Paying Attention (Welcome to Advent)

Oh my sweet ones, I had a moment in church today.

I am not in church very often. I'm the director of children's and youth ministries, but my Sunday mornings are often spent preparing classrooms and the chapel and rarely in the Sanctuary. I volunteered to do the children's sermon this morning (despite never having actually seen how the children's sermon is normally done at the church I serve now) because it is the first Sunday in Advent. I was going to teach the kids about God breaking into the world and offering the gift of hope to a needy and yearning people. And I guess that is what I told them this morning, but as it turns out, they one-upped me. They often do.

At the end of my children's sermon, I invited the kids to join me in a spirit of prayer as I sat with them at the front of the sanctuary. Since I often pray in front of people, I close my eyes and hold my hands low in front of me, palms up. You know, the "I don't want to fold my hands and bow my head, but I wasn't raised in an Evangelical community so I keep 'em low" sort of posture that is really excellent for use in leading worship in New England. The kids all assume the "head down, hands folded" tried-and-true way of listening and talking to God. 

So I begin to pray about God's love breaking into the world and I feel a little hand slip into my right hand. Oh my gosh, y'all, it was so small. And it was warm. And I gave it a little squeeze to say, "We're in this prayer together and you are welcome in this space with me and I am glad, so glad you are here." And then, a few words later, another hand reached out and found my left hand and, of course, I squeezed that one too, though, to tell you the truth, I am surprised that it's there - that two of the kids reached out and found my hands this morning. 

I am wrapping up this prayer about hope (it really wasn't very long, but I find those moments when you are paying attention, they really seem to stretch out), and I decide that I need to see whose hands are in mine before I close the prayer and send us all off to Sunday school. I just need to know who reached out across the vastness of space and grabbed my hands. So I open my eyes before the Amen and this is what I see:

Every child has found a hand to hold and we're sitting there on the chancel steps, pretzeled together and loving God and each other in that quiet sort of way.

Every one of these kids reached out and found another hand. Every one made some room for Love. Every one of these kids was listening to the call to be present with one another, to love God and each other, and they were acting on it. 

What an invitation! What a welcome into the season of paying attention! I am blessed to have such brilliant teachers to help me prepare my heart during Advent, to make me stop and wonder, to help me pay attention to the little moments of Love shared between us, and to be grateful. 

So some reminders for the Advent season, more for myself than anything else, but you may find them helpful, too:

Be alert - God can show up anywhere and at anytime! Pay attention to Hope, Joy, Love, and Peace; they show up in tiny, little things that we can (and totally do) ignore. Don't ignore them. Don't be so preoccupied with worry, anger, hurt, and fear that you miss them. Make a conscious decision to choose to reach out and take a hand instead of worrying if the hand will be pulled away. Advent is the season of preparing your heart, so do it already.

Remember dear ones, there is a light in the darkness. It cannot be overcome. 

Love, love, love,

Maddie

Home-Maker

There are some things I’m really good at. I pride myself on my ability to blow bubbles with gum not labeled “bubblegum.” I’m well-practiced in asking for hugs, making space for myself, frosting sugar cookies, and making up little songs. I know the fine art of soaking in any little bit of sunshine on a winter day, and I’ve gotten really good at making a place feel like my home.

I’m not sparse when it comes to decorating spaces. I like to fill shelves with tchotchkes and stack books, hang pictures of friends and framed maps of places I will, one day, visit. I’m crafty and so my space is often filled with things that reflect my somewhat off-beat sense of self.

On the day I moved into my new space at school, I had pictures and shelves hung before going to bed that night. My res rep came to my room and commented on the “great job” I’d done decorating.

But decorating only goes so far. We can fill a place with any amount of knick knacks or framed prints, but we have to put ourselves into it if we’re going to make a place feel like home.

And I think I have to revise my previous statement, because I couldn’t make any place feel like home without other people.

When I go on trips, the hotel becomes “home” because that is where me and my friends or family come together at the end of the day. The hotel is the place where we unpack our suitcases and ourselves after our big adventures. The hotel is our little place together in the world and, even if just for a few days, it is home.

When I moved to school, first I decorated. It was nice and organized but it wasn’t yet home. Now, my school is my home. It is a place where I feel safe, where I feel loved, where I feel embraced for who I am no matter what that entails. This is the place where I come back to after a particularly long day at work, the place where I cry when my heart is broken, the place where I run to when I have good news. Why? What makes this place my home?

The people.

The buildings and the location and the decorations are just the physical markings. These people are the people I trust with my secrets, with my sadness, with my joys, with my challenges. These are the people who I open myself to, to share their struggles and their happiness and even their thunderous, stormy days.

And if it’s the people that make this place a home, then I’ve got homes all over the country. Forget about millionaires and their summer homes. I’ve got about seven homes chock full of heart in Connecticut, a home overflowing with love Florida; I’ve got a home in Vermont, two in Maine, one in New York, one in Louisiana. I’ve got homes in Texas and California, Washington State and Washington, D.C.

The long and short of it is this: I’ve got so many homes because there are so many places where I know that someone loves me, where someone I am deeply connected to has decided to place themselves in the world. I’ve got homes where I’ve got memories, where smiles were shared or tears were shed, and, sometimes, both at once.

No reflection on home would be complete without the old adage, “Home is where the heart is.” Home is where the heart is, and we are blessed to have hearts so big that our home can be many places all at once.

As I ready my home here in Massachusetts for my trip back to my home in Connecticut, I remember a quote from Maya Angelou, “I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.” And that is my hope, friends, that you and I both will know we are at home, wherever we may find ourselves.

Peace & Love.

Where Is Church?

So this morning, I had intended to go see one of my sweet seminarian friends preach. That plan went out the window when I woke up at 10:05. I considered going to an 11 o' clock service at another church, rushing around to get ready and hop on the T... but it occured to me, what I really need right now is some "me and God" time... And I felt like walking. Yes, in the -2 degree wind chill, the best thing for my faith this morning was a walk.

So I packed up my laptop in my backpack, figuring I'd get lunch somewhere after my walk, and I took my iPhone (with headphones) and bundled up like Arctic Barbie and headed out into the blustery winds with The Decemberists' The King Is Dead as my soundtrack.

Here is a track-by-track of my spiritual formation this morning:

Don't Carry It All:
Beginning of song - This was a bad idea. It's cold outside.
Middle of song - Oh, wait, the sun is shining. I'm breathing. Things are not that bad.
End of song - Right, then. Things are actually pretty good.

Calamity Song:
I'll admit it, I broke into a kind of dance. The kind of dance you can only do with nine layers on. Sometimes this song makes me really happy.

Rise to Me:
Okay, God. I get it. Good morning, how are you? Thanks for checking in.
The lyrics of this song don't actually make sense in relation to the feeling it imbues in me.

Rox in the Box:
"Of dirt you're made and to dirt you will return.
So while we're living here,
let's get this little one thing clear,
There's plenty of men to die,
you don't jump your turn...
What were you meant for?
What were you meant for?"

January Hymn:
It is January. I can identify with this song. This song is good stuff.
"What were the words I meant to say before she left,
when I could see her breathe lead where she was going to.
Maybe I should just let it be,
and maybe it will all come back to me.
Sing oh, Janu, oh, January, oh."

Down By the Water:
Okay, this song doesn't actually inspire much... but it continues the good feeling.

All Arise!:
"But you keep on stealing, you keep on stealing,
yes, you keep on stealing 'til there's nothing left to steal."
I like this song too.

June Hymn:
I now have this calm that was not there when I woke up this morning. It is quite pleasant.

This Is Why We Fight:
I'm now in Starbucks contemplating this good feeling that has manifested itself in my brain.
"This is why, this is why we fight,
This is why we lie awake."

Dear Avery:
"Don't you shake alone, please, Avery, come home."

It's good stuff, friends.

And I think feelings like this are a big part of why my idea of church is so nebulous and unformed. What constitutes as church? Why does the order of worship and which hymnal we use matter so much? Why do I need an old white or stone building to minister to others?

No, I know that I don't. I don't know what my ministry is going to look like, but I hope it includes cold morning walks and indie folk-rock albums.

An Attitude of Gratitude

One of the things I'm doing as part of my spiritual practices class is trying to cultivate an attitude of gratitude... you know, for class and for life in general. Well, I just wanted to share something...

Yesterday a woman came into Starbucks and ordered a Venti Soy Latte. I was making her drink and talking to her at the espresso bar. She told me it was her birthday and that she didn't have anyone to celebrate it with so what she was doing was treating herself to a venti instead of a tall. That didn't sound like a great birthday so I asked if I could sing to her. She said she'd enjoy that very much. So I sang Maureen happy birthday. She thanked me and told me it made her day and she was glad she stopped in. I thanked her for letting me be a part of her birthday. When I was walking home, I thought it over - she let me into her vulnerability, her loneliness, she let me take residence there for a brief time.

I am grateful to be invited into a few moments of Maureen's life and that I was gifted with the honor of being a bright spot in her day.

Reflections on 9/11 Remembrances

Hi all, I wanted to use today's entry to reflect on yesterday. I am sure we've all heard our share of remembrances, but indulge me; let me tell you one more story:

On Sunday, the ten year anniversary on 9/11, I went to the 9 AM service at Old South church. I sat in the Gordon Chapel, contemplating if I'd actually be coming back (because I had not actually been greeted by anyone in the 15 minutes I was there prior to the beginning of the service). When the service started, I felt myself falling back into the church routine. I was also amazed by the amount of people who came to the "smaller" early morning service, because it was easily 75 people. I figured, rightly so, that the church would do some sort of remembrance of what happened on the eleventh of September, ten years ago.

At a point in the service, Rev. Caldwell asked us to turn to our neighbor and tell our story of 9/11. My neighbor was a woman visiting Old South for the first time, an artist, whose name I have unfortunately let slip from my mind. I shared my story of being in freshman history in room 210, Mrs. Gallagher opened the door because the small, quiet librarian was running through the halls saying "Turn on the TV! The twin towers have been hit! We're under attacke!" and I remember watching CNN with my history class, one girl whose uncle worked in the towers. I remember hearing a plane had targeted the pentagon and crashed. I remember the TV saying it was the end times. I remember lots of fear from all sides.

My neighbor said her husband was supposed to be flying into New York that morning but, for whatever reason, he didn't go. She said that she felt so sad her young children, and my generation, would have to grow up in the aftermath of this tragedy. Together, we let silent tears fall as we mourned all that was lost that day.

Then, Rev. Caldwell asked us to tell another story - what are we doing to make sure this doesn't happen again? In different ways, we both answered that we would love on the world, her with her ministry through art, and I with my ministry through the church. We both believe that peace is attainable and we are both putting parts of ourselves out into the world to try and make it a reality.

We took communion and she ducked out before the service was finished, but she's somewhere in Boston, painting pictures of hope, putting her love out there for the world to see, doing what she can to cultivate peace.

My Cup Overflows!

It sure does! 

Photo: WeHeartIt

Reflections on Maddiepalooza

I've had a few days to reflect on Maddiepalooza and I am still in awe of everyone who worked so hard to pull it together and everyone who came out to support me as I prepare for this next part of my journey.

This fundraiser was pulled together in just three short weeks. With the persistence of my mother, two local newspapers got involved to do stories on it. My friend, Lisa, recruited bands to play. They both found people to donate food, drinks, decorations, and to help set up and clean up.

People donated items for a raffle and for an auction - and they weren't small prizes either. My friend and mentor, Vance, donated a week at his time share. The auction raised $600 - amazing, I think, because no one knew beforehand that this auction was taking place. I think that's amazing, that people were willing to put forth that much money on the spot... because they wanted to support me! :)

And the people who were there - there were so many surprises! My very first pastor, Michael, and his wife came up from New Jersey. It was so good seeing him after ten years! My mentor and former interim pastor, Matt, came by with his wife, Allison. Matt joined Trees of the Field to sing a few songs. And of course, Vance and my current pastor, Deborah, were there. It was so great to have so many people I admire there to support me.

My family, friends, and church family were all represented too! Most of the girls from my youth choir came with their families, the members of youth group who hadn't already left for school were there as well. Many other church families, family friends, and some of my friends from work came as well.

I am just blown away by how much love and support everyone has shown me. I talked a little bit about how everyone giving just a little bit ends up being a whole lot, and that with that, I can go on to show that same kind of overflowing love to others. I just can't get over it, this overflowing love of God that I get to experience all the time.

Thank you to everyone who came out, who supports/prays/thinks of me as I continue on this path that God has called me to. I love you all!

Morning Inspiration: Some Love to Start the Day Off Right

And wouldn't you know...

Photos: WeHeartIt

There is a place for you, here.

I've been asked, a lot, 'what would you say to a young person who maybe isn't sure about coming to church?' And I've thought about it, and what I'd say, really to anyone wondering about whether they could be part of a church, is this:

"There is a place for you, here."

There is a place for you, here, in the church. Whether you've been a part of a church your entire life, whether you went to church when you were little and now feel a calling back after a long time away, or if you've never been to church at all. There is is a place for you in the church. 

There is a place for you, here, in the life of the church. You're never too young to become part of the missions committee and help those who are on the fringes of our society. It doesn't matter if you haven't been to church that much, you can learn to minister to those in your congregation through being a deacon and helping make decisions about the spiritual life and worship in the church. You can organize fundraisers, you can start small groups, you can do big things - or small. You can join small groups, you can attend church dinners, or you can simply be a presence in the church at worship service.

It doesn't matter if you sit in the front or the back of the sanctuary, if you come in wearing your best suit or jeans and a t-shirt (God isn't calling your clothing to worship, God is calling you!), it doesn't matter if you are tattooed and pierced or if there's not a drop of ink in your skin, if you are single or married, an accountant or an artist, it doesn't matter if you've got money or if you're just barely squeaking by each week, or if you haven't paid your credit card in three months (you are not just another check in the offering plate, you are part of a loving and caring church community). What you look like, what you do, your past... it doesn't matter; what matters is that you are a beloved child of God, that you feel the Spirit working in amazing and miraculous ways... or maybe that you think you may have felt the Spirit, but you're not quite sure how this all works out for you, yes, Thomas, there is a place for you, too! There is room for everyone in the house of the Lord.

I would say: If you feel in your heart that God and Jesus are a part of your life, if you feel called to love others as a testament to the love that has been poured out on us, then there is a place for you, here, in the church - no matter what.

Yup, we've got room for you! (Photo: WeHeartIt)

I am blessed because, after I had walked away from the church after confirmation in ninth grade, when I later felt that God was calling me back to faith (after my first year at college), my church family said, 

We don't care where you've wandered, 

what matters is, you're here now, 

and you are ready to serve God,

to love like Jesus, 

and to revel in the Spirit of the Lord. 

They showed me, through their endless love and support, the unconditional and unrelenting love of God.

When I was a nineteen year old girl wanting to get back into church and feeling called to serve through youth ministry, they entrusted me with their freshman class of confirmands and let me start a high school youth ministry. They let me take the kids up to Boston for a weekend retreat in the city, they let me build a makeshift house out of boxes and spend the night with the kids outside (in October, in the rain). I was given the opportunity to organize worship services and small groups and to co-chair the biggest fundraiser in my church. I'm only 24, but in the past 5 years, my church has made a place for me, I've done things I never thought I'd actually be able to pull off - like organizing a music festival with seven bands from around the country, and joining with another area church to take kids on a mission trip to New Orleans to work on houses that had been damaged by Katrina. 

There was a place for me; there is a place for you.

Balance is Important in Yoga (and in Life)

Well, today I officially gave my two week resignation saying 'Thanks but now I'm going to school so I can work for Jesus,' or, well, that's a paraphase, I guess. Though I've seen it coming for a long time, it was still a little nerve-wracking. Now I really don't have a job after these next two weeks, now I really am moving in only 21 days, I'm going to need to find a job and make new friends (and leave the old), and get back into the school work mindset (after a nice, long summer off...), oh, and perhaps the hardest part of it all, I'm going to have to wake up at the crack of dawn for my 8 AM classes.

We've all been anxious about things before, and we've all made it through just fine... And yet, these things keep weighing on me. I have faith that once I get up there and get settled (and find a job), this will all quiet down... But today it was such a racket inside my head that I couldn't even focus at yoga class.

I was the wobbliest and most tense person in that room... I think my yoga teacher could tell. I did, after all, have to modify every single pose. And it took me a long time to get into meditation...

I usually leave yoga feeling awesome, balanced, grounded... kind of like I've just been praying with my entire body... Today I felt... kind of let down...

This was me today. From WeHeartIt

Well, it's the truth - every day is not going to be absolutely on-top-of-the-world amazing, and we're not going to leave every yoga class (or whatever activity we may do to relax) completely centered, but the one thing I know about bad days is that God wants us even then... Even when we mess everything up and spill milk on ourselves walking into work and swear at the woman who pulled out in front of us even though she had plenty of time and we were just being a teensy bit touchy...

Yes, even when we're down, God wants us. God wants to hold us close and help us back up, help us dust the dirt off our knees so we can greet another day...

And you know what, after talking it out and reminding myself of this, I'm honestly feeling a lot better about this all. How great is our God? :)

Tag Sale Miracles

From the World English Dictionary,

Miracle (n.):
 1. an event that is contrary to the established laws of nature and attributed to a supernatural cause
 2. any amazing or wonderful event
 3. a person or thing that is a marvelous example of something
 4. short for miracle play
 5. (modifier) being or seeming a miracle

Today, my family and I held a tag sale. As I said before, it was very much last minute. On Thursday, we decided it was going to happen and began picking things out around the house and pricing items. On Friday, we hung signs and priced items (though most of the day was spent working) and then packed up the car in the middle of the night. This morning, at 8 AM, we drove our goods over to our aunt's house and unloaded everything in her driveway. We had our first customers shortly after the tag sale opened for business.

I started this blog by defining miracles because what I saw from strangers today was just that. I made up signs telling people that the money from this tag sale would help pay for books  for my first semester at seminary. And people were interested. People traded their quarters for my knick knacks, and before they departed they'd leave me with their blessings - "Good luck!" was a favorite, "It is a wonderful thing you're doing," or something similar was another; one woman told me, "It'll be hard work, what you're doing, but it's the best work you can do."  I really mean it when I say that support in spirit, even a quick blessing, is one of the most amazing things you can give to someone. And while each of these interactions was an amazing or wonderful event, there were a few instances today where I met people who really were marvelous examples of God's love between strangers others, this is one that especially touched my heart:

These two girls, who must have been about ten years old, came during a lull in the tag sale. Right away, they came to the table where I was and looked at the miniature figurines I had pulled out of a box in the basement and bought all of them at 25 cents a pop. They noticed my signs and the article from the paper on the table and asked me about school. I told them, "I want to be a pastor. I'm trying to raise money to help with supplies for the fall semester." They gave me big smiles and went off to deliberate over the other items that we'd managed to dig up out of the dark recesses of cellar. These girls had brought about $20 to the tag sale, and they picked up some keychains and chotchkes that caught their eye, and some craft supplies for their mom. They came over and made a second purchase, then went off and mulled over the tables and blankets full of items some more. They picked up a charcoal drawing I had done of a ballerina, priced at one dollar. They came over to the table and said,

 "We'd like to pay $5.50 for this. To help you with school." 

Well, when you're ten years old, it takes a long time to earn twenty dollars - that's a lot of washed dishes, walked dogs, and room cleaning. And I know they could have bought at least two ice creams each off the ice cream truck. Instead, they gave everything they had, and they didn't expect anything in return.

I offer a word of thanks for these two amazing girls, whose love is overflowing; their goodwill and kindness - what they may have thought was just a small, nice thing to do - means so much. Thank you!

Until next time, peace & blessings!

-Maddie-