tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45398477113529719492024-02-29T17:36:45.784-05:00(xaris and shalom)make of it what you willAnya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.comBlogger327125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-64896227557324357922022-08-24T13:02:00.000-04:002022-08-24T13:02:03.444-04:00Helping & Being With<p>Shel Silverstein's poem "Helping" ends with the stanza</p><p><b><i>And some kind of help is the kind of help</i></b></p><p><b><i>That helping's all about</i></b></p><p><b><i>And some kind of help is the kind of help</i></b></p><p><b><i>We all can do without.</i></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxpksnYBXQa-LSQtZeYvQDik1Sn4lZfRkJ6zpy7XhQT-j2CsSckx0N94F_y94B4v11QSIBrVP6yRy1viMW-cWXhXvHuAO__PInIeyIhmSNg102KcZNTKmvBWFtP9nwcSzAF-rgkUJTPXrQ4sgfQUbXSvOES97Xgmys3elcVs_gxDCPcu9LQsvQGwV/s1000/301218600_395603596041611_3244370311932228288_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxpksnYBXQa-LSQtZeYvQDik1Sn4lZfRkJ6zpy7XhQT-j2CsSckx0N94F_y94B4v11QSIBrVP6yRy1viMW-cWXhXvHuAO__PInIeyIhmSNg102KcZNTKmvBWFtP9nwcSzAF-rgkUJTPXrQ4sgfQUbXSvOES97Xgmys3elcVs_gxDCPcu9LQsvQGwV/s320/301218600_395603596041611_3244370311932228288_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(helping (?) in the kitchen!)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>For some reason, having an 11 month old Bean causes me to think of these words frequently. But particularly, for the last day, I've been pondering how she loves to "help" me fold the laundry. This little girl derives the greatest of delight from sitting on our bed when I dump out a full basket or two of clean laundry. She used to simply enjoy playing with the socks and dryer balls, but recently she's begun taking a more active role in "helping" -- namely, grabbing articles of clothing and throwing them over her shoulder and off the bed as quickly and enthusiastically as you can imagine.</p><p>Yesterday Jason and I met with our pastor and were discussing various ministries, our involvement in them, and the disappointment of not seeing much fruit come, and I got the image of the Bean flinging laundry over her shoulder stuck in my mind. She doesn't consider laundry a mundane, necessary chore -- it's just an opportunity to be with Mommy. She doesn't worry too much about how much she's contributing to the overall goal of getting the laundry folded and put away -- she just imitates what she sees me doing when I toss laundry into piles to sort it, and she does so with great joy. It's clear at this point in her life that she sometimes has concrete goals: climb the furniture, get to the computer before Mom notices, eat all of the hummus in the fridge, but mostly, her days are shaped by her formative desires and affections: be close to her parents and do whatever they do, explore the world and learn about everything.</p><p>From my perspective as a laundry-folder, she really isn't very helpful. She doesn't speed up the process or make my job easier. From my perspective as her mom, I'm so glad to have her there -- I love being with her, she's funny, and some day in the future, she'll be able to be more helpful. I'm not worried about teaching her how to fold the laundry, though -- mostly, I'm thankful that she wants to be with me and to be like me, and I trust that she'll learn it gradually through being there. (And a bit of instruction later, probably.)</p><p>I was telling Jason last night that it's so easy for me, as a child of God, to switch around those priorities. I begin to think that ministry is the top goal, the most important thing, and that being with Him is a means to that end. That tends to be a frustrating way to live, though, because when the ministry doesn't go the way that I think it should, or get to the result that I wanted, I feel like my effort and time was wasted and can question if there is something wrong in my relationship with God. So what if I flip the script? What if I take a page from my daughter's playbook, and instead think of ministry as a way of spending time with God? He doesn't <i>need</i> me to accomplish His ends. Maybe He invites us into His mission so that we'll be with Him, more than so that we'll help Him get it done. </p><p>My soul breathes a sigh of relief at that thought. It's not a novel thought, I know, but it's coming home in a new way. What if my joy is founded in getting to be in the presence of Jesus -- not in what I do for Him? That sounds pretty lovely.</p><p>And hey, maybe someday I'll learn how to fold socks -- or love people -- like He does.</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-82684456381688722082022-08-18T14:40:00.003-04:002022-08-18T14:40:42.946-04:00Starting 32<p>This space has been pretty quiet, hasn't it?</p><p>Knowing how much I love writing (and need to write), friends periodically ask me what I've been writing and how it's going, but the truth is that I am writing less these days than I have in a long, long time, and thinking less about writing stories than I have probably ever since I started (so... grade school!). I still journal sporadically, write emails, update Instagram accounts as a sort of public journal, and have recently been working on an essay for this year's ACNA contest, but an awful lot of my creative energy is poured into the small human I spend most of my days with. Watching her grow is a joy and pretty consuming! Cooking and baking is my other main creative outlet, and more fun than ever with consistent folks to feed. </p><p>All that being said, I wanted to pop in here for a few minutes to reflect on the past year.</p><p>It's been a rough year for the world, catastrophic in many global theaters, but it's been a pretty sweet and beautiful year for me. Ironically, despite the pandemic and everything else, the beginning of my third decade of life has brought a lot of stability and joy. </p><p>This past year in particular is one that I feel proud of. I had a baby (and she's almost a year old, believe it or not). I got my driver's license (finally). I transitioned out of my job with Uncommon Universes and into a position with our church. I cooked many, many meals. I learned how to work with sourdough. The year held a lot of hard days, and a lot of loss, and a lot of ordinary days, and a lot of good.</p><p>And I am so, so thankful for all of the people who have been a part of that -- the amazing communities that surround us, our families and friends and neighbors and church. There are far too many to name, but if you're reading this, know that we thank God for the gift of having you in our lives.</p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFTKsCGMWuvVkfjgFuxs5OyNSiZJUDCNqrH-sVhXBWCedPLwm4wLh0xWnYkQSIVpSdmwdw_wLjtKGn15rgL3uavX1Q_j_VDv75Pv7cjZyXmqpOqGKcxgAArn7sTgxI5zBUTNHJ-wVTN-nE1KEluirNYjW-_wj2lInyLmQ8gAH3cS3o-qzBt3nqe0TI" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3830" data-original-width="5745" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFTKsCGMWuvVkfjgFuxs5OyNSiZJUDCNqrH-sVhXBWCedPLwm4wLh0xWnYkQSIVpSdmwdw_wLjtKGn15rgL3uavX1Q_j_VDv75Pv7cjZyXmqpOqGKcxgAArn7sTgxI5zBUTNHJ-wVTN-nE1KEluirNYjW-_wj2lInyLmQ8gAH3cS3o-qzBt3nqe0TI=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(photo by Joel Holland, made available on Unsplash)<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>For a while, God has given me the image of a meadow full of wildflowers when I think of my life -- a wide open space with beauty and peace and room to breathe. Once again, on the cusp of a new year of life, the words of Psalm 16 are utterly fitting:</p><p><i><b>Lord, You are my portion and my cup of blessing;</b></i></p><p><i><b>You hold my future.</b></i></p><p><i><b>The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;</b></i></p><p><i><b>Indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. </b><br /></i><br /></p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-49092555944022841822022-05-02T13:35:00.000-04:002022-05-02T13:35:03.451-04:00Be With Me<p>Last night I told Jason, "I feel like I have a parenting secret."<br /><br />No, the Bean doesn't sleep through the night. Some nights she sleeps longer in her crib than others, but she always wakes up after a few hours and cries for me, wanting me to pick her up and feed her. And then she doesn't want to be set back down in her crib; she wails like a little door alarm if I try to settle her back in the crib.<br /><br />So I don't -- I snuggle her close and we both go back to sleep.</p><p>And while, some nights, I still want to sleep on my stomach and have blood circulating to my arm, mostly I love it. I'll be a little sad when she doesn't want to spend every night cuddled up against me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoHY3wS8cH0239bHdjoOVRa6U0EbJfVbdZFfcv-jT3cmsOxfia1WsInQu1YIzgJ3B7GvP4B7kq-b8dsUZqwuJEl5zK_yNl74ijhVgSO-Qe4FTnjHHYEBoDkZM2Oeu6nl4tKUvDQritTbZoufy7OyxtuSW7CNgTnSnFn9l3gkWtawfi0totpOZhIf-/s2048/279341860_468556315046358_785428711487953050_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoHY3wS8cH0239bHdjoOVRa6U0EbJfVbdZFfcv-jT3cmsOxfia1WsInQu1YIzgJ3B7GvP4B7kq-b8dsUZqwuJEl5zK_yNl74ijhVgSO-Qe4FTnjHHYEBoDkZM2Oeu6nl4tKUvDQritTbZoufy7OyxtuSW7CNgTnSnFn9l3gkWtawfi0totpOZhIf-/w480-h640/279341860_468556315046358_785428711487953050_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>She's seven months old going on about one and a half, full of confident tenacity and big opinions. She's easily delighted -- cheerios, her sippy cup, a bookshelf, successfully pulling herself to stand, hearing her name, seeing a familiar face coming in when we arrive to get her from her nap, hearing the Pangolin song.<br /><br />But more than anything, and always, she wants to be with us. She wants our attention. She sneaks glances at us to make sure that we're watching her, whether she's showing off new skills or eating and falling asleep. She squawks and cries <i>Ammammammm! </i>and coos and grabs our knees and shirts, blows raspberries on us.</p><p>Whatever she feels -- rage, joy, pride, fear -- she just wants to know that we're with her. </p><p>And it <i>delights </i>me.<br /><br />So I think about God and my own bent to think that I always need to be doing things. That I should not generally be a mess when I show up to talk to Him. </p><p>But maybe...</p><p>Maybe I'm learning from my daughter's utter confidence that the best thing is just being together.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/49fYcOF-hXY" width="320" youtube-src-id="49fYcOF-hXY"></iframe></div><br /> <p></p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-1021374487586460182022-01-03T14:28:00.003-05:002022-01-03T14:28:16.135-05:00Sleep Regression and the Patience of God<p>Well, it's been a quiet season on the blog, although not so much in our lives -- my days are full of caring for a small person and her growing personality, and there's all the regular running of a household and being part of a church community and celebrating holidays with friends and family even as we grieve the losses brought by the past year.</p><p>My head is bursting with words and thoughts, but my fingers are a bit out of the habit of writing. So maybe it's time to get back into it. </p><p>I had no idea that having a child would lead me to think so much about theology, but my goodness, it does. Loving Isabel is totally different than love that I've experienced before, even though other relationships have held hints of what this type of love is like. I loved my students; I've loved friends' kids, but it is not the same. None of those relationships demanded, day after day (and night after night), that I give it my attention, time and energy. None of the people in those relationships were so totally dependent on me for the very stuff of life: food, clothing, cleanliness, attention. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE1l7Bf-cUNUOXGdi9QaEWAMLbM2zpcPL3rfnVA2-MK4-ldtyPFBNz8bWWfhsfiXY1bFBJaCR-53DWH8m9KZC59UBfxp4WFjBDD7TXZBgJizseSSRJRb-QJrI2C-Mp8PX7eCH9BzPBSxq1rydhTlkjKKZsL_8KbuuzZQEbxR0zctRhaJ-KI4R4AgVf=s6720" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4480" data-original-width="6720" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE1l7Bf-cUNUOXGdi9QaEWAMLbM2zpcPL3rfnVA2-MK4-ldtyPFBNz8bWWfhsfiXY1bFBJaCR-53DWH8m9KZC59UBfxp4WFjBDD7TXZBgJizseSSRJRb-QJrI2C-Mp8PX7eCH9BzPBSxq1rydhTlkjKKZsL_8KbuuzZQEbxR0zctRhaJ-KI4R4AgVf=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@corinnekutz?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Corinne Kutz</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/crib?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Izzy is three months and a bit, and I'm still the center of her universe. More noticeably so in some ways now than a few weeks ago; some combination of her first cold, holiday travels that upended routines and familiarity, and the dreaded four-month sleep regression have transformed our chill little bean into a clingy little bean who has veryyyyy little interest or ability to soothe herself to sleep or to wake up calmly. The past week has looked like <i>lots</i> of snuggling her into naps and curling up next to each other at night. All things considered, she's handling everything well, but there are nights when I really miss being able to sprawl out on my stomach with her sleeping peacefully for chunks of hours in her own bed. </p><p>As I did some research into what causes the "sleep regression" that many babies go through around three or four months old, I've learned that it actually is a marker of healthy development. She's shifting from the sleep stages of a newborn into the ones that will be normal for the rest of her life, and it's hard to learn how to cycle through those. She also has more awareness than ever of her surroundings and more desire for social interaction with anyone who will make faces at her and converse with her -- and consequently, she has an intense fear of missing out on something interesting. (She's her father's daughter for sure.)</p><p>Knowing that this is a normal and healthy phase helps me to cultivate patience with her and the changing rhythms of our days. She's not being bad or intentionally difficult -- she's <i>growing</i>, and it's good. And it's challenging.</p><p>Thinking about all of this makes me think about the ebb and flow of my relationship with my heavenly Father. There are times when I feel confident and assured and close to Him. There are other seasons when I feel more like a fussy little child who isn't sure of much and just wants to feel His presence with me, to see His face and not have to deal with a moment that I can't cling onto His hand. I have a tendency to think that those times of confidence are more mature and that it's a fault in me, some childish regression, that I'm not on a linear trajectory. </p><p>I'm reconsidering that. And I'm reconsidering, relearning, the heart of our Father God, how He is genuinely, not begrudgingly, patient and compassionate and kind. How He makes His face to shine upon us, and looks upon us with love and affection. <b><i>Even as Izzy fusses for me to sit down next to her and let her hold my hand while she drifts off to sleep, God came to us in the incarnation of Jesus, to hold our hands and converse with us face to face, saying, "I'm here. You're loved. All will be well."</i></b></p><p>I'm reminding myself of His kindness over and over, tapping into it to say to Izzy over and over, "You're okay. I love you. I'm not leaving you. You're doing good."</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-66745310705394383942021-09-23T16:41:00.000-04:002021-09-23T16:41:00.104-04:00Jonah-esque<p>I've been listening to Taylor Leonhart's lovely new album, <i>Hold Still</i>, on repeat. (You should definitely avail yourself of the pleasure!)</p><p><i>Belly of a Whale </i>particularly captured my heart. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LMmVqKkBiHI" width="320" youtube-src-id="LMmVqKkBiHI"></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><i>...but You cannot resist Your tendency to save me from myself...</i></p><p><i>...but You cannot resist Your habit of forgetting how I fail...</i></p><p>These lines struck me as a gentler, less cynically ironic rendition of some of my favorite words that the prophet Jonah spoke: "I <i>knew</i> that You are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to become angry, rich in faithful love, and One who relents from sending disaster." </p><p>They also reminded me of the words that we pray each week in my church: "You are the same Lord whose character is always to have mercy."</p><p>What a remarkable truth. There are times when, like Jonah, I find myself wishing that God wasn't quite <i>so</i> merciful, because it is not my nature to always have mercy. It's my character to run out of patience and graciousness, to want people to get what they have coming sometimes, to assume that they'll take grace for granted.</p><p>And they do. I certainly do.</p><p>So in the depths of my being, I cannot thank God enough that it is His tendency, His habit, His character, to always show mercy to His beloved children.</p><p>[In a very tangentially related story -- really one that's about Kicky and I'm just including here because it entertains me -- a few nights ago we were bugging her and poking her (since she likes to squirm very discontentedly until she knows that Jason has also paid a requisite amount of attention to her before letting us go to sleep...) and apparently exceeded how much she wanted to play. She shifted sides of my stomach, away from the right where she usually camps out, <i>the whole way</i> over to the left. Fleeing to the opposite side of the universe, we laughed, thinking of how much it was like Jonah's attempts to flee, Adam and Eve's attempts to hide.]</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-87116015095799800432021-09-22T19:37:00.005-04:002021-09-22T19:37:46.617-04:00Coming "Soon"<p>I know, I know, we're not really anywhere near the actual season of Advent yet.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0pVhNDLcaApB68T-7io9-0eXAisQyUpJP4o3IUXFVzKv1Jlz3CcvceIDB0dF1P8YBnw8IU-J3U9pdCE_VEkGewPMSVklOCSIYitsLaZS8kpuTWiC-E6DpoM684dvwSULLbZsocoxynQ/s2048/lina-trochez-ktPKyUs3Qjs-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="2048" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0pVhNDLcaApB68T-7io9-0eXAisQyUpJP4o3IUXFVzKv1Jlz3CcvceIDB0dF1P8YBnw8IU-J3U9pdCE_VEkGewPMSVklOCSIYitsLaZS8kpuTWiC-E6DpoM684dvwSULLbZsocoxynQ/w640-h428/lina-trochez-ktPKyUs3Qjs-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@lmtrochezz?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Lina Trochez</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/approach?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>But Kicky is 39 weeks old today, which means that she is abundantly welcome to show her face any time. And I've been thinking about Advent. Thinking about how eager I am to meet someone who I haven't seen yet. Thinking about the wildness of trying to count down to something that I don't know the exact time for -- just "soon." Thinking about how hard I'm working to keep short accounts, because I don't want things in a mess when she does show up.</p><p><b><i>Though you have not seen Him, you love Him;</i></b></p><p><b><i>though not seeing Him now, you believe in Him,</i></b></p><p><b><i>and you rejoice with inexpressible and glorious joy...</i></b></p><p><i>(1 Peter 1:8)<br /><br /><b>He who testifies about these things says, "Yes, I am coming soon."</b></i></p><p><b><i>Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!</i></b></p><p><i>(Revelation 22:20)</i></p><p><b><i>Pay careful attention, then, to how you live -- not as unwise people but as wise -- making the most of the time, because the days are evil.</i></b></p><p><i>(Ephesians 5:15-16)</i></p><p>I hope that Kicky is born soon. And I'm also hoping that this year -- particularly when Advent rolls around -- I have a deeper sense of what waiting well means. </p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-42100156724151589322021-07-26T18:12:00.005-04:002021-07-26T18:12:44.361-04:00Abiding<p>John 15 begins with the famous "remain in Me" passage, where Jesus compares His relationship with His disciples to that of a vine and branches. </p><p>What it means to "remain" or "abide" is a topic that I've heard a lot of teaching about -- how branches exist and can bear fruit because they're connected to the vine, etc. To be honest, most of it has seemed kind of obvious or not particularly memorable. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7O-fSNci8HXCIrDpoGBofNOA3k3zbJ1w9YV0OVXtSQFq5Ynpdn5hrPPKQUOzbHmC83aPfmKtT0Nf4qcR7nWjazekNEbRI06U0xvXH5XK0iYTJ1xlThwynt0KvMELNEYjsNEXzYr1nBfI/s1136/baby+girl%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1136" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7O-fSNci8HXCIrDpoGBofNOA3k3zbJ1w9YV0OVXtSQFq5Ynpdn5hrPPKQUOzbHmC83aPfmKtT0Nf4qcR7nWjazekNEbRI06U0xvXH5XK0iYTJ1xlThwynt0KvMELNEYjsNEXzYr1nBfI/w400-h300/baby+girl%2521.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>But this summer it's come home to me in a new way, courtesy of our daughter (currently called Kicky, due around the end of September).</p><p>She abides. Her life depends utterly on my life. She eats and sleeps, gets hiccups and dreams, all in the context of being connected to me. She may kick and flail at times, but she's not going anywhere that I'm not going.</p><p>I don't think she stresses about if she's spending enough time with me, or if she's growing at the expected rate, or if she's making me proud. She doesn't have to. </p><p>And I love her dearly.</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-87279288159624709732021-03-08T18:45:00.002-05:002021-03-08T18:45:12.096-05:00Jesus & Abusive LeadersI had trouble sleeping last night -- maybe it was something I ate. (More likely it had something to do with the long nap I took after we got home from church.) It's a rare thing that I'm in a good mood or headspace when awake for a lot of the night, and last night was no exception -- my mind and heart were both whirling around the topic of abusive church leaders, and the devastation and shame that they bring. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidspXbnn3yuwTBcQLR9OtFkDrnYvEfRFKav1xFrxMyk5b9F4wtU1V0IWHwGmiZRI9HU6cYF_kZ3yJMKlIwH5IN7OLRi_mM_ectJ5BEkZQelrJm8AOEPXJJoHX9EmXGohOO62ncNjaUYS4/s2048/dave-herring-kRxtlC4vQtE-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1364" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidspXbnn3yuwTBcQLR9OtFkDrnYvEfRFKav1xFrxMyk5b9F4wtU1V0IWHwGmiZRI9HU6cYF_kZ3yJMKlIwH5IN7OLRi_mM_ectJ5BEkZQelrJm8AOEPXJJoHX9EmXGohOO62ncNjaUYS4/w640-h426/dave-herring-kRxtlC4vQtE-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;">(Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@daveherring?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Dave Herring</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/cliff-israel?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><br /></div><div>There's no shortage of examples in the news, although Ravi Zacharias is probably the most recent big one. Hitting closer to home is the ongoing conflict in the church that I was in before I moved to China. Although I've caught only the edges of it, it's been sickening and heartbreaking and infuriating. </div><div><br /></div><div>So this morning, the reading for <i>Pray As You Go</i> was from Luke 4 -- the passage where Jesus stands up in the synagogue in His hometown, reads the passage from Isaiah, and proclaims that its fulfillment has come. And then He goes on to remind them that prophets have not historically received a warm welcome in their hometowns.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the leaders of the synagogue don't react with jubilation at the news that this prophecy that they've been waiting for forever is fulfilled. They don't react kindly when He reminds them that prophets in former times went to the Gentiles. They jump straight to "let's kill Him."</div><div><br /></div><div>For the first time ever I thought about how crazy and traumatic that must have been for Jesus. Sure, He gets into all kinds of controversies with religious leaders for the rest of His ministry -- but there's something different between butting heads with people you don't know and the religious leaders who you grew up with defaming and straight-up planning to murder you. Those were His teachers, His friends... His pastors. </div><div><br /></div><div>It doesn't fix the problem of abuse in church leadership. It should never happen. It needs to be dealt with. </div><div><br /></div><div>But somehow, today, knowing that Jesus knows what it's like brings some comfort to my heart.</div></div>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-24602765419659376032021-01-03T14:30:00.001-05:002021-01-03T22:23:54.452-05:00Mark 2<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc7-wyypQG5Jv68jvU1vUhzmlMsYhMAJeD0QVZr9vfKsagILe6jvEhGbi10Sx2IoYgiAYu3ejvTHIF-HqAn0JtKPPqk4drNXafxzMeGgDCHrMMxkWXL2iJrCLCQ6UQ0lkPLN-q7lcgko/s2048/jon-tyson-ajzN2AYNi1U-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc7-wyypQG5Jv68jvU1vUhzmlMsYhMAJeD0QVZr9vfKsagILe6jvEhGbi10Sx2IoYgiAYu3ejvTHIF-HqAn0JtKPPqk4drNXafxzMeGgDCHrMMxkWXL2iJrCLCQ6UQ0lkPLN-q7lcgko/w480-h640/jon-tyson-ajzN2AYNi1U-unsplash.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@jontyson?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Jon Tyson</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/homeless?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>)</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">What were you going to do, run away?</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Your friends were bound and determined</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>to carry you to the itinerant preacher;</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Never mind the time they had to take off work</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>or the crowded traffic of Capernaum</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>or that there really wasn’t space for them.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">No, they were going to get you to Him</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>if they had to carry you the whole way</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>drag you up onto a roof</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>and dismantle someone else’s house.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And then, there you were: all eyes</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>on you, the interruption.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But He didn’t leave you hanging,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>an impersonal prop in an object lesson,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>a convenient sermon illustration.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He didn’t ask if <i>you</i> believed,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>if you <i>wanted</i> to be healed,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>to tell the truth, <i>the whole truth</i>, and nothing but the truth,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>so help you God.</i></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He looked at your friends with that</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>twinkling light of an acknowledging smile</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>rising in His dark eyes</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>and nodded, like He had heard their desperate prayers,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>and labored breathing,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>and swallowed curses as they wrestled</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>your unresponsive body to Him</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>like He knew their hearts.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then He looked at you</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>and the world shattered, was reassembled,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>like a broken bone or severed spinal cord</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>by a skillful surgeon who made each cell fit</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>by His words:</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Child, your sins are forgiven.</span></i></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You walked away from there</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>into a world made new.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ma82-IItYTUe0HS5z0ZqSgItUD2W0F5PBHbujyk3tkpwgkC8UrYuLd9tSkslMHnbSf4MzrOXRnOBIxmXh1rphuviVuN86dylssMFwmxb38u0r6iqglYsLZC1Icif1SEeX6amnvZAMig/s2048/shalev-cohen-NPO06iPUMkk-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ma82-IItYTUe0HS5z0ZqSgItUD2W0F5PBHbujyk3tkpwgkC8UrYuLd9tSkslMHnbSf4MzrOXRnOBIxmXh1rphuviVuN86dylssMFwmxb38u0r6iqglYsLZC1Icif1SEeX6amnvZAMig/w640-h426/shalev-cohen-NPO06iPUMkk-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@shalevcohen?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Shalev Cohen</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-15118885011489526362021-01-01T16:42:00.001-05:002021-01-01T16:42:44.023-05:00A Word for 2021 (and a few more words, in reflection and expectation)<p>At the start of this new calendar year, I wonder what to hold onto, what to focus on. My email inbox is full of tools and tips. My planner’s pages are mostly empty. </p><p>I did not live the last year perfectly or always gracefully— there were plenty of times that my light flickered and wavered with turbulent emotions, stress, conflict, fear, selfishness, frustration. I spent a lot of time in questioning complaint. Yet the light of God’s goodness was constant, if sometimes hidden from my eyes by storm clouds. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80PFYUk1_GIviaOYBqHXkvs7hbH9HtCn3PyQ8FiXl8KJutvAmWytjL_6JA5e7OLoD5dJeLOYodZIbDWN3keJ-2K_WPcZAzfUkcY86HflcMQip3H0u3mi9mpI7h4nUKfFwKUQt_1AnIA4/s2048/swapnil-dwivedi-w46tRF64qNc-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1226" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80PFYUk1_GIviaOYBqHXkvs7hbH9HtCn3PyQ8FiXl8KJutvAmWytjL_6JA5e7OLoD5dJeLOYodZIbDWN3keJ-2K_WPcZAzfUkcY86HflcMQip3H0u3mi9mpI7h4nUKfFwKUQt_1AnIA4/w640-h384/swapnil-dwivedi-w46tRF64qNc-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@momentance?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">SwapnIl Dwivedi</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/pottery?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>There are many ways (so many ways) that I hope to grow this year, so many facets of roles and responsibilities that are parts of my life that I hope to develop in. I want to be more consistent in my time with God, to rush less, to greet people with wonder and attention, to be physically healthy, to make space for mental health and to be wise about taking time to breathe (especially when those around me are struggling).</p><p>But my attention and energy always has to be focused on a singular priority if I am to move and not end up scattered and exhausted. My mom <a href="https://carpebanana.blogspot.com/2021/01/2021.html" target="_blank">wrote about choosing a word</a> for the new year; I generally feel like I’m given a word, that God answers my asking for what I need with focus.</p><p>So here it is: <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(36, 39, 41); color: #242729; font-family: Arial, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic;">κεχαριτωμένη.</span></p><p>It is, admittedly, a difficult word to translate well. The traditional Latin rendering offers <i>gratis plena</i>; English translations of this word that Gabriel used to address the Virgin Mary include <i>highly favored</i> and <i>full of grace.</i></p><p>To see and know myself as God does, to know that the grace I’m filled with isn’t something inherent to my own nature or a fruit of my own effort — it is itself an extravagant gift of God. This year, I want to cultivate my awareness that I am (like Mary) a finite vessel who gets to, somehow, bear infinity — God’s deep, deep love, grace, and peace filling me and flowing out of me.</p><p><b><i>On the last and most important day of the festival,</i></b></p><p><b><i>Jesus stood up and cried out, </i></b></p><p><b><i>“If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink.</i></b></p><p><b><i>The one who believes in me, as the Scripture has said,</i></b></p><p><b><i>Will have streams of living water flow from deep within him.”</i></b></p><p><b><i>He said this about the Holy Spirit.</i></b></p><p>—from John 7:37ff</p><p>Although I’ve thought about Mary before, wondered about her background and feelings and thoughts, the last few months have really left her lingering in my consciousness, and I’m curious to see how God continues to unfold this word in my heart and life in the coming months. It never plays out how I expect it to in January. (I was also pretty intrigued to see that I’m not the only one considering Mary this season — my friend Esther recently wrote a lovely reflection over on <a href="https://youwillmostsurelyfind.wordpress.com/2020/12/24/like-mary/" target="_blank">her blog</a>.)</p><p>What about you? Any particular hopes, expectations, themes, reflections for the year to come or as you look back on 2020? For some of us, it was a rollercoaster of a year with high highs and low lows; for some it seemed to be smooth enough, and for many it was nothing short of traumatic. No matter how you feel coming into 2021, I’m glad you’re here. Glad that we get to step into a new year together to behold God’s glory and grace. </p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-63716591837895195282020-12-14T16:27:00.001-05:002020-12-14T16:27:15.404-05:00The Weary World (Advent 2020)<p>"Hi, Hannah?" my doctor said when he called me this morning, sounding weary and apologetic. "Your test came back positive."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVzZ8tnAd6JPBmTljOhghVPWQFTgmIfxgbqIbXRhi4KDv_jM9V2FTBAC4koYEr3FunGkXSwphkeCM2UHuXx5ceDELh0aqBeqRgt8N31Yd2QkyfyxY1ras5ekugnwl_QoGs2aoaU6BHWc/s640/Untitled+design.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVzZ8tnAd6JPBmTljOhghVPWQFTgmIfxgbqIbXRhi4KDv_jM9V2FTBAC4koYEr3FunGkXSwphkeCM2UHuXx5ceDELh0aqBeqRgt8N31Yd2QkyfyxY1ras5ekugnwl_QoGs2aoaU6BHWc/w640-h640/Untitled+design.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br />Aside from feeling like I have a sinus infection -- which is not surprising, as the weather in western Pennsylvania has been jumping up and down all through the fall -- I've felt fine. Well, aside from that and the growing craziness as we go on week three of quarantining at home.<br /><br />We're thankful, still, that we <i>knew</i> almost immediately after coming home from Thanksgiving that we had been exposed to covid. (Something about our housemate not being able to smell or taste anything was a significant tipoff.) We're thankful to get to make sure that we don't spread it, especially since many in our congregation are older, and one of our ministry team members has plenty of respiratory complications without any additional virus. We're thankful that my jobs aren't impacted by me needing to stay at home, and that Jason has a job to go back to. There are plenty of, no shortage of, solid reasons to give thanks to the One who created and sustains us. <br /><br />Yet my overall feeling right now is a weary sadness. I'm tired of not seeing friends, of being mostly confined to our house, of trying to make backup plans with no guarantee that everything won't change again, of not being able to take a break from the pandemic to just go get coffee and a donut without worrying about it. <br /><br />In his version of the Christmas carol <i>O Holy Night, </i>John Sullivan Dwight wrote, <b><i>The weary world rejoices</i>. </b>"Weary" seems to me like one of the most apt descriptions of the current state of the world, all of us tired and worn ragged by the complications of the pandemic, by personal hardships, by the sharp edges of this year. <br /><br />Last year I wrote <a href="http://www.tangledlight.com/2019/12/advent-rejoice-lament.html">about Advent being a time of rejoicing and lamenting</a>. This year, the lament feels a little deeper, the rejoicing a little fainter and harder to grasp. Yet as we enter into the grief of creation at its brokenness, we long for the return of the King who will make all things well. This is a season for learning to be kinder to everyone around us, I think, as we perhaps have a newfound awareness that <i>everyone</i> (EVERYONE) is facing profound difficulty and disappointment as they move through their lives. <br /><br />Astoundingly, it's this world -- this very one, where viruses spread out of control, where neighbors can't seem to hear each other's hearts over the roar of their political allegiances, where technological glitches happen with frustrating regularity and kids get shot and families fall apart and promises are broken -- that the King chose to enter into.<br /><br />Since the <i>Behold the Lamb of God</i> concert, I've been listening to that album over and over (yes, I hear songs from it when I wake up in the middle of the night...), anchoring my heart in the truth that we get to <br /><b><i>Sing out with joy for the brave little boy<br />Who was God, but he made himself nothing.</i></b></p><p>What a wonder.</p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="420" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/j9CMF_co2fU" width="505" youtube-src-id="j9CMF_co2fU"></iframe></b></div><b><br /><i><br /></i></b><p></p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-82604369449747157142020-11-04T12:28:00.000-05:002020-11-04T12:28:22.265-05:00My Need and God's Generosity<p>Here's a curious thing that I find in myself: the more I experience the provision of God, the greater is the temptation that I feel to stress over doing enough to take care of myself. The more I've been given, the more I feel like I should be able to justify why I deserved it. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQi9rYJsE9RzTwXj-hHb0q85mA38iBLMHSdpdOrauKHGp0AmlBUIiuIlVXILGtkcRNjkSby4hRzFn1O5d6i6pQo9FkxbMdi2crRyJ3Wqw8ifFDXMjtMFqU1w4ZI9_bbUc8IBxOlZ-Dx9o/s2048/priscilla-du-preez-kgZFViswqxg-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQi9rYJsE9RzTwXj-hHb0q85mA38iBLMHSdpdOrauKHGp0AmlBUIiuIlVXILGtkcRNjkSby4hRzFn1O5d6i6pQo9FkxbMdi2crRyJ3Wqw8ifFDXMjtMFqU1w4ZI9_bbUc8IBxOlZ-Dx9o/w640-h424/priscilla-du-preez-kgZFViswqxg-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@priscilladupreez?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Priscilla Du Preez</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/worry?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>This point was illustrated (in case I needed illustration to convince me) when my husband suddenly lost his job yesterday. <i>Why am I so stressed about this?</i> I wondered this morning as my mind spun with schemes of how we can make up the gap in our income. <i>After all, a year and a half ago I moved back from China and had absolutely no idea what job I'd find. I rented an apartment and settled into a community before I found a job, took a month to breathe and begin to reacclimatize to life in the US, and ended up with a job (at Sheetz) and a half (with Write Your Way Academy) and everything, </i>everything<i>, that I needed was provided for.</i></p><p>Immediately, my heart begins making excuses for the worry that it wants to justify. </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>But now we have a house.</li><li>But then I was just getting back from China. </li><li>We have bills we have to pay, and there are three of us in this house who need heat and electricity and water.</li><li>I had <i>planned</i> to have a season of rest and transition when I came back from China. We weren't planning for this.</li></ul><p></p><p>They're reasonable enough. They make sense. </p><p>But they aren't reason for worry. <i>Nothing is</i>.</p><p>Because the truth is, I have a Father who knows all of my needs (well before I'm aware of them) and has always, <i>always</i> met them. Sometimes that provision has come through a friend who let me live with them. Sometimes it's come through me having a job and working hard and making enough money to pay the bills I have. Sometimes (for much of my life!) it came by way of my dad, who worked hard and has a lot of talent for handling money. Sometimes it has come through the long-term generosity of many, many friends who're willing to invest in the ministry that God had called me to. Sometimes it comes through random people deciding to give us copious amounts of food/clothing that fits perfectly. Sometimes (routinely) it comes through the cultural tradition here of people putting things they no longer want by the curb so that others can pick them up. (Things we've acquired this way since our wedding include a couch, a rocking chair, a sewing machine, a shelf, a table saw, and even impractical, unnecessary things that we had recently said we wanted, like old windows for a crafting project.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTyGpCzCkj_tGv9fqsVEacZv07q_MoNqAhZNT0gyxHCUS-9dAja9jSo5Eqbtkcyl-tpSMpm7fAHef1ScS3gXyNQiB4hCHBBcnfbuQwDxcFD0OoAcTYsOZX_WxMrcI6EqLMzVL9HxCZ-vI/s2048/klara-avsenik-PY_dHgdrcno-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTyGpCzCkj_tGv9fqsVEacZv07q_MoNqAhZNT0gyxHCUS-9dAja9jSo5Eqbtkcyl-tpSMpm7fAHef1ScS3gXyNQiB4hCHBBcnfbuQwDxcFD0OoAcTYsOZX_WxMrcI6EqLMzVL9HxCZ-vI/w426-h640/klara-avsenik-PY_dHgdrcno-unsplash.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@curryandlove?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Klara Avsenik</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/abundance?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The last few weeks, I've been listening to Proverbs. Every time I go through that book, I am struck by the logic of God's economy. These wise sayings counsel hard work and prudence with the resources that we have, much as I would expect anyone giving sound financial advice to, except in one area. Over and over and over and <i>over</i>, they tell us that <b>It is good to be generous<i>. </i></b></p><p>How that works out mathematically is beyond me, and I was no slouch at math. </p><p><b><i>One person gives freely, yet gains more;</i></b></p><p><b><i>another withholds what is right, only to become poor.</i></b></p><p><b><i>A generous person will be enriched,</i></b></p><p><b><i>and the one who gives a drink of water will receive water. </i></b><i>(Prov 11:24-25)</i></p><p><i><b>The one who despises his neighbor sins,</b></i></p><p><i><b>but whoever shows kindness to the poor will be happy.</b></i></p><p><i><b>Don't those who plan evil go astray?</b></i></p><p><i><b>But those who plan good find loyalty and faithfulness...</b></i></p><p><i><b>The one who oppresses the poor person insults his Maker,</b></i></p><p><i><b>but one who is kind to the needy honors Him. </b>(Prov 14:21-22, 31)</i></p><p><i><b>Kindness to the poor is a loan to the Lord,</b></i></p><p><i><b>and He will give a reward to the lender.</b> (Prov 19:17)</i></p><p>It's like all of the fairy tales are true and the king disguises himself as a beggar to discern the hearts of his people. Only there is no deception here except what we do to ourselves; He told us over and over again (from the very beginning) that all of His people bear His image, that we never encounter a person who doesn't reflect Himself.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFiykvzrnKR8S937YKOv_hRqww2-l7UGG7IP91lZo5CZoeRbgtQKnOpynQ-KGfso6-CoE5l-KD63151OX6Gz9MP-lIs_5r-uk3uLa3UaWrQjMZIiunNuTIsm-t95fB8Fqh3eLIgbBLwc/s2048/egor-myznik-V9T_uTrrcNA-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1371" data-original-width="2048" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFiykvzrnKR8S937YKOv_hRqww2-l7UGG7IP91lZo5CZoeRbgtQKnOpynQ-KGfso6-CoE5l-KD63151OX6Gz9MP-lIs_5r-uk3uLa3UaWrQjMZIiunNuTIsm-t95fB8Fqh3eLIgbBLwc/w640-h428/egor-myznik-V9T_uTrrcNA-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@vonshnauzer?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Egor Myznik</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/beggar?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>So here's the truth that my soul needs to remember -- and that maybe you do too? -- the truth that I have to return to again and again, tracing my fingers over and keeping in my pocket so that I can close my hand around it when anxiety rises within me: <b><i>I am a child of the King who speaks universes into being. A sister of the Redeemer who did not flinch from giving up His own life to ransom me. A dwelling of the Spirit who raises the dead to life</i>. </b></p><p><b>The story of history is still playing out, but the ending is written, and all of my needs have been provided for. The God who loves me is able to do more than all I can ask <i>or imagine</i>.</b></p><p><b>So I am given the courage and desire to do the next thing, to not grow weary in doing good -- whether that is teaching middle and high school students how to become better at communicating through writing, or meeting with people to discuss how they can take action to bring the kingdom of God to their communities, or doing laundry, or cooking meals.</b></p><p>As Paul wrote to the Christians at Corinth,</p><p><b><i>"...everything is yours -- whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or things present or things to come -- everything is yours, and you belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God."</i></b> (1 Cor 3:21b-23)</p><p>I don't have to justify why I deserve anything; everything that I have is a gift because of who -- because of <i>whose</i> -- I am, not because of what I've done. </p><p>Praise God.</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-39731205562146157642020-10-20T14:34:00.000-04:002020-10-20T14:34:07.693-04:00Waiting in the Rain (and Loving the Weather)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Wxhu66L3xTvP-G_xz78wcvqwdisrzh018S2txAQ2q6673vXpLoaBCiIM3W7crC0xwjgWgsMEUtYgOSZxddxGPdpB9ykLFtdO5knoZBNVtKTU97P6i4-RonbEEj8S5oac7JJnRlhhSnc/s2048/hannah-domsic-2_gJeve_CBY-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Wxhu66L3xTvP-G_xz78wcvqwdisrzh018S2txAQ2q6673vXpLoaBCiIM3W7crC0xwjgWgsMEUtYgOSZxddxGPdpB9ykLFtdO5knoZBNVtKTU97P6i4-RonbEEj8S5oac7JJnRlhhSnc/w640-h426/hannah-domsic-2_gJeve_CBY-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@bananabear?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Hannah Domsic</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/autumn-rain?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I'm not a very serious gardener as of yet, but moving into an actual house this past spring opened up some possibilities for me to invest a little more in dreaming about growing things and cultivating our outdoor space as we do with the indoor. Between wedding gifts and a church full of avid and generous gardeners, we soon found ourselves well equipped with a variety of containers, happily started plants, and abundant advice. I set up a row of containers along one side of our yard and we got to enjoy some cucumbers, a few cherry tomatoes, quite a few peppers, and fresh herbs in <i>everything</i>. </p><p>My dreams for next year involved rototilling up one side of the yard (conveniently partitioned off by the sidewalk.) We broke down cardboard boxes for a month or two and now have that space pretty well covered with a layer of cardboard weighted down with a motley assortment of heavy junk -- pots, Adirondack chairs, an old shelf that's destined for the garbage. Many of our plants have come inside for the winter and are currently occupying a coffee table in the front room, with starts of other herbs lining the kitchen windowsill in little jelly jars as they grow roots. <br /><br />So now I wait.</p><p>The garlic and shallots planted outside need to wait through the cold of winter before they grow. The cardboard needs months of rain and snow to disintegrate enough to get tilled into the ground next spring. The compost rotting in its enclosure needs time to break down so that it can nourish the dirt (and the plants!)</p><p>Yesterday and today have been grey, full of chilly October rain -- the type of days that are perfect for hot tea and a candle and having all the lights turned on. Although I can appreciate feeling warm and cozy indoors, it's not normally my favorite weather, but yesterday I realized that I was genuinely <i>excited </i>about it, because I've been hoping for rain to saturate the cardboard over the garden-to-be plot.</p><p>All of that made me think of one of my favorite parts of <i>That Hideous Strength</i>.</p><p><b>"We were just coming to see you," said Camilla. "Look here, we have lunch with us. Let's drive you up to the woods beyond Sandown and all feed together in the car. There's lots to talk about."</b></p><p><b>"Or what about your coming to the flat and lunching with me?" said Jane inwardly wondering how she could manage this. "It's hardly a day for picnicking."</b></p><p><b>"That only means extra washing up for you," said Camilla. "Had we better go somewhere in town, Frank? -- if Mrs. Studdock thinks it's too cold and foggy."</b></p><p><b>"A restaurant would hardly do, Mrs. Studdock," said Denniston. "We want to be private." The "we" obviously meant "we three" and established at once a pleasant, business-like unity between them. "As well," he continued, "don't you rather like a rather foggy day in a wood in autumn? You'll find we shall be perfectly warm sitting in the car."</b></p><p><b>Jane said she'd never heard of anyone liking fogs before but she didn't mind trying. All three got in.</b></p><p><b>"That's why Camilla and I got married," said Denniston as they drove off. "We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather. It's a useful taste if one lives in England."</b></p><p><b>"How ever did you learn to do that, Mr. Denniston?" said Jane. "I don't think I should ever learn to like rain and snow."</b></p><p><b>"It's the other way round," said Denniston. "Everyone begins as a child by liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it as you grow up. Haven't you ever noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children -- and the dogs? <i>They</i> know what snow's made for."</b></p><p><b>"I'm sure I hated wet days as a child," said Jane.</b></p><p><b>"That's because the grown-ups kept you in," said Camilla. "Any child loves rain if it's allowed to go out and paddle about in it."</b></p><p>The idea of liking Weather has stuck with me for years. (I'm always fascinated by ideas of enjoying life and all of its wild parts more.) It was a sweet realization yesterday to find that I was actually so pleased for the cold, steady rain, because I'm looking forward to the garden to come. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1TnLFZL7yBYJJTadsLaxXK2JRs9KVfelyOOAmjX8-g3yaAoEayhEGlst0Nz3YEyIKzQ1bK3uwk2sevuOu07mvzA2ro5W8NV2ZNPsGGEx6OUsQzq8anop8RUIbi-jFd94A5U5N7LKcZnk/s2048/priscilla-du-preez-MU93ZoQPNB8-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1TnLFZL7yBYJJTadsLaxXK2JRs9KVfelyOOAmjX8-g3yaAoEayhEGlst0Nz3YEyIKzQ1bK3uwk2sevuOu07mvzA2ro5W8NV2ZNPsGGEx6OUsQzq8anop8RUIbi-jFd94A5U5N7LKcZnk/w426-h640/priscilla-du-preez-MU93ZoQPNB8-unsplash.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@priscilladupreez?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Priscilla Du Preez</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/rain-depression?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Andrew Peterson was sharing about his song <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fn8cbI9jFGc">The Rain Keeps Falling</a> </i>during the online conference Hutchmoot a couple of weeks ago (shameless side plug: <a href="https://www.hutchmoothomebound.com/" target="_blank">Hutchmoot access</a> is available till November 15 and only costs $20!) and how he wasn't sure how to end the song with its imagery of depression and relentless rain... until he saw a different perspective. </p><p><i>My daughter and I put the seeds in the dirt</i></p><p><i>And every day now we've been watching the earth</i></p><p><i>For a sign that this death will give way to a birth</i></p><p><i>And the rain keeps falling</i></p><p><i>Down on the soil where the sorrow is laid</i></p><p><i>And the secret of life is igniting the grave</i></p><p><i>And I'm dying to live but I'm learning to wait</i></p><p><i>And the rain keeps falling.</i></p><p>What has given you a different perspective?</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-30374502984989712532020-10-11T16:16:00.001-04:002020-10-11T16:16:08.888-04:00Autumn Valor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsg6dQDvmNg8OvBMbuhngfUhS7GgDSZxBY_wmichPctYGIq0t_VdJG05HaMrt8Diue5DU2txIFd4mdF_nV50q871JsDKLr18R8qaHsLngSnQzLwv_6LzSpbFINWCxygeG4bMRATvgypI/s2048/121093819_335541070872182_3617084558179394401_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsg6dQDvmNg8OvBMbuhngfUhS7GgDSZxBY_wmichPctYGIq0t_VdJG05HaMrt8Diue5DU2txIFd4mdF_nV50q871JsDKLr18R8qaHsLngSnQzLwv_6LzSpbFINWCxygeG4bMRATvgypI/w480-h640/121093819_335541070872182_3617084558179394401_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><i><b>Glory be to God for mundane things --</b></i></p><p><i><b>for Boo hanging from the attic vent;</b></i></p><p><i><b>for yeast slowly stretching gluten strands;</b></i></p><p><i><b>fun fabric for masks; stairway conversations;</b></i></p><p><i><b>the grace of learning a new baby's name;</b></i></p><p><i><b>and music streamed in this unsung season.</b></i></p><p><i><b><br /></b></i></p><p><i><b>All things small, quiet, discordant, unseen;</b></i></p><p><i><b>whatever is sought, crafted (who knows why?)</b></i></p><p><i><b>by hands, speech, instinct, need, delight</b></i></p><p><i><b>He holds it all together in His joy:</b></i></p><p><i><b>Praise Him.</b></i></p><p><br /></p><p>(For FVC, with obvious thanks to Gerard Manley Hopkins and <i>Pied Beauty</i>)</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-32945835732189986002020-10-03T13:47:00.001-04:002020-10-03T13:47:06.804-04:00For the Start of Autumn (updates + songs)<p>Although this blog has been quiet, life has been full (as usual.) At the beginning of September, I ended my job working at Sheetz. I really enjoyed my coworkers and many of our regulars, and I was very thankful for the steady income God provided through it (despite me initially saying "No way!" when my dad suggested I apply to a gas station!) and shifting to working from home felt a little bit like stepping out of a nice, solid boat and onto a very uncertain body of water. Cool? Foolhardy? Incredible? Anyway, it was time -- working overnight shifts was alright while I was single and lived a few blocks away, but it was much less ideal when married and living miles away instead.</p><p>So I quit, Jason and I went camping with some friends from our small group, and I came home and plunged into new jobs -- working for <a href="https://uncommonuniverses.com/" target="_blank">Uncommon Universes Press</a> and for <a href="https://www.writeathome.com/">Write At Home</a>. It has been a delight to get to deal with books and students and my heart is so happy with that shift. Not only do I now have time to do things like meet up with friends for coffee and a walk <i>during the DAY!</i> (it's amazing what not needing to be asleep for the bulk of daylight hours does...) but I have the time and brain space to work on other projects, like rearranging furniture and building websites and talking through things with Jason as he gets his coaching certification. It's fun. I'm a big fan. ^_^</p><p>I've got a few ideas for blog posts simmering in the back of my mind, but today I just wanted to bop on here and share a few of the song lyrics that have been reverberating in my heart recently.</p><p></p><blockquote>On the final day I die, I wanna hold my head up high </blockquote><blockquote>and tell You that I tried to live it like a song. </blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iR6cBkZSPOk" target="_blank">Switchfoot, <i>Where I Belong</i></a>) </p><p></p><blockquote><p>And it can feel so cold</p><p>But I'm holding on to hope</p><p>That one day your heart</p><p>Will make it home. </p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iR6cBkZSPOk" target="_blank">Gray Havens, <i>Go</i></a>) </p><p></p><p><span></span></p><blockquote> Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces.</blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anozSBPJVQA">Sara Groves, <i>Add to the Beauty</i></a>)</p><p></p><blockquote><p>Oh come to the feast; there is room at the table</p><p>Come let us meet in this place</p><p>With the King of all kindness who welcomes us in</p><p>With the wonder of love and the power of grace.</p></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">(<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVJH58IvXK0" target="_blank">Buddy Greene, <i>Vagabonds</i></a>)</p><p>Do yourself a favor: Turn up the volume and listen to the entirety of <i>Vagabonds.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GVJH58IvXK0" width="320" youtube-src-id="GVJH58IvXK0"></iframe></div><br /><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;">Happy fall, friends!</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-88865423555072727282020-08-08T22:03:00.004-04:002020-08-08T22:03:47.922-04:00(Don't) Wait For It<p>My house just finished our second watch-through of <i>Hamilton</i> yesterday, this time with lots of commentary as we assessed characters, their motivations, their shortcomings, their shattered dreams, and ways they shoot themselves in the foot. </p><p>Aaron Burr in particular. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4T94e303KMaY2994fwG00sBPxXyc4g0bu9iJ6cjGpDeMXpUNJK_mOWliliqgMlWSC413B0dq57khMgkeor1AYDpXj-wkyNBGah2_6oxWl-0JwqjikukPplpVRfSJw1kexYd50qDK71J4/s2048/xu-haiwei-jRE-2tH2Bvk-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4T94e303KMaY2994fwG00sBPxXyc4g0bu9iJ6cjGpDeMXpUNJK_mOWliliqgMlWSC413B0dq57khMgkeor1AYDpXj-wkyNBGah2_6oxWl-0JwqjikukPplpVRfSJw1kexYd50qDK71J4/w534-h800/xu-haiwei-jRE-2tH2Bvk-unsplash.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(photo by Xu Haiwei, from <a href="http://unsplash.com">unsplash.com</a>)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>"If you were waiting for the opportune moment," Jason said as we watched, "<i>that</i> was it."</p><p>I find Burr a relatable character for many reasons -- his exasperation with Hamilton, his willingness to hold on and wait for what he wants, his reluctance to commit to something that he isn't sure how it's going to end. His aversion to risk. And it is almost viscerally painful to watch his character arc through the musical, how he is always just a <i>little</i> too late to commit to a course of action, how the one time that he finally decides to pull the trigger is exactly the wrong and worst possible time to do it. There are many threads of tragedy in the stories told by <i>Hamilton</i>.</p><p>Anyway, with those thoughts in the back of my mind, I opened a letter today from friends who have spent the past few years living and teaching in China. They're currently in the US, hoping to return to China, but uncertain of when that will be possible. And I thought about how one of those friends, TJ, made an appeal almost six years ago that struck me right in the heart. <i>China is open now. We are welcome now, invited now. If we don't take this chance now, what regrets will future generations have?</i></p><p>When I moved back to China in 2016, there was a general feeling that China was already beginning to tighten up again. Global nationalism and tension between countries influence policies in ways that are often counter to what individual citizens of the countries want; what none of us anticipated was a pandemic that would more quickly close borders than anything we had experienced before.</p><p>I don't have a failproof flowchart for how to decide when to wait and when to jump in and act. There's a good bit of discernment required -- what do the wise people in my life counsel? how is the Holy Spirit leading me? what is motivating me to wait or to act: fear, impatience, love, joy? -- and there is always an element of risk in making choices. Frequently, we don't have much idea of how things would have played out if we had made a different decision. But every now and then, I get a reminder that good things grow out of committed action.</p><p>(As I wrote that, I also remembered talking with a friend who had been a Navy SEAL about their training on acting in emergencies, about how it is almost always better to do <i>something, </i>to take a next step, and then to keep figuring out where to go from there, rather than wait until you're sure that you're right.)</p><p>There are times to wait. There are times when we are <i>told</i> to wait, and much of life is waiting for one thing or another. But as I think about my friends who are waiting to find out when and if they can go back to China, I am so thankful for the challenge that was placed in my life to <i>not</i> keep waiting on making a decision, to just go. And maybe that's a difference -- when there is a call on our life to some sort of action, waiting is not wise, it's disobedient. </p><p>Maybe that's the point I was getting to with this rambly post. Maybe it's what I need to hear and take to heart right now, because I think the temptation for me is often to see waiting as wisdom -- to be better prepared, to be sure that I'm ready, that I have alternate plans to fall back on if my original one doesn't work out -- but it's a very self-reliant, human kind of "wisdom."</p>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-31236396072383128412020-07-22T20:05:00.001-04:002020-07-22T20:05:37.670-04:00My Case for Classical Education
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<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">A week or two ago, I wrote a statement of interest for Signum University's summit on teaching the humanities, and realized that in order to talk about why I was interested, I needed to start by talking about my education before college. It always feels to me like a gross misrepresentation when job applications only give the option of reporting educational history beginning with college -- the years that came before were incredibly formative and what I did in college felt like a continuation of my previous education, not like the beginning of something new.</span></p><p><font face="georgia">I was talking with my friend Catie (currently getting her MA in Higher Education) about this and she made the point that college really <i>should</i> be a capstone.</font></p><p><font face="georgia">And then I was talking with my mom about it all, and she said that it was encouraging and why didn't I publicly share what I had written, so that others who are deep in educating their kids might also be encouraged by the perspective of a formerly homeschooled student a few (ha!) years out from the experience?</font></p><p><font face="georgia">So here you go.</font></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAHfWkbveS13C0QWWEF2n6CXoZ-1n8BwCtvkH8SrSw9MG3R-Ar7quzSwIaXNszMzhw50EroWQeYnF5iwleO2I_gZ7vz2V1IB-4WJvwkrgitEly9yHr42E-eYgWsX-gSUmok_h4Vg31yA/s2048/francesca-tosolini-rYZkQdz2t9o-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAHfWkbveS13C0QWWEF2n6CXoZ-1n8BwCtvkH8SrSw9MG3R-Ar7quzSwIaXNszMzhw50EroWQeYnF5iwleO2I_gZ7vz2V1IB-4WJvwkrgitEly9yHr42E-eYgWsX-gSUmok_h4Vg31yA/w640-h426/francesca-tosolini-rYZkQdz2t9o-unsplash.jpg" title="photo by Francesa Tosolini, from Unsplash" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Francesca Tosolini, from <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/rYZkQdz2t9o">Unsplash</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p><font face="georgia">"My interest stems first from my own experiences as a student, and then from my
experience as an educator. My education through high school was driven by attention to
the classics, and while I can’t say that I always appreciated or enjoyed having to study
Latin as a young student, I had a sense that I was being given a rich heritage by having
access to and familiarity with primary sources and the voices of authors from across a
wide span of history. I was expected to read their works for myself and to interact with
them, and from doing so, I gained a confidence that I too could have a place in the
conversation which they seemed to be having — that they were, in some sense, my
teachers and mentors, and that my work and life would be a continuation of this
conversation. Literature, history, and theology in particular intertwined to shape me
and I always felt welcomed into the dialogue of the ages. This education laid a path for
me to study Biblical Languages as an undergraduate major, along with an independent
major in Cross-cultural Studies; having developed the habit of getting to think about
issues from a variety of perspectives to inform how I should live, I wanted to be able to
continue that on a global scale.</font></p>
<p><font face="georgia">This feeling of <span style="font-style: italic;">access</span>, of being welcomed into a great conversation that has been
going on for ages and across cultures, of grappling with and hearing others’ perspectives
on what it means to be human and how to live well (from decisions of historic
monument to apparently mundane ethics of everyday life), has been a major motivation
to me in championing the importance of the humanities. If education is only about
training specific skills sets for a job, we lose something of the depth and beauty of what
it means to be human. As educators, I believe we bear a responsibility for helping to
develop that depth in our students.
</font></p>
<p><font face="georgia">I worked as a teacher for four years in two colleges in China; first for one year in
the northeast, and then for three years in the southwest. Although the stated subject of
the courses that I taught was English, I quickly realized that learning English as such
was not the main problem that most of my students were facing — they had a much
greater need to develop their ability to think both creatively and critically. They had to
learn, often, to <span style="font-style: italic;">care </span>— and that it mattered what they cared about, that what was needed
wasn’t simply perfect grammar or standard pronunciation, but their own voices and
ability to effectively communicate their own experiences and views of the world, to
interact with others and negotiate about what they believed to be beautiful and true.
Both inside the classroom and outside, during shared meals and open office hours,
many of my interactions with students were aimed at helping them to see a bigger
picture of the world and to, in the words of Steve Garber, both know the world and love
it. For two years of my time in Sichuan, I served as the Teaching Specialist for English
Language Institute China (ELIC)’s Chengdu-based team of teachers, helping to develop
resources that would be used across the Asian and Middle Eastern countries where ELIC
places teachers. A facet of my role was also meeting with and mentoring teachers, helping them to think through educational and relational issues that they faced in the
classroom. </font></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 2"><div class="section" style="background-color: rgb(100.000000%, 100.000000%, 100.000000%);"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><font face="georgia">All of that background is in order to explain that, although I have not taught
humanities <span style="font-style: italic;">per se</span>, I have considerable experience in helping to think through issues
involved in non-traditional education and in being a part of developing and
implementing solutions. I bring the joy and richness of my own experience as a student
who was always confident that I had a place at the table and a voice worth hearing, along
with familiarity with some of the foundational Western languages (Latin and Koine
Greek) and a good bit of experience engaging in the works of theologians and
philosophers. I have tutored for these subjects, both formally and informally, and made
a practice of integrating their themes in cross-disciplinary and cross-cultural ways."</font></p><p><font face="georgia">Studying the humanities, the classics, offers students the chance to
learn from those who have come before us and to contribute to the flourishing of the
world, as well as their own growth. </font></p></div></div></div></div>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-36262285297063189902020-07-04T15:15:00.001-04:002020-07-04T15:15:58.477-04:00Plans Can't Keep Up With Changes (especially during a pandemic)It's still humbling to recall how, when news of the covid-19 pandemic first broke, I didn't think it was going to be a problem here. Months and thousands of deaths later, with friends who have suffered from sickness and loss, it's obvious that I was incredibly wrong in my assessment of the situation. I couldn't have guessed at how the spring and summer would unfold, at the changes that were written in the next few pages and chapters of my life that I never would have seen coming.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRGsd1H4fQE2-j_xhFOGkTTosG3TA5OqONA4AoxQfyhjj8D_FENAoNvkgQIwUUiG9P8p52yLPLpKNe3lz6wckegYRLX4U-bA1XYPWcfI4EIInHxYh9xYaBTB-k3Z_RC4OO2EVGco3SHk/s5968/IMG_20200325_171400175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1760" data-original-width="5968" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRGsd1H4fQE2-j_xhFOGkTTosG3TA5OqONA4AoxQfyhjj8D_FENAoNvkgQIwUUiG9P8p52yLPLpKNe3lz6wckegYRLX4U-bA1XYPWcfI4EIInHxYh9xYaBTB-k3Z_RC4OO2EVGco3SHk/w625-h185/IMG_20200325_171400175.jpg" width="625" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>hiking at the end of March with housemates</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><br /></div><div>April went by in a blur of confusion and exhaustion and grief as the US scrambled and reeled and states staggered with making decisions about how to cope with an incoming wave of devastation. Pennsylvania's governor instituted a stay-at-home order that was prolonged a couple of times for the county I live in, which brought a twist I had never imagined to Jason's and my season of engagement -- in the same country, even the same county, yet not seeing each other for weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>That hurt.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIovPb75D-qVYp0h4Oq1u6ALw5FJR2l8ICCJZ_dq7cQlq4jRK5tlifuK5cQNuJ4AwRrZ3I5XACmYhssW6tSkDi7bRiKIfKQMEid6ZNnqjkI3iou-zTKolpI_L09-BGcjFr8okjx76iNY/s4096/IMG_20200412_182111339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIovPb75D-qVYp0h4Oq1u6ALw5FJR2l8ICCJZ_dq7cQlq4jRK5tlifuK5cQNuJ4AwRrZ3I5XACmYhssW6tSkDi7bRiKIfKQMEid6ZNnqjkI3iou-zTKolpI_L09-BGcjFr8okjx76iNY/w625-h469/IMG_20200412_182111339.jpg" width="625" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Easter dinner was still an epic feast</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Suddenly, I wasn't seeing my family except for drive-by drop-offs -- wearing masks and waving from a distance. Church was online, and I felt like I was back in China, physically separated from most of the people I love. That hurt too. Information kept pouring in and it felt like life shifted from moment to moment and plans were all shredded and scrambled. There was much that I appreciated about the ways that technology enabled communication and shared activities, like watching <i>Phantom of the Opera </i>with Jason or facetiming with friends or calling my Grandmum, and I have been thankful for some of the stellar memes that people have created. There were good days with the other people who lived in my house as we watched <i>The Princess Bride</i> together or celebrated Easter; there were sweet new routines like getting coffee on Saturday mornings from BFCAT; but overall, the global uncertainty and anxiety of each day made me feel undone, like my cells and soul were coming a little unraveled. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4AiQR4sZPthKHNRi_p4C7-UGQz50YDwd6dVDLsxaBZzA_ljfrNULzQvbkn2Hxbh4clKkKjPRB-iIaGq0y1wNRtYga8g7gc3hIZ1HF1eWTsVf3YqbYUdqCxcB27Emq42Zoi54yktzEjQ/s4096/IMG_20200411_120128176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4AiQR4sZPthKHNRi_p4C7-UGQz50YDwd6dVDLsxaBZzA_ljfrNULzQvbkn2Hxbh4clKkKjPRB-iIaGq0y1wNRtYga8g7gc3hIZ1HF1eWTsVf3YqbYUdqCxcB27Emq42Zoi54yktzEjQ/w625-h469/IMG_20200411_120128176.jpg" width="625" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>BFCAT had Peep lattes for a few weeks</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>And in the midst of it all, Jason and I were trying to figure out our plans for our wedding, originally scheduled for June 20th. Was it better to wait and see? To make a call? To postpone the celebration? When our stay-at-home order was extended towards the end of April, we met up for the first time in a few weeks. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqjMr_AnNwowPZU4mrksRNmA_ZKJZmTxLgevYNX2hvkfmeDVoKtsOozfbou571DNEKct0E7-NBHAOYDftu15SEOmoFlu7dZinUDeaMvjikEe7O8NAImKJ0ylo2XI59J_XKiG_n6FNyk8/s4096/IMG_20200412_142012864_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqjMr_AnNwowPZU4mrksRNmA_ZKJZmTxLgevYNX2hvkfmeDVoKtsOozfbou571DNEKct0E7-NBHAOYDftu15SEOmoFlu7dZinUDeaMvjikEe7O8NAImKJ0ylo2XI59J_XKiG_n6FNyk8/w625-h469/IMG_20200412_142012864_HDR.jpg" width="625" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I was glad to have campus at my disposal when I wanted to get out of the house.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>"Let's run away and get married," I had teased Jason for a couple of years, but that evening he was the one who said, "What if we moved the wedding up?"</div><div><br /></div><div>We could only have ten people there.</div><div><br /></div><div>It meant undoing many of the dreams we had for what the day would look like, where the ceremony would happen, who would be present to celebrate with us. It meant definitely having a housemate for the indefinite future, which wasn't at all my original plan. And yet -- it felt like an obvious decision in many ways, and one that I had no regrets about after saying <i>yes</i>. After the weeks of bad news and life feeling frayed and tattered, it was time to plan for something good.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYMl10Ewyyz5E_IO96ZX_5kT_CqBzrskF02Mvkp5tSxfm2clJUnY6wVoQe1wfTG2xvgsPfF8i0Y9kXrHYW7GR4BRTwZE-axyokhQPxViQ_O46iUfuwbyzDZC15OoRBMGEwqOGIAMcRNk/s4898/SJT16377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="4898" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYMl10Ewyyz5E_IO96ZX_5kT_CqBzrskF02Mvkp5tSxfm2clJUnY6wVoQe1wfTG2xvgsPfF8i0Y9kXrHYW7GR4BRTwZE-axyokhQPxViQ_O46iUfuwbyzDZC15OoRBMGEwqOGIAMcRNk/w625-h416/SJT16377.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And it was a good day. <i>Perfect</i>, my friend Sarah and I said the other day as we reminisced about it, and it really was. It was also bittersweet, mostly because there were so many people who we wanted to get to share the day with and laugh with and dance with and eat with. Perfect because friends and family all over the world joined in by watching the livestream and sending us pictures of themselves and their cookies, and because it was a beautiful, intimate ceremony, and <i>we got married</i>. (Almost two months later, we still look at each other all the time and say, "I can't quite believe we're married!")</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57aaMvQF121frnB75ZSQ_V03De1LjxqrVjZ3I3nff3nylsouJ9tSn5XmjcRti_X92Tdbfjv73PBSsdVx06_xKlIRLqYi1zbuwO6pdEyC1hsZZ9cLpK7O3bDund6nfaK09m-ob2a1kbY0/s4898/SJT16309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3266" data-original-width="4898" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57aaMvQF121frnB75ZSQ_V03De1LjxqrVjZ3I3nff3nylsouJ9tSn5XmjcRti_X92Tdbfjv73PBSsdVx06_xKlIRLqYi1zbuwO6pdEyC1hsZZ9cLpK7O3bDund6nfaK09m-ob2a1kbY0/w625-h416/SJT16309.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We're not past the pandemic yet (despite what feels like a widespread tendency among Americans to decide that it must be over since we're not enjoying it) and one thing I'm enjoying is cultivating a playlist on Spotify (creatively titled covid-19.) It's a messy hodgepodge of songs that have connected to different pieces of life during this season, so that I'm a little less likely to just forget the highs and the lows later on. So far, here's how that playlist looks. I'm curious to see what else will get added to it in the coming weeks and months.</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i>Hurricane </i>by Tommee Profitt</li><li><i>Rewrite the Stars</i> from <i>The Greatest Showman</i></li><li><i>In the End (Mellen Gi Remix)</i> by Tommee Profitt</li><li><i>The Blessing - Live </i>by Kari Jobe & Cody Carnes</li><li><i>Hallelujah </i>by Boyhood Bravery</li><li><i>Rejoice & Lament</i> by Josh Garrels</li><li><i>Towards the Sun</i> from <i>Home</i></li><li><i>We Will Survive</i> by Andrew Peterson</li><li><i>House Party</i> by Sam Hunt</li><li><i>Yellow Submarine</i> by The Beatles</li><li><i>Surround Me </i>by Léon</li><li><i>I Will Wait for You (Psalm 130)</i> by Shane & Shane</li><li><i>Feel Alive</i> by Katie Herzig</li><li><i>Yet, a Little While</i> by Jonathan Gabriel Masters</li><li><i>Burn the Ships</i> by For King & Country</li><li><i>Think of Me </i>from Phantom of the Opera</li><li><i>Faint of Heart</i> by The Strike</li><li><i>I'm in a Hurry (And Don't Know Why)</i> by Alabama</li><li><i>Practice Life (with Martina McBride)</i> by Andy Griggs</li><li><i>Into the Unknown</i> from <i>Frozen 2</i></li><li><i>He Rescued Me </i>from Sight & Sound's <i>Jesus</i></li><li><i>Let's Get Married</i> by The Gray Havens</li><li><i>My Shot</i> from <i>Hamilton</i></li><li><i>A White Man's Lament for the Death of God's Beloved</i> by Andrew Peterson (not on Spotify yet, but can be heard <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9ekUUrCyZU">here</a>.)</li></ul></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyPAn2eX-cZJzIaEPn8s15H6RCBXFxgQ4mHsCLuKq6frAh4TQaShOEvRORIJt5HAbTXWPQNxjE9Xrq5J12DTF0YX2MSuEU9X9y4oRATu5FUF0-gp3GpgvL_G6qNhptv0hzOADOzL01rBk/s960/106455905_10100238422552602_5023259388115585931_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyPAn2eX-cZJzIaEPn8s15H6RCBXFxgQ4mHsCLuKq6frAh4TQaShOEvRORIJt5HAbTXWPQNxjE9Xrq5J12DTF0YX2MSuEU9X9y4oRATu5FUF0-gp3GpgvL_G6qNhptv0hzOADOzL01rBk/w625-h469/106455905_10100238422552602_5023259388115585931_n.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-54216498376744844982020-07-04T14:00:00.001-04:002020-07-04T14:00:14.004-04:00Church in a PandemicSome moments feel like not only ordinary moments, but bear a weight of being <i>a moment in history</i>. Times that I want to remember in years to come, to look back and recall <i>we were together</i> and <i>what a time that was.</i><br />
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Thursday evening a group of us tugged and lifted and hauled all of the furniture and accoutrements of the sanctuary back towards the spaces where they belong. And we followed a seating map for how to group chairs, measuring the distance in between (and being thankful for once that humans are such creatures of habit that we mostly sit in the same spot week after week anyway.)<br />
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I've been back in the US for a year and a lot of my life has flowed through that building -- Sunday mornings, confirmation classes on Tuesday afternoons, and most recently, my wedding. It felt good to be back in it, to look around and think, <i>These are the people who I get to figure out how to do church during a pandemic with. </i><br />
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Although we wouldn't have chosen a pandemic, there is something sweet in getting to do it with people I love, in a place I love, in sorting out the scramble of chairs together and learning how to be a community that worships God together in the midst of a pandemic.<br />
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(While we're beginning to meet again in the sanctuary for Sunday worship, we're also planning to livestream our service; you're welcome to join! Just click <a href="https://cotsambridge.online.church/?fbclid=IwAR0N1n5KfXYOpwk4xmg34nuBuLef66tyGfob_xZ0BPrGi2bOayIFN1IB9Lo" target="_blank"><b>here</b></a> and set up a profile and you'll be all set.)<br />
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<br />Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-28524325933723889112020-03-27T20:38:00.000-04:002020-03-27T20:38:36.626-04:00Culture Shock and COVID-19After the months of watching COVID-19 roll west from China, like waves coming in that seem far away until suddenly they're knocking you over and pulling you under, it felt like life in the US changed overnight. Many of us have been groping for the words to use to describe what we're living through. Worldwide trauma, waking up in a dystopian movie, so weird, unfathomable. We try out different comparisons: is it like the influenza pandemic of 1918? like 9-11? like fighting in the US war with Vietnam? Each person, it seems, has their own story of when the crisis became real to them -- stories that I expect we'll be processing and listening to and talking about for years to come.<br />
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More and more, the unfolding of this pandemic reminds me of my experiences living in China, only this time, it's like the entire world just got slammed down into a foreign country -- one that none of us chose to be in, one that we don't have a return ticket from (yet), one where some things are disarmingly similar and others are dizzyingly different. I haven't lived through a pandemic like this before, but I've done the moving-around-the-world thing a few times, and helped other people who are doing it, so here are a few thoughts that might help in this season.<br />
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<ul>
<li><b>It's okay (normal, even) to be exhausted.</b> When everything around you is disrupted and your normal routines of how to do things, how your schedule works, how you get food and get places and interact with people changes all at once, it's a lot. It's okay to need more sleep, or to still be tired even though you're getting more than normal. You're not broken; your mind is having to learn new rhythms and routines to replace patterns that were so automatic they required no conscious thought from you. Get some sleep, be kind to yourself. You don't need to power through everything. </li>
<li><b>You have legitimate reason to be stressed.</b> Also, so does everyone else who's doing this transition (which, in this case, means <i>everyone</i>.) Be kind to yourself. And everyone else. No one wanted to be here, no one actually knows how to do this well, no one has the amount of agency they're used to having. It's scary and hard. Also, think about what being kind to your future self looks like -- sometimes it means eating pasta and watching a movie; sometimes it means being diligent about getting exercise and eating a salad.</li>
<li><b>"Normal" is going to look different. </b> Getting everything back to the way it was is impossible, futile, and not even necessarily desirable. Clearly, "normal" is different for the next few weeks or months, as much of the economy is shut down and much of the country is practicing being good neighbors by staying at home. But even after that's done -- if we develop a vaccination for this and it becomes a fairly routine seasonal annoyance for most people, like the flu -- "normal" isn't going to be the same. People change, the way life works changes, you change. That's okay.</li>
<li><b>You'll have all the emotions.</b> And then none. And then opposite ones. Ride the waves: process some (write, talk to a friend, go on a walk) and keep living; the story goes on.</li>
<li><b>It's okay to grieve.</b> We're missing familiarity, missing friends and family, missing the things that we were able to take for granted a couple weeks ago. The losses are real.</li>
<li><b>It's okay to enjoy where you are.</b> For a lot of people, life has slowed down, and maybe you're finding more time to do yoga or write letters or talk on the phone with friends. My first team from China and I did a group video chat the other night -- something that we've never done before in the almost seven years since we lived and worked together. You know what? It was really good. It's okay to rejoice in the explosion of art and creativity and ways to build community that have been flourishing online.</li>
<li><b>It's okay to try a lot of different things and realize that some work and some don't.</b> There has been a proliferation of resources that my friends have been sharing. Humans are different and cope and adjust differently -- experiment, share what's helpful and hopeful to you, and be gracious if your friends aren't as crazy about it. Keep sharing and listening to what they're doing. </li>
<li><b>It's okay to feel like this isn't normal.</b> It's not. God is still good and kind, and there is still a lot of good in life, but none of us wanted this. It's okay that it's hard.</li>
<li><b>You're loved.</b> Although humans are built for connection and social distancing is really<i>, really</i> hard on most of us, find ways to remind yourself in the midst of loneliness that you are loved by other people and always, forever by our Father.</li>
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What's helping you process and go on living as we are in this new season? What are you grieving? What are you finding joy in? <br />
<br />Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-30722633185465254932020-03-23T16:34:00.001-04:002020-03-23T16:35:41.968-04:00When the Way is BlockedYesterday afternoon I went on a walk and after a short distance, saw this ahead of me.<br />
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<i>Well, that's how life feels</i>, I thought.<br />
<br />
If you don't know me, this is not how I work. I don't slow down for speed bumps (sorry, Dad, about what that does to the car) literally or metaphorically (sorry, Susan, for always making fun of you for doing the same thing.)<br />
<br />
But there I was, with a tree down across the path, and then a chainlink fence right after that. Okay, I guess that's the end.<br />
<br />
I can't say it had been a particularly happy walk up to that point. I was on the verge of tears, trying to wrap my head around how much the world has changed in the past week. I'm grieving the loss of normalcy, of good rhythms and structures. And I'm grieving the very real possibility that Jason and my wedding in June may not look anything like what we had planned.<br />
<br />
It's not as if I think that our marriage is going to be seriously harmed or that the world will fall apart if that day isn't perfect. Yet it is sad to consider plans that we've crafted to make a beautiful celebration being scrapped (or postponed...indefinitely...)<br />
<br />
And thinking about our wedding feels like a microcosm, a focus, of all of the loss and grief going on in the world right now, as millions of people change their plans and suffer in unforeseen ways (due to COVID-19 and many other reasons.) This is where my pain is right now in this season. I'm a finite being, in a particular time and place, and I'm having to learn how to accept that while my grief is not the grief of the whole world, it is real.<br />
<br />
Sometimes the path you hoped would lead to a better view is blocked instead. It's not the end of the story, but it is how some chapters end, and we (the characters in the story, with our own desires and motives and quirks) don't get to know why immediately. Or maybe ever.<br />
<br />
So we grieve.<br />
<br />
A few years ago, Erica shared a study with our women's group about Isaiah 50:10-11.<br />
<br />
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Who among you fears the Lord<br />and listens to his servant?<br />Who among you walks in darkness,<br />and has no light?<br />Let him trust in the name of the Lord;<br />let him lean on his God.<br />Look, all you who kindle a fire,<br />who encircle yourselves with torches;<br />walk in the light of your fire<br />and of the torches you have lit!<br />This is what you'll get from my hand:<br />you will lie down in a place of torment.</blockquote>
<br />
They're not comforting words at first glance. My instinct is to try to light up the darkness, to see the bright side. There's a time for that. But there is also a time to admit that it is dark <i>and</i> to trust in the Lord.<br />
<br />
I'll probably be writing again soon about some of the hope and beauty that I've been seeing, some good tools that I'm finding to process and live in this crazy time. But for now, it's okay if the way is blocked. Come back to the picture I shared above, I loved that there was a bench right before the end of the path. Sometimes, we sit and wait in the dark, before the obstacles that we aren't able to move, and wait to see what God does. That's okay; it's appropriate to being human.<br />
<br />
And we're allowed to grieve.<br />
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<br />Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-53578679166893913542020-03-19T10:53:00.001-04:002020-03-19T11:02:13.768-04:00COVID-19: Grief and Hope(I'm not a medical expert and I'm not writing with any claim to extraordinary perspective on the unfolding situation; I'm guessing that in a few months -- or weeks -- I'll look back and wonder what I was thinking. But writing is how I process, and I'd rather be able to look back at some of the process later on than rewrite my thoughts to sound wiser than I actually am.)<br />
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<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Grief</i></b><br />
<br />
When the news of COVID-19 first hit, an epidemic in China, I was concerned for my friends and former students and colleagues in China (and the ones who were just leaving China for a conference in Thailand.) I was <i>not</i> particularly concerned about it hitting the US; there has been plenty of panic in my lifetime over possible terrible pandemics that either didn't turn out to be nearly as bad as the hype or didn't end up coming anywhere near where I lived. A few students messaged me about being stuck at home and bored; friends shared updates as they scrambled to figure out plans, knowing that they couldn't go back to their schools in China for the time being.<br />
<br />
A week ago, I was still planning to go out to Bloomington for a week, to hang out with some of my people there while IU was on spring break. (It was a pretty glorious plan.) Thursday evening, Jason and I started talking more seriously about if that was still a good idea as news of more and more diagnosed cases of COVID-19 popped up across the US. I did a good bit of crying and a lot of praying and not much sleeping that night, grieving the losses that came on either side of the decision. By morning it seemed pretty clear (although I wasn't anything close to happy about it...) that it was a wiser and more loving decision to stay in PA.<br />
<br />
(Looking back, that was a solid decision, and I am extremely thankful to Jason for making me consider it more seriously and to Mike and Susan for being incredibly gracious and supportive about the change in plans.)<br />
<br />
Life is crazy full of unknowns right now. My work is still open (hurray for gas stations!) but no one really knows from day to day what's going to change. Our plans for a June wedding now have enormous question marks hovering over them. (A pandemic, let me tell you, wasn't on any of the lists of concerns it occurred to me to take into consideration.) I feel like I fell asleep about a week ago in my own world and woke up in a dystopian movie where no one really knows what's going on, or like all of us have suddenly been transported to a foreign country and are trying to learn the new social rules.<br />
<br />
My grief, at this point, is more over the loss of normal routine and life than over sickness. Yesterday I was thinking about the prayer <i>For the Death of a Dream</i> from <i><a href="https://store.rabbitroom.com/collections/rabbit-room-press/products/every-moment-holy?variant=45501189838" target="_blank">Every Moment Holy</a></i>.<br />
<br />
<b><i>O Christ, in whom the final fulfillment </i></b><br />
<b><i>of all hope is held secure...</i></b><br />
<b><i>what I so wanted</i></b><br />
<b><i>has not come to pass...</i></b><br />
<b><i>and in my head I know that you are sovereign even over this --</i></b><br />
<b><i>over my tears, my confusion, and my disappointment.</i></b><br />
<b><i>But I still feel,</i></b><br />
<b><i>in this moment, </i></b><br />
<b><i>as if I have been abandoned,</i></b><br />
<b><i>as if you do not care that these hopes </i></b><br />
<b><i>have collapsed to rubble.</i></b><br />
<b><i>And yet I know this is not so...</i></b><br />
<b><i>You are the King of my collapse.</i></b><br />
<b><i>You answer not what I demand,</i></b><br />
<b><i>but what I do not even know to ask...</i></b><br />
<b><i>Not my dreams, O Lord,</i></b><br />
<b><i>not my dreams,</i></b><br />
<b><i>but yours, be done.</i></b><br />
<b><i>Amen.</i></b><br />
<br />
There will, I assume, be other causes for grief later. But those aren't my problem yet.<br />
<br />
<b>Hope</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
There are a lot of things that are fascinating to me, and that I am extremely curious to see how they play out. Is this going to actually force us to revamp our lifestyles to be more in conformity with what we know would be healthier and happier -- a little slower, a little less consumerism, a little more intentional? Is this going to push globalization into a new era, where we're more thoughtful about what should be done virtually and what should be done locally? I'm so very intrigued.<br />
<br />
I love seeing how widespread responses of kindness and creativity. All over, people are offering up their skills and resources to help others. (Two of my favorites: <a href="https://rabbitroom.com/2020/03/a-rabbit-room-digital-care-package/" target="_blank">A Digital Care Package</a> from the Rabbit Room and <a href="https://www.downdogapp.com/" target="_blank">the Down Dog Yoga App</a>, which is free to use for the next couple of weeks.) My facebook feed is full of musicians streaming their music and churches streaming services; I keep catching pieces of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/thegospeltab/?ref=br_rs" target="_blank">The Gospel Tabernacle</a>'s daily prayers and feeling my heart settle down. It's a good and beautiful thing to see the interfacing of different traditions of Christianity coming together to figure out how to be the church when we're trying to practice social distancing to love our neighbors. What is this going to mean for world Christianity in a year, in a decade? I don't know, but I'm guessing that God is working in ways that we haven't imagined and wouldn't have gotten to any time in our own plans.<br />
<br />
For my own life, I'm thankful for the routine of still having work. I'm tackling some projects that I wanted to get done (postcards from China that have been sitting on my desk for a while, updates to my church's website.) I might become more faithful about listening to podcasts (maybe), because as much as I love reading, eventually my eyes feel like they're going to fall out. Last year, a lot of my thoughts about this year of transitioning back to the US were that life should be simpler, slower, and smaller. I didn't anticipate it happening this way, but I think there's space for a lot of good to grow.<br />
<br />
I'm grateful for the abundant memes, for the humor that is encouraging in dark and uncertain situations. I'm grateful for the friends who remind me of Martin Luther's words in the time of plague outbreak, of how Julian of Norwich and William Shakespeare and so many others wrote works of truth and beauty and creativity in the midst of disaster and death. I've been flooded with messages from former students and some of my Chinese colleagues asking how we're doing in America, how my family is, if I'm taking proper precautions. A pandemic isn't what I would have chosen as a catalyst for continuing relationships, but it's what we've been given, and I am so very thankful for the technology that allows us to stay in touch.<br />
<br />
<i>Spacious</i> has been a word coming to mind over and over the past few weeks for different reasons, and although my first reaction to the idea of social distancing and quarantining and all isn't "wow, how spacious," it does feel like a unique opportunity to breathe and refocus, to reexamine our lives and rebuild as if everything had burnt down. That might be, as Sheldon Vanauken termed it, a severe mercy.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Lord, You are my portion</i></b><br />
<b><i>and my cup of blessing;</i></b><br />
<b><i>You hold my future.</i></b><br />
<b><i>The boundary lines have fallen for me</i></b><br />
<b><i>in pleasant places;</i></b><br />
<b><i>indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.</i></b><br />
<i>(Psalm 16:5-6)</i><br />
<br />
<br />Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-2729425661999388132020-03-11T21:12:00.001-04:002020-03-11T21:12:28.822-04:00Lent 2020A week or two ago, I posted on social media:<br />
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<i>"Out of the depths I cry to You/<br />In darkest places I will call/<br />Incline Your ear to me anew/<br />And hear my cry for mercy, Lord.../<br />I will wait for You, I will wait for You/<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />On Your Word I will rely/<br />I will wait for You, surely wait for You/<br />Till my soul is satisfied." {Shane & Shane}</span></i></div>
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This time of year is, weirdly frequently, one where there seems to be incredible amounts of chaos and devastation going on in the lives of people I love. Whether it's cancer, depression, anxiety, suicide, break ups, or other drama, it usually feels like there's this desperate attempt of darkness to achieve a strangle hold as winter dies and we look forward to celebrating Christ's resurrection.</div>
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I've appreciated the words of other Christians -- psalmists, songwriters, story tellers, prayer warriors -- who give voice to the depths of the darkness we experience and the sure hope of the light to come. And today, I'm thankful for sunshine and spring-like temperatures, for walks around the neighborhood, and for quiet and space.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I sat outside on the porch one day, stacking rocks as the thoughts and feelings in my heart swirled around like a storm.</i></td></tr>
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This season of Lent is different than other years have been, because this year I'm engaged. I feel the tension of already-but-not-yet, of preparation, more acutely and tangibly and personally than I have at most other times in my life.<br />
<br />
Ever since Tyler introduced it to me, Nathan Partain's song <i><a href="https://nathanpartain.bandcamp.com/track/a-lovely-wait" target="_blank"><b>A Lovely Wait</b></a></i> has been right at the top of my list for favorite Lent songs and, y'all, I am feeling it in new and deeper ways than ever this time around. Simply the line "it's a lovely wait to be with You" captures the in-between feelings that I have in this season of preparation -- impatiently eager for the waiting to be over, for it to be time to celebrate, yet also savoring the ache of anticipation of a very good thing. <br />
<br />
<i><a href="https://jonathangabrielmasters.bandcamp.com/track/yet-a-little-while" target="_blank"><b>Yet a Little While</b></a></i> by Jonathan Gabriel Masters is also perfect, and I'm just going to leave it here without further comment right now.<br />
<br />
The start of this year has held a lot of good things -- laughter, friends, chances to celebrate and rejoice in the generosity and kindness of God -- and also a lot of devastatingly hard things: death, sickness, uncertainty, the brokenness of the world crowding in from every angle. Day by day, I'm reminded of my own insufficiency, and day by day, I'm reminded of God's complete sufficiency to meet all my needs. The whole concept of manna being something that was provided along with the actual need for it makes me squirm -- I like stockpiling and having a sense of security, but it is good for my soul to have to depend on God <i>always</i> and not get far in the feeling that I have everything under control of my own accord. <br />
<br />
Being engaged is also helping me think about the relationship of the church and Christ as we wait for His return, for the wedding feast. There are so many things to do (some of them not my favorite) in preparation... but even those are an opportunity for deep joy because they have a purpose and are done in hope. Whether it's collecting addresses or negotiating details, making time to spend with God when a thousand other things clamor for my attention or choosing to love people who I'd rather be snarky with, it's helpful to know that these small things are preparation for a <i>great</i> thing.<br />
<br />
Anyway... this isn't my most polished piece of writing ever, but something is better than nothing, so that I don't forget what's been going on. I hope that in this season of Lent (and spring coming, and the coronavirus craziness, and all of the pieces of your own life) that you too are having moments of coming closer to God and knowing how greatly He loves you. Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-45223096453602201062020-01-08T16:54:00.002-05:002020-01-08T16:54:31.113-05:00Learning about LoveI had a realization this weekend, which seemed blindingly obvious once I got there, but it took a while. While I believe that God loves me, I don't really trust Him to <i>keep</i> loving me. I hope that He will. I know, intellectually, that He will. But on a practical, gut-level, I don't fully <i>trust</i> it. I want a backup plan. <br />
<br />
That doubt spills over into a lot of other areas of my life -- if I don't trust God to love me unconditionally and always, how would I trust other people to love me when I don't feel like I'm earning it?<br />
<br />
Dave, by the grace of God, ended up preaching a sermon on Sunday that spoke to the exact things that I was thinking about, and reminded us that the gift of the Holy Spirit is an ongoing evidence of God's faithful love to us. <br />
<br />
I am also reminded of God's faithful love, that He knows <i>me</i> and loves <i>me</i>, by small signs in my every day life. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...for example, finding a bubble tea shop the very day after I told Jason how much I wanted some...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So with all of those thoughts drifting around in my mind, I read Mark 6:30-52 today, and noticed something that I've never paid attention to before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>He said to them, "Come away by yourselves to a remote place and rest for a while." For many people were coming and going, and they did not even have time to eat.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But then as they go to "get away," more people show up and Jesus ends up teaching. Again. I would be frustrated and confused -- didn't He just say we needed rest? Wasn't He worried about us not eating?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And then I'd feel guilty for not wanting to "do ministry" -- isn't that what we're supposed to be doing? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I'd be frustrated all over again when Jesus responded to my hint that maybe it was time to send them off by telling us to give them something to eat. I don't even have time to eat myself, remember? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And then.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And then He makes enough food to feed thousands of people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The rest He provides often doesn't look like what I expect it to be. His love often doesn't look like what I think it should, and I panic and try to merit it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But then God does something absurdly generous, so out of my imagining that I am shaken out of my doubt and left in wonder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This year, I'm praying for eyes to see the evidence of His steadfast love and a heart that grows in trusting Him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>I believe, Lord, help my unbelief!</i></b></span></div>
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Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4539847711352971949.post-29155523196792214342019-12-09T20:36:00.001-05:002019-12-09T20:37:29.083-05:00Advent: Rejoice & LamentAdvent is one of those liminal seasons, an in-between time of looking back at the incarnation of Christ and looking forward to His second coming, a time of joy at the multitude of ways we <i>already </i>experience God's goodness and the pervasive, deep brokenness that reminds us that all things are <i>not yet</i> made right.<br />
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It feels appropriate this year.<br />
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I mean, I don't actually know when the last time was that I didn't feel like my life was undergoing some kind of major transition, because such is the nature of life. So maybe it feels appropriate every year.<br />
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But this year, I'm rejoicing that I'm back in the US and don't need pages of details about logistics of winter travels. I'm missing the sunshine of Thailand and the company of my Wheaton cohort. I'm rejoicing in having opportunity to continue teaching at the Village Church, and I'm missing my students from Chuan Wai. I'm loving watching the VC kids grow in their friendships with each other and their understanding of God, and I'm grieving for the harsh reality that they live in and get hurt by.<br />
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I'm celebrating the church community that has welcomed me with such open hearts and arms (and houses, and refrigerators...) and looking forward to confirmation, and I am hard-core grieving the thought of no longer being Presbyterian, feeling like one of the last links to the world I grew up in is about to be decisively severed.<br />
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I'm rejoicing at the news that God has made a way for these dear friends to be moving to Pittsburgh next year -- what a glorious answer to some of our prayers! -- and missing so many others who are scattered all over the world.<br />
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I'm marveling at the joy that it is -- what, fifteen years later? -- to still be receiving letters from my long-time friend Madeline, to see her familiar handwriting on an envelope. I am grieving with friends who have been bruised by broken hopes and some of the ways that love in a fallen world goes so, so wrong. I'm shivering in the cold and complaining about the short days and joyfully singing <i>Adeste Fidelis</i> and reveling in the fact that I got to attend the Genevans' Christmas concert this year. And on and on it goes. You could make your own list, I'm sure.<br />
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So there it is. Advent 2019.<br />
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In the words of Josh Garrels,<br />
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<b><i>Learn this lesson well, my friend</i></b><br />
<b><i>There's a time to rejoice and lament</i></b><br />
<b><i>Every season will find its end</i></b><br />
<b><i>All will fade and be made new again.</i></b><br />
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Today Catie and I were discussing the famous words of Julian of Norwich and how perfectly they encapsulate our experience:<br />
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<b><i>All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.</i></b><br />
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All is not yet well, but it will be.<br />
<br />Anya Beccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234760629286559941noreply@blogger.com0