) things I learned during my first year in Memphis.
1. Just because Poplar Ave. has a right lane does not mean you should drive in it. To the non-Memphian, this sounds counterintuitive, and newly-arrived-me was no different. There I was, cruising down Poplar Ave., all ready to get my new Tennessee license and make this thing official and then ping!, my check tire light flicked on. A very flustered Emily explained the situation to the Enterprise rep (because my Civic was rear ended days before), and he said, "Girl, from now on you will stay far away from that right lane." I have heeded that advice every day. 2. How you feel about the weather is all about perspective. Coming from Western New York/Pennsylvania, I was nowhere near prepared for a Memphis summer. "It's so hot," is the most common phrase out of my mouth 3/4 of the year. On the other hand, these Southerners need to learn a thing or two about winter. (My only indicator that it was fall was the introduction of Pumpkin Spice Lattes by Starbucks.) 3. Not all Walmarts are created equal. In the South, there is a phenomenon called a "Neighborhood Walmart." They are green, not blue, and they only have groceries. 4. Memphis' restaurant game is 10/10. There's way more here than BBQ, folks. (Don't get me wrong, though, BBQ is great.) Our desserts aren't half bad either. 5. Memphis is a Tree City USA. Our city fits specific criteria of sound urban forestry as decided by the Arbor Day Foundation. I never knew a city could be so green! Even though lightning storms give me anxiety, because I'm nervous Memphis will be blacked out for a week like it was during my first summer, I do love driving along beautiful green stretches. 6. Memphis was ranked #1 in philanthropic giving. While working at a nonprofit makes me biased toward philanthropic giving, I love living among neighbors that embody our "All Heart, Grit & Grind" mindset. 7. Memphis rules and Nashville drools! Not only do we #choose901, but we haaaaate Nashville. I visited Nashville once, and it was a great time. However, just envision a Pawnee-Eagleton relationship and that's Memphis and Nashville! Memphis BBQ > Hot Chicken. But in all seriousness, people may love to hate on Memphis, but we love our city! Over the past few years, I've become a firm believer in loving the ground beneath your feet. Every place has pros and cons. It's what you do where you are, and how you listen to and love a place that counts. 8. That big pyramid building has a Bass Pro Shop inside. It's bizarre, but it's true. While the Memphis Grizzlies used to play there, it's now home to one of the largest (if not the largest!) Bass Pro Shop. There you'll find all the hunting gear, boating supplies, and camoflage you could ever desire. My favorite part are the free fudge samples. 9. Downtown isn't in East Memphis. When I drove into Memphis (literally for the first time), I was headed to the hotel I was staying at in East Memphis. I passed the I-Bank building and Clark Tower, and gasped, thinking I was staring at the downtown "skyline." THIS is downtown? Two measly skyscrapers? What have I done? Where am I? While I'm still not sure what those skyscrapers are doing in the middle of East Memphis, I've since learned while downtown has some pretty fun spots, it definitely does not include the I-Bank building and Clark Tower. 10. Las Delicias has brought me to chips and salsa nirvana. I know I already had a line about our awesome food scene, but Las Delicias deserves a line of its own. I'm somewhat disappointed knowing I've already had the best chips and salsa this life has to offer. It can only go downhill from here, unfortunately. But seriously, they're perfect. 11. That's all folks! It's bittersweet posting this now, knowing we're leaving this wonderful place in a mere five days! Memphis, you have been good to us! As excited as I am for what is next, it's hard not to bask in the beautiful and amazing thing God gifted us with life in the 901. Stay tuned for a more serious post that will likely come soon so I can reflect on some of those things! Until next time, Emily I'm digging into the Drafts folder yet again. I started this post 6 months ago! As we enter the final week of Refugee Awareness Month, and I wrap up my last days working at World Relief Memphis, I thought this would be a good time to share some of my favorite, perfectly mundane snapshots of life as a refugee employment specialist... Writing is one of my most favorite disciplines; not only does it challenge a person to take time to sit and reflect and choose the perfect pattern of words, it also requires the writer to look around and notice, take in, and see the world around them. As i saw someone post so aptly on Twitter, "The real gift of writing isn't being seen, but seeing. So this is why we write: Not to grow our platforms, but to grow our hearts" (@ashleyabrmson). So I return to this blinking cursor on a white screen, not because I have the perfect pattern of words, but because I want to see, really see this world around me. I endeavor to inspire, to challenge, to change, but first I need to simply look and invite my heart to see. Only then can we see what's good, hear what hurts, and slowly chip away at what's broken. Here are a few glimpses of what I see in my day-to-day, and the words that go with them. I invite you to ask God to open your eyes, your heart, and your ears to what you're in the midst of, and I hope you'll join me as I commit to looking more closely and lively more purposefully. Thanks God, for crepe myrtle trees tucked among concrete jungles... for warm hellos in between missed appointments... All reminders that you rule over & work even in the mundane... And even these mundane days, full of my shortcomings are days you have made & given to me to rejoice in. God, teach me the art of welcome... of saying, “Come & join” not only when I have extra—food, time, resource... give me a heart that says to my neighbor, what’s here in my heart, my hands, my cupboard... is yours to share Isn't it funny how we claim the name Failure... for others, for ourselves, for circumstances. Maybe we haven't failed, but instead, what we're looking for, or what we want to take away isn't quite right. Maybe there's beauty, but it's tucked somewhere unexpected. Thank you, Lord, for rows and rows of oranges and pinks... that keep growing and persisting. Help me to open my eyes to the beauty you've placed around me. So there you have it. Some of my favorite, yet altogether ordinary snapshots. As I'm in the midst of a life transition right now, I've found myself taking mental snapshots like these. I realize I'm experiencing something mundane... gloriously mundane. So I look around, breathe it in, see the sights, and try to make a mental note of how that single moment feels.
Whether you're experiencing a transition or life is altogether usual, I'd like to invite you to go about your tomorrow with your eyes wide open. When life is busy, it often feels easier to keep your head down and pray it passes quickly. But I pray we never become so steeped in what we're doing that we forget where we are... where our feet our... what's around us. Although my refugee friends have taught me lots of things, I'm thankful they taught me the value of wider eyes, hearts, and ears. Want to join us in some of the work described in these snapshots? This month, you can in a unique and special way! World Relief Memphis is fundraising for Refugee Awareness Month. I'd love for you to check out my fundraising page to learn more about our ministry and how you can partner in prayer and through financial contributions. Thanks! |
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