Here's To Writing Again

I posted a picture on Instagram the other day of a blank screen, my journal, and my London Fog, ready to write for the first time in almost 2 years. The words refused to come. I typed a sentence and then quickly deleted it all. The sentences I left on the page didn't make much sense and the ideas did not flow at all. I couldn't get anything going and really wasn't sure why. I love words. I love to write. I love to process (some of you are laughing because you have been the recipient of a book in the form of a text message.) Words are how I try to make sense of it all. But they weren't coming.

I decided to go back to old posts to read the words of my last posts. There were three unpublished- one rambling from 2 days before Thanksgiving this past November, one title but zero words in the body, and the start of a few sentences that literally just cut off and stopped. As I reread them all, I had zero recollection of where I was trying to go or what had prompted the topic that appeared to be among my few scattered thoughts.

February 11, 2018 marked the date of my last published entry. The title? "Never Done." Which honestly brought a good laugh from me because clearly my writing had been "done" for a while. Still, I struggled to remember why the words stopped, why I quit writing in the first place. Why did the words stop? Why had I abandoned the few that were started right after that published piece? Had I just gotten busy and moved on to other things? Was I sharing words somewhere else? People close to me have encouraged me to write multiple times over the last couple of years, and I just flat out wouldn't but really didn't know why (my stubbornness is special).

And, then I remembered. I made a choice. An active choice to silence my blog, to silence my words all because of a stronghold in my life I could not release. The tears immediately started flowing, right in the middle of Starbucks.

I thought back to the sermon I heard that afternoon. (Side note- I tried a new church this week. There's more to that story that I want to share- long story short, church being the most segregated hour of my week felt wrong and I couldn't ever settle that- I didn't want to. So, I tried a new church and it was a beautiful representation of why I love Houston so much.)

The pastor is in a series titled From Now On. Yesterday's message was centered around finding rest, true rest in God. His last point hit hard (in a painful, I needed to hear that from more than the people that have been trying to tell me all along, good kind of way.) From now on, I will forgive. And then he proceeded to say, "if I let them, I will allow what someone else has done to keep me from what God wants."

And, then it came barreling in even stronger: my bitterness, my inability to release pain and to forgive myself and someone else, had lead me to this place of silence. Needless to say, the tears didn't stop. I did what the guy next to me was probably secretly hoping I would do once the tears came- I went home to process and pray and write in my journal and confess it and search out what was going on.

In the words that flowed and the things God brought to mind, I realized that silencing my blog was just the first choice made. That eventually lead to silencing other ways I was sharing. My reading stopped. My journaling stopped. My posts on Instagram and Facebook of what I was learning and leaning into stopped. I found that I had gone silent, not sharing anything real with anyone, not even those closest to me. I deleted my post because with all of the processing came the shame of knowing I was the reason words weren't coming and I wasn't sure when I would actually be able to write.

Here is what I know I want: I want to walk in forgiveness. I want to walk in healing. I want to walk in freedom to be who God has created me to be- and it wasn't to be quiet, to be silenced, or to walk in bondage to my own unforgiveness.

So, after a morning retreat in my chair and some encouragement from a dear friend, Cindy, who constantly points me to Christ, healing, and growth, I am back at Starbucks with my journal, my computer, and a London Fog. Of course, I had to go to a different Starbucks because I am literally wearing the same sweatshirt I had on yesterday.

This time, the words have come and I have a list going of more things I want to share- songs that are just touching my soul right now, podcasts that have spurred me on to keep asking questions and dig deep, what I have been unlearning and relearning about our nation's history, my faith, education, justice work... basically, all the things I have stuffed inside for 2 years.

Here's to writing... again.

(And to updating the About Me section because obviously I am no longer 36.)

Never Done

I like to think of myself as a "gifted starter" as opposed to "ungifted finisher"- you know, one that starts a lot of things and finishes a few. Growing up, it was sport after after sport, never hanging around long enough to develop my skills well. In high school, a kickboxing class lured me in- this was going to make me super fit and stronger than I could imagine. Um, maybe with pure torture. You would have quit, too.

Walking around my apartment, the evidence of my constant starting remains- stacks of books never finished, Bible studies with the last week or two incomplete, and journals with enough empty pages to keep me writing for a while. The weight watchers app with consistency across six weeks and then months of nothing. Whether it's a new book, journal, Bible reading plan, list, goal, or a fresh start in eating healthy on a Monday, you name it, I am probably starting something new related to it.

Don't get me wrong, I start out strong, never setting out on the new journey with a goal of stopping short of the finish line. Giving myself pep talks, mapping out a plan, and buying all the supplies needed (sewing lasted one week and cost more money than I would like to admit), I launch into it. But somewhere along the way, I lose steam and that new thing becomes old, falling to the wayside.

After listening to Jon Acuff talk with Annie Downs on her That Sounds Fun Podcast about the reasons people get started but rarely meet their goals, I decided to listen to his book Finish: Give Yourself the Gift of Done. He spoke of our need for perfection or nothing at all,  the attempt to accomplish something big AND keep up with everything else in life, unreasonable time tables, choosing goals that we don't even enjoy (I briefly contemplated running), and unspoken lies we believe related to our goal. Each struck a chord as I thought back on reasons I not only didn't finish a goal, but often find myself making an escape in the opposite direction.

As I listened, I thought about God's work in my life, in my heart, in the depths of who I am and what I believe. So many times, I crash into the pit of failure and imperfection, sure that God won't even want to welcome me back and redeem this mess, me, again. Chapters of choosing someone or something else over following what God has placed on my heart fill my story. Moments of being easily distracted by whatever it is in front of me that might quench the desires of my heart, even if only for a short time, have drawn me away from Him time and time again.

This past week a friend asked how I got here, to this place I find myself now. I recounted the days of being an unsure, insecure pre-teen desperately seeking the attention of others to a rebellious teenager using alcohol to numb and escape the pain I felt daily to a relationship and engagement to someone I knew deep down I never wanted to marry or even be with, but said yes because surely that was all life had to offer. I told of the Lord chasing me so hard and placing people along my path that pointed me to Him without me even realizing it to a point of breaking off the engagement, walking away from the life I knew, and surrendering to Jesus at the age of 21.

I would love to say my journey of following Jesus is one that tells of quickly realizing I am off the path He has for me and immediately turning back to Him, but it doesn't. More times than I wish were true, it has taken falling flat of my face in a mud pit to get my attention. And too many times, thanks to the fear of having to admit my failure, I hide in the mud hoping it will just eventually go away. Once I finally have the courage to admit my own weaknesses and sin, I find myself wondering how or why God would even want to welcome me back into His arms and use this sloppy story for Him. And at times I find myself holding tightly onto the lie that there is no way this pain, this sin, or this chapter in my life, can be redeemed.

But He has and continues to do so. My narrative is one that tells of me constantly having to fall back into His arms of forgiveness and grace. It is one that tells of His healing and redemption, using mess after mess for His glory.

I am so thankful that God doesn't, and never will, approach me like one of His goals along the way. Scripture does not reveal a story of God moving on from one person to the next when they don't reach perfection. It isn't a story of His dreams and goals for someone being too big or hard to accomplish that He eventually has to lower His expectations for the people to reach them. The pages of His story are filled with God constantly calling His people back to Him, offering forgiveness, healing, and restoration. God's story is one of using ordinary, imperfect people to accomplish His good works.

Friend, if my messes along the way are not too messy for Him, then neither are yours. All He wants is for us to come back to Him with open and honest hearts, willing to say YES to His plan for us. We aren't just another item on the list waiting to be crossed off when He is done. We are His children and He desires to continue to perfect the good work He is doing in us (Philippians 1:6). Tauren Wells, "God's Not Done with You" is on repeat this morning and I am thankful that no matter what junk our story holds, no matter how done we feel, God's never done with you or with me.

In the Quiet of the Valleys

Not too long ago I was that person that occasionally- or more like, multiple times a week- overslept and frantically scrambled to get ready in time for work. I found myself relying on my mother to text or call daily to make sure I was awake. I realize this should be embarrassing at the age of 36. Surely I could figure out how to get my own rear out of bed and moving daily? In my defense, there's no one in my room or apartment getting annoyed with my alarm and jolting me awake with a pillow to the face. So, a call from my mom it was to make sure her grown daughter was getting started with the day.

If you read my last post, Single, Yet Again, For the Holidays then you know the Thanksgiving/ Christmas season was a bit rough at points. Coming home, I knew there were things I had to put in place for me, for my health, for my soul. One of those things involved my mornings. Here is what I know about myself: I cherish mornings. Slow mornings. Mornings with unrushed coffee drinking, listening to whatever album is speaking to my heart at the moment, time with Jesus- reading, journaling, listening, and praying. You can imagine how little that was happening if my mother (Mom, you are the best) was my alarm clock after I should have already been up for 30 minutes. It wasn't. And my soul felt it. And I am sure everyone around me felt it, too.

I heard recently the truth is in the quiet. If I am honest with you and with myself, I don't like the quiet, the time to be still with my thoughts. And my natural tendency is to avoid what might be hard. I sleep late so there won't be time in the morning to open God's word. I go here and there so that when I get home I am too tired to face the silence. I scroll Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I crush candy and wait for more lives when I've used them all. I fill my days with things to do so that I don't have to sit, so that I don't have to face the feelings of hurt and pain and confusion and disappointment.

But, in God's graciousness, I finally hit a point where I didn't want to hide (for now at least). Really I hit a point where facing the truth was my only option. Face the fears. Face the hurts. Face the depths of my emotions. Or just keep on going the way I have been going, ignoring and bottling it up nice and tight. I finally realized I can't keep running from the pain and it's exhausting. I also know that in the pain, there is beauty. During our hardest seasons in life, there is learning and growth. And there is no way I want to miss out on restoration and redemption because I am too scared to simply sit and be honest with myself and with the Lord.

So, my alarm got a reset. I would be lying if I said those first couple of days didn't hurt a little. But now? Now, my mornings are sacred. My mornings are a must. Not in the I have to check this off my list way but in the my soul craves and desperately needs that time kind of way. My time in the morning is when I am able to be still enough to learn and listen and cry out to God in a way that just doesn't happen for me at any other time in the day.

Monday morning was much like my mornings have been lately. Coffee in hand. Music quietly playing. Bible open to 1 Kings thanks to an incredible plan on the First 5 app. I sank into my chair, draped my blanket across my lap, clicked on the daily reading and then there was this truth:

God is good.
God is good to me.
God is good at being God.

I would love to say my first thought was, Amen. But, immediately I felt God asking if I really believed these statements, beyond simply letting the words roll off my tongue. Really? Because that is not the truth I wanted to be smacked with before I even took a sip of my coffee.

My word for 2018 is trust. Trust me when I say I tried to run from this one faster than you've seen me run... ever. "Trusting" God when all is going my way is easy. Trusting God in the midst of things not going the way I wanted or saw it in my mind or told him it should go, that's a totally different story. I know and have always known this is my struggle. If I truly trusted God, then why haven't I been honest in my prayers? Why do I feel the need to just not pray about certain things? Why can't I say what He already knows? Why? Because I am so scared my God, the one I supposedly trust, won't come through for me. I am scared He will ignore my cries. I am scared my prayers aren't in line with what He wants for me. I am scared.

But, the truth is, God is good. God is good to me. And He is so good at being God. If God had followed my plans, I can promise I would be in a much different place- covered in a whole heap of mess. If God had listened to me and just done what I said, then there would be deeper hurts, even more disappointment, and brokenness beyond what I can imagine. If God took my advice, then I would have missed out on some of the richest blessings of my life, the opportunity to fall deeper in love with Him, and the need to run to Him with arms surrendered. I could sit and list all the ways I have seen and continue to see His goodness all around me, even here in this place I didn't imagine I would ever find myself.

A friend shared Hills and Valleys by Tauren Wells with me last night. If you know me or have read any of my other posts, you know music has a way of speaking directly to my heart in a way that no other words do. I don't know where you find yourself today, on the mountaintop, in the valley, or somewhere in between. No matter where you are, cling tight to the truth that we are standing in His love. Know that we are never alone. Know that in the quiet there can be so much healing and restoration as we hold onto His truth. Know that He is the God of the hills and the valleys. 

I've walked among the shadows
You wiped my tears away
And I've felt the pain of heartbreak
And I've seen the brighter days
And I've prayed prayers to heaven from my lowest place
And I have held the blessings
God, you give and take away

No matter what I have, Your grace is enough
No matter where I am, I'm standing in Your love

On the mountains, I will bow my life
To the one who set me there
In the valley, I will lift my eyes to the one who sees me there
When I'm standing on the mountain aft, didn't get there on my own
When I'm walking through the valley end, no I am not alone!
You're God of the hills and valleys!
Hills and Valleys!
God of the hills and valleys
And I am not alone!

Single (yet, again) for the Holidays

I wanted to put these words down during the holiday season. However, I just couldn't. I couldn't go there. I couldn't admit my disappointment. I couldn't voice my true feelings when I was supposed to be one who shares encouragement and is blessed beyond measure (because clearly those people don't have hurts- insert my own eye-roll at myself). So, I didn't write and have avoided other posts for the sheer fact of not wanting to address this topic. But, I have spent the last few days reading, thinking, praying, jotting, listening, and I know that I need to write this for me and maybe even for some of you.

Walking into Thanksgiving and the holiday season, I felt refreshed, renewed and restored compared to where I was over the holidays last year. The thought of being single for the holidays didn't create a sense of disappointment, or even panic, as it typically had. That is, until it did. Sitting outside by a fire in the middle of nowhere at a cabin in Arkansas on Thanksgiving day, it hit. Here I was, again, watching my brother and sister with families to call their own, adventures to take with their people, and then there was me. Constantly wondering if that will even be part of my story and desperately hoping for it to be, my heart sank and the tears flowed and all of a sudden I was not looking forward to this time of year that I truly love.

At one point refusing to decorate (thankful for a very close friend that talked me out of that), I just was not sure I could put on the face of being holly and jolly with where I was in life. I also was not sure I really wanted to tackle these feelings because they are deep and true and scary and full of what-ifs and the unknown. But I didn't want despair to be my narrative. I get to determine how the next month plays out and I knew I didn't want to spend the month dreading Christmas, a day that brings life to my faith.

I made a resolve to get up early each morning (this time is so refreshing for me) listen to worship music, read the story of Christ's narrative in scripture, journal and pray (all while enjoying my coffee, obviously). I unpacked the Christmas boxes, shopped for baking supplies galore, got the Christmas playlists going, and started enjoying the days. I hosted friends that are more like family for evenings of baking, hot chocolate, and games. Cookies were in the oven anytime I was home and sometimes for hours on end.

I made decisions for me, which at times is easy and then there are times when I am changing what normally is and might hurt someone's feelings that it isn't so easy. When I typically head straight to Tyler once school is out, I hung around Spring/ Houston just a little bit longer for time with friends. For the first time ever, I attended my Christmas Eve services. It was perfect. Those feelings and desire to be married and have a family of my own were still there, but I was able to enjoy where I was. It felt like my "healthiest" Christmas yet....well, in regards to my emotional and spiritual health, at least. All those cookies are tempting and delicious and MUST be tasted before being gifted to someone else.

It was the healthiest. Until it wasn't. And then I felt like the last month was erased or had this big lie written on it. I know now this is so far from the truth, but at that time, that was the reality. The feelings crept back in. The what-ifs, doubts, visions of years to come just like this flashed through my head. I spent the days avoiding any thoughts that came and the evening in tears, begging God for answers, expressing my anger and hurt and confusion. So, just when I thought I was ready to write about the holidays, it was now something I did not even address.

What changed? Coming home, I knew I had to change. I talked with two ladies that have been such a treasure to me they will never know just how grateful I am for them. I sought wise counsel. I tried not to squash feelings when they surfaced but voice them, in all their rawness. I have poured over scriptures, kept Shane and Shane's Psalms Live album on repeat, and taken time to just sit. Today, as Winter Storm Inga blessed us with a snow day, I took the time for me that I didn't have, or maybe even allow, over the Christmas break.

With a puzzle on my table, I pressed play to a podcast that was recommended to me. I listened as Annie Downs spoke with Mike Foster about her life as a single woman who longs for a marriage and family of her own. Once I moved past the feel of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, I soaked in every word, pausing to jot down ideas that resonated with my heart, my story. Needless to say, tears flowed. I listened (twice actually) as she shared her journey, her fears, her hurts, her struggle, her battle with not just giving the "Christian" answer to the questions but how she truly feels.

I don't know what therapy is "fun," but she's worth listening to.

As she was sharing about her hopes, she said, "It is one thing to be loved by a family and another thing to belong to a family." I am deeply loved, accepted and included by many amazing families and my life is richly blessed because of each of them. My brother and sister continually invite me in to their families, allowing me time with the most amazing kiddos ever. On Christmas Eve and Christmas day, I spent time with two families here in Spring that I don't consider just friends. In Tyler, I missed out on time with a family that has considered me part of theirs since I was 18. I know I am deeply loved by many families. I cling to the hope and desire to one day belong to my own family. I hope to wait until the kids go to sleep to pretend to be Santa and fight with toys that have to be built, quickly and quietly. I hope to sit with my husband as he shares the story of Christmas and what that means with our children. Sometimes, like Annie, I am scared of that hope because I am terrified my God will disappoint me.

But I have to, and will continue to, cling to hope. Hope that God will allow a husband and children to be part of my story. Hope, that no matter what the journey looks like in the days to come, I will not dwell on the past, get lost in the what-ifs of the future, and forget to be present in the now. And I will trust that He is at work. So, now I have Psalm 34 playing, a "Houston" winter wonderland outside my window, a blanket, coffee and Annie's book, Let's All Be Brave: Living Life with Everything You Have.

Because of Harvey

Being single with no kids, means the options in life are endless- where I live, work, go, you name it... and this isn't always a positive. This is my sixth year living in Houston. For those six years, I have not truly made it home and I definitely have not planted in one place. If I am honest with myself and with you, I have intentionally not planted deep roots here just in case something comes up and I need or want to move. This has even been true in my church life, as I have bounced between a few different places over my six years here, keeping everything at arm's length.

Just a few weeks before Hurricane Harvey was even a thought, I felt as though I was supposed to return to a church that I had been to so many times- always in "visitor" mode. Most of my daily community goes to Faithbridge and my attempt to plug in somewhere else had not worked- because I never really allowed it. As one that craves authentic community, it is impressive how much I have dodged it in an attempt to not settle here too deeply (you know, just in case I need to go somewhere else.) I knew the church I was going to was wonderful but not where I was supposed to be. Reluctantly, I returned to Faithbridge, not fully convinced that I would plug in and call this place home.

And then came Harvey.

As Harvey was making its way through Houston and the surrounding areas, my heart ached. My heart ached because for the first time, I felt like this was MY city, MY home, MY community and it was hurting. I watched in disbelief as the waters took over neighborhoods, highways, and business places. I prayed for those in danger and those evacuated already due to flooding. I listened to the newscasters as they kept us up to speed on the minute by minute happenings. I paced and ate and prayed and paced and cried and texted and prayed and ate. Once the rains finally slowed, I waited for word that it was time to get out and help those that had been directly impacted.

Wednesday, August 30 the text came through that it was time to go, time to clean, time to serve.  I was going to help and to bless others, but instead the blessings I received because of Harvey are greater than I could have ever imagined.

Because of Harvey, I had the privilege of meeting and serving alongside people that were willing to give their time to help those impacted by the flooding. People ready to give their love to people that were deeply hurting. The team at Faithbridge quickly mobilized hundreds of volunteers in a time of intense need.

Because of Harvey, I was invited into the homes of people I would have never met as our Faithbridge teams helped pull all the wet out so their homes could begin the drying process. The homeowners graciously allowed us to be a part of an extremely difficult time. I shed tears with many, was humbled by their stories, prayed for restoration, and walked through the cleaning out process with them and now have new friends.

Amanda and Jose have quickly become friends and I promise it is not
 just because they sent me home with barbecue the other day.

Because of Harvey, I was allowed the opportunity to lead teams into the homes of community members that were hurting. Where I once knew just a few people, I now have many friends who have walked through the devastation with me as we ventured out into the community.

Because of Harvey, I worked with people from around the state (my Baker crew from Tyler) and country (new friends from Chicago and a marine from San Diego). They stopped what they were doing and came to serve with us. To share with a homeowner the stories of those willing to drive a couple hundred miles or hop on an airplane just so they could come help is a powerful thing.

This team went out on an unofficial serve day and was joined by a marine
from San Diego who just couldn't fathom sitting and doing nothing. 

Because of Harvey, I witnessed churches unite in the streets as we went into home after home, helping in any way possible. Without each other, we could not have done it. We shared expertise, tools, and lunch.

Eric from Bayou City Fellowship, LR (lovely homeowner with a faith
stronger than I can describe), her sweet friend,
and myself on Monday- day 6 of going into homes. The Lord knew I
needed her joy, a good friend from Matzke, and another
church team to make it through the day. 

Because of Harvey, I was challenged and encouraged to look at life in a different way. Stuff is stuff. Work is work. People and relationships are what truly matter. While I have known this, it is easy to get distracted and allow other things to take over my thoughts and energy.

Because of Harvey, I have seen my friends and family from outside of Houston reach out and desire to help those hurting. Many have loved the people around me in ways that will forever be felt through their gifts and prayers. Looking at new friends and old as they are hurting and letting them know people from all over care about them always brings a smile.

Because of Harvey, Houston is home and not just a place I live. This is definitely not the time to leave. Big things are happening.

Because of Harvey, I am a Faithbridger and finally have a church home. A month ago, Faithbridge was a place I was reluctantly considering and today it was a place where I was in the midst of family. To my new family and to those that have allowed me into your homes, into your lives, and into your pain, thank you. John, Seth, Kim, Annee, Dylan, and all those I am missing on the Faithbridge team, thank you for allowing me to be a part as we love on our community after Harvey.

Because of Harvey, I am forever changed and forever grateful.

Heartbroken Yet Incredibly Hopeful

I, like so many of my friends in and around Houston, am heartbroken as we sit and watch this storm demolish our city, our neighborhoods, our schools, and so many homes. The sights are unfathomable. The pounding rain off and on (more on than off), constantly reminding us that our city will not be what it was when we went to sleep Saturday night. The rain has dumped at such a high rate and for so long that the water had no choice but to take over. 

My heart aches for a city I have called home for over 6 years now- wondering how former students, their families, friends, coworkers- from my days at Arrow Academy in South Houston all the way out to Cypress- are doing with all of this. I am thankful again for technology and the ability to hear from many. Tears have fallen as I have watched the devastation being faced by so many. I sit feeling helpless, desperately wanting to help but knowing for now that is through prayer. 

But in the midst of this heartbreak, I remain hopeful. Hopeful as a city of such immense diversity stand as one to help anyone and everyone nearby no matter what color, religion, sexual orientation or political affiliation. Hopeful that a world that is hurting and divided, is witnessing a beautiful picture of love as people are helping other people simply because they need help. Hopeful that those who have lost everything are being rescued and brought to safety where shelter, food, and clean water awaits them. Hopeful as people from around the globe send prayers for safety, funds for relief, messages of love. 

Hurricane Harvey and the days thereafter will always be remembered for its catastrophic flooding and intense devastation but more than that it will be a reminder of how love always wins. Serving and helping others will always over power stories of hurt and hate. Standing as one city will be louder to those watching than a few divided. As the rain continues to pound our city, as we continue to wait and watch, praying that the floodwaters stay down, I am thankful for God's reminder that His love never fails. 

Houston (and the surrounding areas), you are my city and you always will be. Thank you for all that you have and will continue to teach me through your people. We will continue to pray for all those that were impacted and will be impacted by this storm- those in Corpus Christi, Port Aransas, Rockport and surrounding cities, those in and around Houston, and those in Louisiana now getting some impact from the storm. 

Thank you to those that continue to check in and pray- don't stop. Continue to pray for our first responders, city officials, volunteers, and all those involved in rescues and care. Our people are tired. They have given so much already and there is still so much to do. They have left their friends and family behind as they go and serve and for that we are more thankful than they will ever know. 

Look for the Beauty Around You

Many have asked what happened to the blogging over the summer. Well, I intentionally disconnected from the writing and carried the blogs and thoughts in my head, in my journal, in conversations. Summer for me is time with family, with my beautiful nieces & handsome nephew, lazy days with friends, and meeting the newest of the family- my adorable nephew, Wyatt. I knew I did not want the distraction of formulating words on the computer in the midst of trying to soak in every moment with them. So, Bitter Party of 1 took a bit of a siesta and the writing that happened in my head rarely made it to the screen.

Just as I was prepared to write, the turmoil of our nation- racism, white supremacy, hatred- took the forefront. My heart aches. I am sickened. I have no words. There is fear and confusion and disgust and anger and outrage and deep hurt. How could I write about something that would seem so frivolous in the midst of what my friends of a color different than my own are watching and experiencing? What could I even say at that point? How do I respond to the ignorance I witness on the news, Facebook, and any other social media outlet? I still don't know the answer to that.

I am embarrassed and angry. I am disgusted by the actions and words I see and hear. I wonder what the people I interact with on a daily basis will wonder when they look at me, a white American. I will never understand the hurt that many of my dear friends experience because I have always had white privilege on my side. That I can't change. What I can do though is combat the hate with love. I can show the people around me- of any color, nationality, religion, sexual orientation- genuine love. I can listen to their words. I can shed tears with them. I can stand by their side and say, I am here. I can look for the beauty in each and every person I encounter.

Hate is taught. That is clear. Walk into any classroom of young children and they do not see the color of someone's skin, they do not know the differences in their religions, they are classmates- all on the same playing field. It is often as they become older and more aware of what people are saying and doing around them, that you see the shift. If hate can be taught, so can love and love overpowers hate more than anything. As an educator, our job right now is bigger than we could ever imagine. Our students are listening- to the tone in our voice, the words that exit our mouths, the way we speak to the people around us. They are watching every action we make- subtle or not. They are paying attention and they will respond to the way we act. If I was frustrated with a student, I found that my other students also became easily frustrated. If I responded with grace and love and patience, they did the same. The conversations we have in our classrooms are shaping their minds, their belief systems, their future. And they should not be taken lightly. We must teach LOVE through all that we do.

Recently a pastor asked about the beauty around us... He asked what we had seen lately that we considered beautiful...

I saw beauty...

at brunch as we shared a table and conversation with a stranger of a different color because those were the only seats in the house and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. We talked baseball and food and the benefits of the city and being single.

yesterday when the woman at the ball game had the biggest smile on her face and greeted each and every person that came her way with joy- no matter who they were. She was black. I am white. It didn't matter.

last night as I was able to sit across the table from very dear friends with very different backgrounds and discuss the recent events, listen to their thoughts, share mine, talk about life, laugh together, pray together,  share a meal together and walk away knowing the Lord is bigger than the ignorance that one color is better than others.

in memories of my classes of the past- packed with multiple colors, religions, cultures- and seeing them love each other through the good days and bad.

as I was able to have a long overdue FaceTime call with a friend from Zimbabwe as we shared what was happening in our lives- he shared his struggles and triumphs, I shared mine- both mattered.

It's easy to stick to the people that look just like us, sound like us, worship like us, believe like us... but I can guarantee when that happens, we are the only ones missing out. We miss out on the beauty of diversity. We miss out on stories we would never know without someone nearby sharing them with us. We miss out on this beautiful world around us. My challenge to you tonight is to look for the beauty around you and share that with others. Say hi to someone you normally wouldn't. Engage in conversation with someone that you wouldn't normally talk to. Watch. Listen. I promise your heart will be touched and you will walk away changed.