I also have this “adult children of alcoholics” (I think?) thing that I’ve always dealt with where I figure out how I feel after the fact. Usually way after the fact. So, something happens and I immediately “fawn” or “freeze”…numb, ignore, nod and smile. Trained compliance? Then a couple of weeks later it will occur to me that I’m actually very angry, or hurt, or sad, or even sometimes thankful and happy and encouraged. If the negative emotions are not felt it seems that the positive ones also can get lost. I have to stop and go back and figure out the source. I’d say that two week window is shrinking, so I feel my feelings a lot faster now. I can almost actually experience them in the moment. This is what healing looks like, I think.

I recently had a trip that involved saying hello and goodbye several times…in the span of about a week. I said hello and was so happy! The beginning of a very fun trip and visit! And it was a really wonderful few days. Then it was time to leave and I was quite teary saying goodbye. Well done, I said to myself, you are feeling your feelings! And also…blegh. No thank you. I hate goodbyes.

Then I flew to Virginia. I said goodbye to Virginia when I was 16—we moved to California. It was a very, very sad goodbye. It was the death of many things, in many ways and I have grieved that loss for many years. And now I was heading back on a work trip. Hello Virginia. You are green and beautiful and your woods are thick and I love the rolling hills of your land and the fields and the barns and the horses and the water—creeks, rivers, ponds, lakes, ocean…so much water.

It was, in fact, surprisingly good to be back. I felt happy to be back, not sad. This is much progress! I loved each day and the people I was working with grabbed my heart. It was a wonderful time!

And of course then it was time to say goodbye. Ouch. Virginia and California are a long, long ways apart! I drove away from my new friends with a lump in my throat. I got on the plane and watched VA disappear underneath me and I felt that same pang of loss I had felt as a teenager. Goodbye to new friends and to my old home…goodbye memories and childhood. Mercy.

I was thinking about how this up and down hello and goodbye over and over is just simply wrecking my heart. It does not feel sustainable in the least. And yet here we are. There will be new people and old places and visits and hello and goodbye. This is not going to stop, certainly, and seems instead to be increasing. More people to love. I am grateful. More attachments. More places I want to go back to visit…and yet then more sad goodbyes! It is all LIFE. Especially right now…this is MY life. How in the world do I navigate all of this?!

Asking God. No really. God, how do I do this? I don’t want to be numb to the emotions of it all. I want my heart fully engaged, fully involved. Owning the feelings without being on an up down happy sad roller coaster ride. Is that even possible?

Then…a thought. What if these are not endings at all? What if these are just days of life and people and places to love. I do in fact often visit people and places again. Hello can be additive, period. What a concept. Endings as opportunities for the next hello. Hm. Maybe all of these are emotions and connections and joys and comings and goings are more like weavings. Threads in a tapestry that I get to enjoy as beautiful and becoming, unfolding into a very full landscape of more places and people. Hello and see you soon, all to be celebrated more than anything else.

These thoughts bring me to where my feet are, more present. They ground me in the joy there can be in living this coming and going life right now.

Yes…connections that don’t disappear at goodbye. What a concept. It seems my heart is reluctantly beginning to believe this can be true. I might be able to ride this traveling roller coaster after all….

Yessss thank you Morgan Harper Nichols.

In the context of my faith journey through the years, pride has always been a bad thing—perhaps the original and worse sin. Lucifer was kicked out of heaven because of pride, after all—self inflated, aggrandized being, the original me monster. Somewhere along the line Christians decided there were seven deadly sins: pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. These sins were (are?) deadly because if a person indulges in these sins, it will likely lead to the death of their soul. Sounds scary. Seems like the church has landed on lust as the biggest problem to fight (and ignore). Certainly not greed. Or gluttony. To be fair I can see these in me and can feel the life drain out of my deep places when I’m letting them rise up. Interesting…I was going to type, letting them get the best of me. Living greedy and envious and lustful certainly isn’t me at my best.

I wasn’t taught that these sins were deadly, exactly. More that the main point of faith, a mature faith, is to stop sinning…that’s how you get closer to God. And to love God of course. And to love people. That’s the forward action that pleases God. Love God, love people. Don’t sin. But mostly don’t sin. Don’t do the things we call sin.

I’m re-reading all of that and thinking, hmmm, my tone is cynical. Do you hear it? Do I want to be cynical? Am I cynical? Is cynicism a sin? Maybe I should be more straightforward and less cynical. Life will do that, right? Life unfolding, it seems to me, can have the potential to foment cynicism.

foment

/fōˈment/

Foment is a verb that means to instigate, stir up, or encourage the growth and development of something undesirable, such as trouble, discord, or rebellion

I’ve always struggled with sarcasm more than cynicism. Maybe sarcasm is the first cousin of cynicism and I struggle with both. I think sarcasm is a powerful verbal tool and I also know that it can be quite destructive. As a teacher I dismantled my fair share of high school boys using it…and I do in fact see that as a sin. Apologies to all the young men who made it through my classes…also you probably had it coming. And of course I’m being cynical again. Mercy! Yes, I am in need of much mercy. But I digress.

When June became Pride Month I think I mostly looked away. I remember wondering, why use that word? Why Pride? I think I had a vague sense of the term being chosen to highlight rebellion from societal and Christian norms—sadly, this is how my brain worked. We are going to be proud of our sexual rebellion, our unwillingness to conform. You say pride is bad, we say Pride is good. We will hijack their rainbow for our purposes, and hopefully this will be offensive. Just like the “lifestyle” of gay and lesbian people was a rebellion, the symbolic choices were rebellious. People chose to be gay for many reasons, was my posture, and all of those “reasons” involved rejecting Christ and sexual holiness. On “kinder” days I may have used “brokenness” instead of rebellion. Neither was kind, or respectful, or trying to see people. In general, everyone needed to repent, die to self, pick up their cross and follow Jesus. Especially homosexual people. Whew.

In 1978 the rainbow flag was created by Gilbert Baker. He was commissioned by politician Harvey Milk to create a symbol for the LGBTQ community.

The different colors within the flag were meant to represent togetherness, since LGBTQ+ people come in all races, ages and genders, and rainbows are both natural and beautiful. The original flag featured eight colors, each having a different meaning. At the top was hot pink, which represented sex, red for life, orange for healing, yellow signifying sunlight, green for nature, turquoise to represent art, indigo for harmony, and finally violet at the bottom for spirit. (History.com)

It seems this flag actually had nothing to do with hijacking the Christian rainbow. All the colors of the rainbow…diverse and beautiful. There are many flags now, similar to the original rainbow flag, with different meanings for different groups within the LGBTQ+ community.

Bill Clinton officially designated June as Gay and Lesbian Pride month in 1999 (the year I turned 40)…and Barak Obama added the designation Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Pride Month on June 1, 2009 (yup, turned 50 that year). So I was theoretically a fully formed human holding all of these hurtful beliefs and opinions, and yet, not really. I had strong views about sexuality and they were all based on a very conservative Christian agenda. I was steeped in that world. So much so that I tried to impose my views as the only right and good way to live. Choose Jesus, not that same sex attraction. My posture was love the sinner, hate the sin. This is in fact, actually a hate filled posture. And why do we hate this particular “sin” so much? A good question.

We recently had our Rest & Renewal Retreat and it was WONDERFUL. On Saturday evening I was working my way around the room and the “stations” provided. It was a contemplative and beautiful evening. There was a place to give thanks, to pray in whatever way you would like, to reflect on the “Knots” in our lives, and more. At my last stop I sat in front of a large pan full of sand, pondering the instructions—to write something in the sand that you regret/need forgiveness for, and then erase it, smooth it over, and receive God’s forgiveness. At least that’s how I remember the instructions. I wrote in the sand that I need to forgive myself, my younger self. My steeped in evangelical morality self…the me who chose to follow that path even when people were hurt.

I have been asking for forgiveness from many of those people and have been stunned by the deep grace that has been offered. My feeling that night was that the next step was to also forgive myself. As I smoothed over the sand erasing my words, it helped me. As the words disappeared maybe I could also really let go of my self judgment and receive grace for the words I’d spoken, the choices I’d made, as younger me. People had forgiven me. I trust that God had forgiven me. It was time to forgive myself too.

Yes…grace to myself, and even to the 30, 40 and 50 year old version of myself.

The weekend retreat was beautiful in so many ways. One truly redemptive part, I think, was that we offered Rest & Renewal as a now safe space for LGBTQ+ people. Period. This is part of me forgiving myself, I think. And I’m hopeful that it’s also somehow possible to be providing a safe space for everyone. That even the 30 year old version of me would be welcome and seen and wanted. She was a lot, but she was doing the best she could with what she knew at the time. I believe we can do it, create safe spaces for all of us. I believe it with all of my heart. From my perspective, we get to…and we have to. Life in a loving and diverse community is such a beautiful thing. Real love and real acceptance and real belonging for every human, it seems to me, is what Jesus was (and is) trying to teach us. I want to be about that….

And so now here in the middle of June, I’m thinking about Pride. I’m still (and hopefully always) learning, but this is me in my 60’s: love God, love people. Keep your heart open, be less certain and more curious. Be kind, tender hearted, quick to hear and slow to speak.

Pride can be so much more than a deadly sin…it can even be a literal lifeline. Shame can be a killer…heart, mind, soul and body. Pride Month is saying you are quite wonderful in every way…all of who you are. Pride Month says you don’t have to hide. Pride Month says you don’t have to not be you. Pride is not always bad…in fact pride like this is essential, I think. It is—life is worth living. It is dignity. June could also be called Human Dignity Month. Love Who You Love (especially yourself) Month works. Love, period. God loves you. God loves me. There is pride, even, in God’s eyes as God looks at us, all of us. Pride full of love, love full of pride. Yes please to this Pride.

And so this month I’m thinking about Pride differently. And I’m glad, hopeful even, for all of the shifts and changes. And just as Black History Month is not enough, I’d say Pride Month is not enough too. We can learn and grow and celebrate and hopefully heal a bit during these special months—but these things need to be all day every day, every week, every month. Imagine if we could foment love and acceptance everywhere we go…that would be quite different from a love the sinner, hate the sin posture. God help us…please God be the instigator of good trouble and call us into that good life—more love, more kindness, more understanding, more Pride. Amen yes amen.

I’m going to blame the ocean first of all—the Gulf of Mexico actually. The colors change about every 3-4 hours, not that I’ve been sitting here on this balcony staring at it for that long or anything. The sand is white. The contrast is magical. And the waves…they are like a lullaby way more than an inspiration to think and type and revise. I have had hours in between stuff here in Gulf Shores, my “office” for this week. I thought I would be so productive, but it has been a struggle.

This morning my alarm went off with the current song setting that begins, “True to Your Word you let me catch my breath, get some rest, and send me on….” I realized that I have been turning it off before it even gets past…true to your word. I didn’t have time to change the song (!), but it felt a bit mocking to me. God? I have been in a struggle. There really hasn’t been rest. There has been, it feels like, one unexpected thing after another. One adjust the schedule/figure it out after another. Push. Do. Adjust. Push. Just do it. I have been, I see now, unable to really catch my breath.

I’m not complaining…this is life. I’m just noticing. This morning it hit me as I lay there bemoaning my lack of productivity this week. My critical mind wakes up before my be kind to yourself resolve kicks in. I’ve been especially frustrated with my lack of writing focus—I have started four different drafts of different topics I’m “thinking'“ about. So I’ve been waking up to this alarm song and saying nope and really, get it together today please. What’s wrong with you?

This morning, I stopped and listened. It caught my attention. “You let me catch my breath…get some rest.” Ohhhhh. Not mocking actually, provision. I needed to rest, and this balcony and this water and sand beauty and this pause. What if I’m sitting here because God has given me a chance to rest and catch my breath, and not so much to be “productive?” The song goes on with a verse I’d forgotten. “Just like a bird your fountain washes me so I can sing another song….” Yes, yes it says that. Yes I just wrote about birds and fountains and imperfections in my last Substack. Welp. The song goes on…so good, so perfect, all of it. Right there every morning on my phone…the answer I needed this week. I’m glad I didn’t change it now…. (Worth a listen…. Madison Ryann Ward-A New Thing.)

I needed to rest. I’m here “working” and I am also here resting. Both things are true. Instead of blaming the ocean I’m actually thanking God for the ocean now, and this balcony, and for my mornings to be still and not crossing things off my list. Stillness is productive. Rest is of critical importance.

And this “work” I’m here to do? It is really JOY and all the things that make me cry in the very best way— people working together for something bigger…and so much love for each other…and competition and overcoming and teams and THIS team in particular. I am a basketball/softball person by trade and probably nature, but I’m here to say I’m also in love with beach volleyball. The Enneagram and beach volleyball go together really well, and what a joy to teach and cheer and love these people.

Here’s the view in one direction off my balcony:

And the other direction is:

Beach volleyball in Gulf Shores, Alabama! This morning I hear music and whistles and announcements and…well, it is…electric. I can feel it all the way up here on the seventh floor! I’ve had the privilege of working with the UCLA Beach volleyball team and now I get to be here with them and it is all JOY. If you haven’t discovered this sport, this is the time. ESPN will stream and then broadcast from here…and it’s going to be fantastic.

Rest and work really can go together, perhaps really must go together. And if we don’t find a rhythm and a song and a moment to breathe and a way to do meaningful work (and all work can be meaningful) then I think we are in trouble. This is an exceptional assignment, I am very aware. There is a lot of work to do that is not next to a beautiful ocean and full of joy. There is a grind. And these athletes have certainly subjected themselves to a grind “in the dark” as we say. Sometimes we grind and sometimes we play. And sometimes we just need to rest.

I wonder, what do you need today?

I get to cross this off my list, and put on some Bruin gear and go make as much noise as possible for this team! Let’s GOOOOOOO! 💙💛

They were singing and sipping and then they just jumped right in and took a bath. Have you ever watched birds enjoying a morning bath? It really is one of my favorite things. They just look so happy! They were able to jump in because the water level was lower. Hm. My limitations actually provided them a special, safe, morning splash.

So, as I sat and watched their joy, it got me thinking. My first thought was from Coach Wooden, as often happens. “Things work out the best for those who make the best out of the way things work out.” Indeed. That lady didn’t fill up our bird bath/water spot, let’s jump into this shallow water and enjoy it! Yes…show me the way sweet birds!

There are so many times when I think something is going to be a certain way, and then it’s not. I’m thrown by my expectations. I don’t tend to adjust well. Changes come. Unbidden. Sometimes we just can’t impose our will and make things happen. My little birds could no more fill up that bird bath than they could make it rain. And my life just isn’t going to be mine to control…more often than not. I can choose to grovel in frustration, or I can choose to make the best out of the way things work out. Easier said than done!

I prefer to be in control of how things work out. It feels a lot more powerful that’s for sure. I am quite certain, however, that this pursuit of control is actually a folly. No one is in control. That is just not how life works. I think the pursuit of control, the actual illusion of control, helps me feel safer. I make lists and plan days and weeks and months. I know what I’ll be doing June 5…but do I really? This control I crave, it seems to me, isn’t actually real or achievable. I’m finding that the more committed I am to my plans, the slower I am to adjust when that inevitable curve ball comes. The more certain I am that I’m doing such and such this day and that, the less I seem to be able to lean into changes and recognize the potential opportunities for joy and splashing all around me.

Also, when things don’t go how I hope, plan and work for them to go, I tend toward a discontented, dissatisfied, “not quite” state of being. Not quite enough. Not quite enough money. Not quite enough time. Not quite enough energy. Not quite enough water in the birdbath. Not quite enough work, or answers, or friends, or pets…there can always be more pets. Not quite is a real joy stealer.

As I ponder and write it’s the week after the world of NCAA Division 1 college basketball crowned its national champions. Only two teams became champions—one for the men, one for the women. Everyone else ended their season on a loss. They didn’t quite make it to the championship…the season was not quite what they had hoped. I’ve never met a coach who handled a season ending loss with complete satisfaction. We are trained and conditioned to hope and work and dream and play to win. To win it all. There are a lot of unsatisfied coaches and athletes right now.

Of course one of the teams who ended on a win was my beloved Bruins. I’m thrilled to be celebrating (still and forever!) the UCLA women’s basketball team’s season and tourney run all the way to winning it all. It was QUITE satisfying watching them play an amazing game on the biggest stage and to get to celebrate with them! I’m so happy for them and so proud of the way they lived out their dreams this season. YES and YES and Go Bruins! :)

The deepest part of this satisfaction is in sharing their joy. I love these people, and who doesn’t love seeing dreams come true for people you love? I also know and love a lot of coaches and athletes who didn’t make it to this point. Their basketball bird bath was certainly left half full and they were not satisfied with that in the least. I get it.

I remember finishing MANY seasons that way. I also remember that one year when I got to finish my seasons (basketball and softball in the same year) with national championships…it was nearly 50 years ago now and I still remember it all vividly. I remember our elation in winning, our celebration, our singing “We are the Champions…of the world….” I remember how happy we all were and that sense of YES satisfaction in reaching that height. And I remember also how fast it went away. It scared my 18 year old self, and I had the good sense to realize that there’s more to life than winning and I’d better figure out what that more is…because most of the time we end seasons on losses.

I found what I believed to be my deeper purpose the summer after winning those two national championships at UCLA. At least I found my source for purpose—following Christ. It sounds quite cliche as I type that, but it is honestly true. It has been an imperfect adventure figuring out what it means to follow Jesus. There have been ups and downs, doubts and breakthroughs, joys and sorrows…I’ve been deeply involved in churches and ministries, and I’ve been deeply hurt in many ways. Healing is happening, though, and I continue to learn and grow. No matter how evangelical Christianity has evolved and twisted itself into nationalism and other such strains, I have found a constant friend in Jesus. I think that’s the best way to say it, for now. I think it just may be true that God loves me. That’s a pretty great place to find satisfaction.

To abandon oneself to jump into a half full birdbath requires a certain amount of courage, I think. I’m finding as I let myself adjust to the unforeseen circumstances of life, things seem to be working out. I don’t always understand, but my heart is cared for, I can still be kind and loving, there are surprises, and the splashing about can bring quite a bit of joy. I’m hoping my Bruins remember that when the rush of winning starts to subside. And I’m hoping all of those amazing and wonderful athletes and coaches who didn’t quite reach the pinnacle remember that too. Being loved and loving is the way to go…and it seems to me there’s a larger force in the universe ready to help us with that, if only we will jump in.

We have been in and out of this hospital with our mother for over a month now. I’m still processing that sentence and will be for a very long time I think. Crisis mode is real. Don’t think, just do what needs to get done. Be strong. We (my sisters and I) are well skilled in these things. Not that our lives have been more difficult than anyone else…just that, well, life is often difficult, period. And we are strong women who get sh*t done. I will be in trouble with them for cussing…they are perhaps more well mannered humans than I!

We are also, I know, very privileged to have insurance. That the hospital is a viable option for my mother and our family, is a gift. I recognize this and I am so very grateful.

Right now, this week, I can’t stop thinking about the people who work in hospitals. This is not just because my niece and I are “unwinding” most evenings by watching “The Pitt.” We are a bit uncertain if it’s a wise choice to live the days in the hospital and then the evenings as well. But I’m finding some comfort in this amazing show, the people, the families, the very hard things they are navigating with honesty and wisdom. “Tears are grief leaving the body,” is one quote that I’ve held close.

There were 200 people waiting in the Emergency Room the first day all of this began with my mother. We got a call from her doctor. Go to the ER, immediately. That will raise your heart rate. So we did. Like an ambulance driver I did. In between weaving and much accelerating I was trying to think how I was going to park and get her to the emergency room (wherever that was exactly). Stressful! Much to my relief I pulled in following the signs for ER and saw, “Valet Parking.” Ohhhhh thank God. We made it and we found our way, and then we waited. We waited nine hours before she was taken to a room. And another I don’t know how many before she was admitted. I’ve been watching these people at work in this hospital for weeks now. The emergency room workers and nurses and volunteers and doctors and physician assistants…all of them.

And wow oh wow do they work. It’s easy to be self focused and frustrated in an ER waiting and uncertain and fearful. There were a lot of us there feeling all of that…and the workers just kept working. Some seemed a bit numb, understandably so. But most of them were very present. They looked in our eyes. They called us by name. They apologized. They were kind. They got her apple juice and pain meds and a place to rest. They were AMAZING.

And here’s the thing, all of the work done was about saving, helping, caring, and serving. All of the work revolved around this principle that every life is important and precious. Every. Single. Life. I’m sure they get tired and sometimes it becomes less personal. But we have been in and out of the hospital for over a month now, and this is my takeaway: everyone is going out of their way, doing their very best on very long 12 hour shifts, to figure out how to care for and preserve the life of every person who is in that hospital. With dignity….

One nurse cleans the bed and another changes medications in the IV. There are teams of doctors and carefully determined tests to run. Physical therapists, occupational therapists, breathing treatment specialists…they come in with such positivity and care. Everything and everyone is about saving every life, strengthening every human. It is overwhelming to watch them work. I’m in awe honestly.

And I am, we are, so grateful.

Life is fragile. You can be vibrant one day, and the next you’re in the hospital. Life is precious and also completely unpredictable. Treasure the moments. Talking to myself…treasure them and be fully present each day, wherever you are.

In the midst of watching hundreds of people scurrying all over a hospital day after day saving lives, I’m also watching the news. And the news is…well it is awful. My mother loves to describe many things as awful…we tease her about it. She would agree with me on this one. I’m watching a sort of giddy macho posture from our leaders. We are obliterating them. We are wiping them off the face of the earth. We are dropping more bombs today than yesterday, and even more tomorrow. My thought today was that every bomb dropped kills someone. Our leaders are too happy about this. I saw a clip yesterday of Lindsey Graham speaking back in November. “We are killing all the right people,” he said with a victorious smile on his face. Dear God.

How can some people work so hard to save lives, and some people so flippantly end lives?

Doctors and nurses in Sacramento…and in Gaza, and Lebanon, and Iran, and Ukraine, and Sudan, and now Iran and….on and on are trying desperately to save lives. And we are dropping bombs. Bombs. Huge deadly explosive missiles. We somehow managed to destroy a school and kill little children, right out the gate. And we denied it. No apologies, no regrets. We are lying and killing and justifying and pretending and posturing and…yes, truly, dear God help us.

And so I’m…so sad. I’m a bit in shock. I’m a lot angry. I’m mystified at how everyone doesn’t feel the same way. I guess I bend toward hospital worker more than I do toward death and destruction for money and power. I’m a bit more on the side of be kind to every human and find a way for us all to live and flourish. Some would say I’m naive, I suppose. Or not.

I’m thinking the way to keep myself present and connected and feeling (not numbing) is to breathe into each day. One day at a time. Powerless but hopeful. Finding a way to love people…all people. Love with kindness and words and actions and gentleness and gratitude. Love life. Love people. Love God is what I usually add. Dr. Robby would say he doesn’t talk much to God any more…he doesn’t seem to be listening. I understand feeling like that.

God is patient with us, I think. Jesus had that experience—where are you God? My God my God why have you forsaken me? Yes. I’m kind of angry and a bit arms crossed back turned with God right now. I find God doesn’t seem to be moving away from me. It’s just this sense of Presence. There are these “random” moments. Walking with the kind older man who wasn’t sure how to get to the front of the hospital, listening and asking questions and being with him for a moment. The sun shining off pine needles on my way home, beautiful. Happy dogs. My mother’s eyes searching mine, blinking to say she loves me. The doctor who cares. The nurse who checks on us. The generous friends and kind strangers. I’m asking God to show up in the war zones, somehow, too, please. Oh please God. And to shake the people in power from their murderous stupor. Please God.

Here’s me in the 70’s playing second base at UCLA…besides the wild hair which is slightly startling, what I love about this picture is my face. That is me happy. For the love of the game…written all over that young face.

And I see that same joy so often with the athletes I get to work with and love and cheer for and watch growing. They still love to play. And when they start to lose that love, they need and want help finding it again. It’s so interesting to me that athletes perform at the highest level of freedom and flow when they are enjoying the game. All of that “grind” in practice, it can enhance that joy if we lead them and teach them well. Skills mastered and strength and conditioning perfected make it all more fun. A heavy hand, though, mind games, shaming, transactional coaching…it can steal the joy and in fact slow down growth, wholeness AND the ability to perform freely to full potential.

So today I’m celebrating this day, marking how far we’ve come, and also asking all coaches to pause and look in the mirror. Are you leading well? What are your motives as you coach? Are your athletes free and loving the game, or locked up in doubt and diminishing confidence? Let’s keep moving in the direction of celebration and growth in sports for the young girls whose faces are full of joy all the way to the pros who find themselves on a huge stage inspiring thousands. Girls and women athletes can be strong, fully themselves…becoming strong leaders for this world. People are appreciating how we play and compete, and supporting their favorite female athletes and teams…more and more and more. I can watch women play basketball all day on a given weekend! There is much to celebrate! Happy Girls and Women in Sport Day everyone!

I do wrestle with how much to share here. I have way more questions than answers, but that’s not the hesitation. I’m just still sorting this out inside, literally thinking, literally disoriented. That’s the point of this substack though, what I’m thinking about…not necessarily (at all) what I’ve figured out. So here goes, brave reader. You are the brave one.

This photo is used without permission…I will ask for forgiveness. It is the beginning, though, of the prompt in my heart toward beautiful things in life. There are so many beautiful things, and so many hard, horrible, cruel things as well. They exist together, is what I’m thinking. I am walking behind her, as I often am (note previously stated age). Also it is really slippery, ice and snow, and also it is REALLY cold (think negative something wind chill). And of course it’s snowing as you can see. I love the snow. It makes me want to stand and stare, but I’m trying to keep up. The snow is beautiful, but the beauty is way more in the determination to tend to her ailing mother…despite it all. In the midst of it all. We are heading into a critical care unit to bring love and encouragement, and that is a part of life that is so very important, no matter your age or health. We need each other, in really beautiful ways.

There’s a grief in watching your once strong parents decline. And yet there is a beauty in this as well. Death is coming for us all, after all. How do we navigate this? Life and death and suffering. There is so much suffering in the world right now, in our cities right now, here where I live. Maybe we need to look for also the very beautiful things, and more importantly, we need to do them.

Bless you who notice…
Who look around and see
clearly: there is so much to
lament.
The world and its people are
hurting, worn thin, stunned
by cruelty, living with
repeated loss.
Bless you who carry the
weight — fresh disasters,
slow recoveries, the quiet
grief of knowing some things
are gone forever.
Bless you who long for more —
for peace to break out, the
hungry to be fed, justice to
prevail.
Bless you whose arms are full
of these heavy burdens and
who keep going anyway —
living gently, creating beauty,
pushing back ugliness,
trusting this day might still
mean something good.

Kate Bowler

Thank you Kate Bowler. And of course as I re-read that I’m in tears again. Tenderness kind of leaks doesn’t it? It leaks literally and I think it also leaks into our actions—like leaving a warm fire and driving in the snow and walking into a room where a woman who used to do that for you isn’t well now and could really use a hug and some words of encouragement.

Yes, tenderness and tears are actually really important. That’s what I’m thinking anyway. Our bodies need them, and our souls need them too. I need them. I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to be indifferent. I want to feel what God intends me to feel, and be like Christ in it all. I think that comes down to loving. Loving in real ways that land like love. Imagine if we all lived love in the midst of ICE and death and fear and hunger and war and cruelty. There would be a lot of beauty breaking out everywhere, just as there is now, if we have eyes to see it.

…And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid.

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

Amanda Gorman—The Hill We Climb

In the Enneagram system I’m a 1w2…and so I am also very often very angry. I’ve directed my anger at myself for most of my life. I’m learning to give myself grace. Little by little. But today? I feel so angry today about what is happening in the United States of America. It isn’t just today of course…it has been building. I can’t really quite see straight. I mean my vision literally gets blurry. I’m writing from Chicago and it’s all I can do to stay here and not go to Minneapolis. Maybe I should. Maybe we all should. They are killing people there, you know? Breaking down doors, stalking at schools, kidnapping people, creating chaos…on purpose. And then on top of all of it, lying. They are lying…so many in this federal government—flat out fully 100% lying. People with power are lying to our faces, to the cameras, to themselves (maybe???) and to the detriment of so many. Over and over and over again, they lie. Creating narratives that are completely false, they are making stuff up to justify murder. Literally. I am so so so so so so angry.

This wheel helps identify emotions and feelings, which for some of us can be difficult. I’ve been told that anger is a secondary emotion…driven by other emotions. It feels quite primary right now, but I’m open to learning more.

The root of anger often lies in underlying feelings of fear, insecurity, powerlessness, shame, or unmet needs, masking emotions like sadness or hurt, and stemming from unresolved past trauma, stress, perceived threats, or injustice. It's a natural survival response, but it surfaces when we feel threatened, disrespected, or unable to change a difficult situation, acting as a protective layer for more vulnerable emotions. Source

There’s that, most of that, swirling about inside. I am angry and I feel mostly powerless to do anything about the hurt so many are experiencing. There are not just perceived threats, there are very real threats and there are very real plans unfolding. I feel unable to change this difficult situation…for sure (and it’s likely that is what they want, a country that withdraws into numb surrender). It’s interesting to me that anger is right next to sadness on the wheel. Fear. Anger. Sadness. I do feel all of that…stunned, confused, dismayed…yes.

One of the really stunning things to me is that people still think Trump is God’s man and that we need all of these things to happen in our country. And by “all of these things” I mean so many things that, to me, seem like the exact opposite of what we actually need. We don’t need more anger, more killing, more threats, more tariffs, more belittling, more driving out people who came here legally for protection. We don’t need more hatred of women, more racism, more systemic oppression. We don’t need to cut aid to desperate people around the world, we don’t need to stop medical science from progressing, we don’t need universities to stop teaching history, we don’t need to take over other countries and steal their resources, we don’t need to pay more for our healthcare and medicine, we don’t need to take down signs in national parks. We don’t need ICE on the streets of our cities.

My anger isn’t an argue with you kind of anger, though I’ll go there if you want to talk. It’s more of a soul level grief that causes me to shake my head in disbelief. I know anger doesn’t change anyone’s mind. I wonder what it will take for people to change their minds. I wish I knew. I’d like to try….

One of the most amazing things about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was his steadfast insistence and teaching on nonviolent resistance. He was a love your enemy man of God. I can’t help but think of him right now. How would he show up in Minneapolis? The people there are so very amazing. They are nurses protecting women and getting shot, literally. Dear God. How do we love our enemies? Who are these enemies???

The message Dr. King leaves us with is that if we do not choose to take this anger and turn it into action that protects and cares for others, if we do not choose to see those who are killing and stealing and lying as humans, if we do not choose to love our enemies, we will become just like them in the very worst way. I can feel hatred rising in my heart and it is dark.

And so I pause tonight, this cold night in Chicago, with snow falling quietly outside and a warm fire in the fireplace, safe in a way that so many are not. I pause to ask God to help us all. To open the eyes of some who doggedly hold on to a reality that is not real. I ask God to help us love each other even so. I ask God to remove the people perpetrating this evil from power. And I suppose I’m going to go to sleep tonight with hope in my heart that God and all of us who see what’s really happening will work together to bring peace, to bring love to our neighbors, to provide food and shelter and safety….I suppose I’m going to choose this path of love, just one day at a time, doing what is mine to do, as best I can. Anger slowly subsides…and I can see a lot more clearly.

“Disturbing the peace” refers to: illegal conduct that disrupts public order, involving actions like excessive noise, fighting, using threatening language, or causing public disorder, often as a misdemeanor charge to prevent more serious crimes, with specific laws varying by state but generally aiming to maintain public tranquility.

Public tranquility? It is confusing when the peace is being disturbed by those who are supposed to be protecting us from those who would disturb the peace. And then also there is this deep sense, in my heart anyway, that there is a time for protest (as in NOW) that is “peaceful” nonviolent protest, against the system that is in fact disturbing the peace. Nonviolent is the only way as has been well researched and documented. Meeting violence with violence invites more violence. If you don’t follow what I’m saying then maybe we need to talk, because there is a lot going on right now, and not paying attention…how is that an option? That sounds judgmental and I’m supposed to be curious this year, not judging. So, ok, I am curious how anyone could think it’s better to stay uninvolved right now. Or ever. Ok maybe I am just a judgmental person.

I know I’m not the only one longing for peace and not experiencing it. I keep seeing crowds of people around these monks and their pup and the very long 2,300 mile walk they are taking to Washington D.C. They are on a “Pilgrimage for Peace, Kindness, and Compassion.” Wow do we ever need that. This peace on their faces and that they carry, it brings people to tears over and over again. We are not living in any of those things very much right now. When we see a visual example of peace and kindness and compassion, I think it strikes a cord of desire that we might not even know we need as badly as we do.

Truth be told, my peace is disturbed for many reasons. Sometimes that disturbance is internal. I write “Just Thinking” because I’m always overthinking something and wondering and wrestling internally. I am, as Larry Crabb used to say, a “troubled reflector.” And yet one of the constant and increasingly greater disturbances of my peace now involves what is happening in the cities and streets of the United States. These are things that create a visceral reaction in me—injustice, cruelty, racism…beatings and arrests and murder. This week, so much is about these people we now know as I.C.E.

In March 2003, the Homeland Security Act set into motion what would be the single-largest government reorganization since the creation of the Department of Defense. One of the agencies in the new Department of Homeland Security was the Bureau of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, now known as U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or I.C.E. (Source)

Many citizens in the United States were reassured (I think…or this is yet another example of my somewhat blind privilege?) by the formation of this new agency. It seemed completely necessary from what we were told and from what we could tell, and from what had just happened to our country (9/11). The work of ICE at its inception, I’m sure, impacted a lot of immigrants. I remember watching the movie “Saint Judy” (2018) about a Los Angeles lawyer fighting for asylum rights for women, Judith Wood—it’s a true story. And like many eye opening educational stories, it changed my view of how immigration policies were working in the United States. There has always been a need for reform, or so it seems. And there have always been “good” as well as “corrupt” ICE agents, I’m sure. The “work” being done right now, however, is beyond the pale. What I mean to say is, this is not the I.C.E. of 2003—and I’m guessing that system was likely full of cruelty and injustice even then. This is worse.

It seems very clear to me and I think to anyone who is paying attention—I.C.E. is the one disturbing the peace—and that is actually the point. Lies are being told. Excessive force has been unleashed, as we clearly saw this week with Renee Good. God rest her soul. I am her, in so many ways. And maybe that identification is what has to happen for us all to wake up. I know, obviously, for people of color, none of this is new.

I have been thinking about PEACE as I watch the monks walking, as this new year has begun…maybe at least in part because I feel like I have so little, we have so little. I have been noticing a distinct difference inside of me. I am agitated more often than not. I’m not thinking as much as am spinning, inside out. I’m needing to move—I feel antsy and uncomfortable. I am sort of hyper productive (not necessarily concerning things about which I “should” be productive). My accounting deadlines slip by….my to do lists stay undone, but I’ve rearranged rooms and cleaned and sorted and worked in the yard and such with great energy. It was hard to sit still over the holidays and just be. I’m noticing what I’ve come to name a lack of peace at the core…in my soul I guess you could say. External circumstances have disturbed my peace. I am angry. And sad. And tired.

And so, I’ve been trying to revisit practices that have helped me in the past…breathing, pausing, candles, reading more, praying. And anywhere I see “peace” I’m immediately digging and searching and researching—is there anything here that could help? In the midst of all of this I came across a Howard Thurman quote that really landed. Howard Thurman talked to men, for the most part. I am, sadly, used to translating he/him to she/her, men to women, from my many years of reading the Bible…at least some translations of the Bible. If the gendered way of speaking is offensive, my apologies (he does shift out of this for a bit…which is interesting). Thurman has so many important and good things to say to all of us. For me, it is worth wading through and believing these words are also for me.

“An Island of Peace Within One’s Soul”

By Howard Thurman (1899-1981), philosopher, theologian and civil rights leader

Previously published in the catalogue for the 2016 Festival of Faiths, “Sacred Wisdom: Pathways to Nonviolence.”

A beautiful and significant phrase, “Island of Peace within one’s own soul.” The individual lives his life in the midst of a wide variety of stresses and strains. There are many tasks in which he is engaged that are not meaningful to him, even though they are important in secondary ways. There are many responsibilities that are his by virtue of training, or family, or position. Again and again, decisions must be made as to small and large matters; each one involves him in devious ways. No one is ever free from the peculiar pressures of his own life. Each one has to deal with the evil aspects of life, with injustices inflicted upon him and injustices which he wittingly or unwittingly inflicts upon others. We are all of us deeply involved in the throes of our own weaknesses and strengths, expressed often in the profoundest conflicts within our own souls. The only hope for surcease, the only possibility of stability for the person, is to establish an Island of Peace within one’s own soul. Here one brings for review the purposes and dreams to which one’s life is tied. This is the place where there is no pretense, no dishonesty, no adulteration. What passes over the threshold is simon-pure. What one really thinks and feels about one’s own life stands revealed; what one really thinks and feels about other people far and near is seen with every nuance honestly labeled: love is love, hate is hate, fear is fear. Well within the island is the Temple where God dwells – not the God of the creed, the church, the family, but the God of one’s heart. Into His Presence one comes with all of one’s problems and faces His scrutiny. What a man is, what his plans are, what his authentic point is, where his life goes – all is available to him in the Presence. How foolish it is, how terrible, if you have not found your Island of Peace within your own soul! It means that you are living without the discovery of your true home. Source

I see and feel and know my need for this “Island of Peace.” That place inside with “no pretense, no dishonesty” only real thoughts and feelings. It is my work to do, establishing this island of peace within my soul. This is the place of our real and truest self, our real home. It takes some courage to own an island like that, to believe that pretending is not the path to peace. I sometimes try to find peace by shutting out the noise and taking a break from reality (and my real angry self). We all need some breaks, but this habit can be more escape than anything. This Island of Peace idea is calling me home to reality—what I really think and feel fully revealed. And in THAT place, there is real peace.

It’s interesting to think about this in terms of the difference between “peacemaker” and “peacekeeper.” Peacekeepers avoid conflict, preferring a superficial peace that isn’t necessarily real. Peacemakers face conflict and try to get at the deeper issues, asking hard questions, hoping and willing to work for real peace. Renee Good was shot three times as she was trying to drive away. The speed of spin from people in power was dizzying. She has been vilified as an agitator and even as a “domestic terrorist.” It isn’t a new narrative…blaming the woman. It feels very familiar. I’ve never been shot, but I have certainly been blamed for the poor behavior of men.

And so here we are in the midst of peace that is disturbed. What can we do? The madness inherent in this administration becomes more violent and oppressive and normalized and disorienting. What’s true? What’s real? We are told so many lies. We are told to not believe our eyes…even with video evidence. I suppose this is all another reason why I’m turning to this Island of Peace. An island reset in order to move back into the world, if you will. I can remember who I really am, and I can discern what is mine to do, when I visit this Island.

We may not be able to walk thousands of miles to call for peace, but we can live peace inside, and find ways to make peace wherever we are. We can use our voices for truth. We can choose love and nonviolence in the face of hatred and cruelty. We must pace ourselves friends, and we must never grow complacent and weary of doing good. God help us please.

For today, some good news, I hope. It’s time to announce the return of this retreat for women in sport—Rest & Renewal is back, and I’m so very happy and excited! It is the 30th birthday of this retreat! And this will be, I hope and believe, a place and time for us to find and have some peace. Sorry to the dear men who are reading…maybe we should have a weekend retreat for you as well? I will ponder this…let me know if you would come!

For now, we women will be gathering at Lake Tahoe—May 29-31, 2026. Our host is the Zephyr Point Conference Center. Registration is now open! Rest & Renewal Registration Link

For the month of January the registration price is set at $295. This includes housing Friday to Sunday, meals (Sat breakfast-Sun breakfast), programming and…well, Lake Tahoe! We do have limited space, so please consider registering asap. Your early registration also helps us meet our contract payment deadlines.

The first Rest and Renewal retreat took place in 1996 with 35 women gathering at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, CA for an afternoon of worship, teaching and fellowship. In the years following R&R expanded to a full weekend format and visited various awesome locations in Southern California--Catalina Island, Forest Home Ojai, Forest Home Forest Falls, Arrowbear, Salvation Army Camp Malibu. Though our locations have changed through the years, the constant has been the joy of being together. We are women in sport who are thirsty for spiritual connection (and fun!).

In 2020 we pivoted to online Zoom meetings. At first I think we were all just happy to be back in the same “space,” if only on the screen. I know I was grateful and yet, as happened with so many of us, we quickly grew weary of being on a screen and not in person. In 2020 we also launched the WEST Project. This has been quite an interesting five years in so many ways. And now, it seems to me, it is time to gather again. This time at beautiful Lake Tahoe. This time under the banner of this nonprofit that exists to walk with coaches and athletes through every season of life (and sports!).

My own journey these past 30 years has been quite an adventure. I have moved through falling in love with Jesus as an 18 year old athlete at UCLA, to evangelical faith and sports ministry, to taking a hard look at church and faith and how we teach and read the Bible, to who I am today--still journeying and still trying to understand myself and this world we are in right now. The constant through it all has been Jesus, and change. I will (maybe) share more at the retreat, but for now I’d like to say that my heart’s desire as we come back to this retreat in person is that with Rest & Renewal 2026 we more fully live our long time motto: “All of you is welcome here.” All of you really is welcome. And all of you really are welcome...wherever you are in your journey. There is no agenda for “conversion” of any type. We hope to offer a weekend pause that is safe, inclusive, quiet, fun and s l o w e r. I’m coming curious--about our stories and our journeys and our faith and our doubts--and to maybe discover more of how very deeply we are all loved. The Bible will not be weaponized--just explored. The “schedule” will still, as always, be optional. There will still be lots of free time...and music...and laughter...and bonfire story time, of course.

Our theme is: “I will raise my eyes to the mountains, where will my help come from?” (Psalm 121) I anticipate staring at the mountains across that beautiful lake as much as possible. Zephyr Point is a fantastic spot, right on the water, with lots of space to either be alone or to gather together.

We will have some leaders with us. Rev. Tracey Wolff, and Jami Smith, and a few others…in the works. They are women who come as fellow pilgrims, not as those with all of the answers. I don’t know about you, but the older I get the more questions, not answers, I have. All questions and doubts and wondering and tiredness and frustration and joy and goofy pranks and great snacks and good coffee...all are welcome, and very likely. I am even more excited than usual for this weekend...and if you know me at all, you know that’s saying something!

Hoping to see you in May! Email me please (thewestprojectgroup@gmail.com) if you have any questions!

Love always,

Debbie Haliday
Executive Director
The WEST Project

It’s an interesting journey from Los Angeles sunshine to Chicago winter. Planes fly fast. I took my window seat ready for all the views. I could spend the whole 3+ hours looking out that window. We took off with that exhilarating burst of power, climbing up over the ocean and banking to the left over Catalina Island, Pacific blue water as far as you could see. Amazing.

I fell asleep for awhile as the view changed from ocean to desert to solid white clouds obscuring the land for miles and miles. I was tired…. When I woke up the clouds had opened up and the new view revealed the miracle of travel…winter unfolded below me.

Quite a switch! I decided to return to Christmas carols in honor of the winter wonderland below. Here’s the one that popped up on my Apple music Christmas random mix:

In the Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter, long ago
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign
In the bleak midwinter, a stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ
What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring Him a lamb
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part
Yet what I can I give Him, give my heart
Yet what I can I give Him, give my heart, my heart

Song by Christina Rossetti and Gustav Holst

I listened to it three or four times, unwilling to move on to Jingle Bells and such. I was sort of stunned into silence by the song. It described exactly what I was looking at below me, for one. The bleak midwinter, frosty wind, earth standing hard as iron, snow on snow on snow. The line that landed deep, though, was “Yet what I can I give Him, give my heart.”

I used to sing a lot of songs about giving my heart to Jesus. But this time, listening to this one, I felt a new reluctance. What is it that I’m feeling in this heart of mine? Distant? Guarded? Careful? Do I feel distant from Jesus? Why wouldn’t I want to wholeheartedly give him my heart? I mean I “gave him my heart” when I was 18 didn’t I? Why this, now—the internal pushback and hesitation and whoaaaa not so fast there midwinter song writers. What would it even mean to give Jesus my heart like a Shepherd would bring him a lamb?

I had this thought too, in my pondering—I think maybe some of what I’m feeling is that my heart is…mine. It’s kind of finally becoming mine in a way it hasn’t been for a long time. Is that bad? To want my own heart to be mine? I mean, I’ve been trying to feel what I feel, not what I “should” feel or “shouldn’t” feel. I’ve been trying to reclaim myself from years and years of religious rhetoric. How do I do that, and still give my heart to Jesus? It isn’t that I don’t want Jesus. I just don’t want to lose myself (again) in the process. I am learning and believing that being willing to “lose my life to gain it” does not mean I have to lose the me that God created me to be.

This all feels complicated. Does it sound complicated?

My heart, she is quite complicated. Truth be told sometimes I’m not quite sure what to do with her. I’ve been told a lot of things by others, about me…and my heart. Some good and some not so good. And for some reason hearing that Jesus wants my heart as my Christmas present to him left me feeling some kind of way up there at 35,000 feet.

How exactly do I keep my heart and also give it to Jesus?

How do I keep my heart and give it to people I love, and places I love, and wrongs I would like to help right?

I think in some new ways I am withholding my heart a bit more than usual. I’m protecting my heart, guarded for good reason—she has taken some hits. Maybe this hesitancy is wisdom? It is certainly different. I tend to dive in heart first, over and over again. I can get scattered all over the place…and also hurt, deeply. So many of the sources of pain and losses in my life can be traced back to people of faith, ministries, churches…the very same ones who taught me long ago that I needed to give my heart to Jesus. How do I untangle my love for Jesus (I really do love Jesus) from the religious rhetoric (and leaders) that required my silence, my less than, the diminishing of me? It’s all as tangled as the Christmas lights in my green tub.

You know, if you pull the long string out, plug in those lights and then slowly undo the tangles, there’s a lot of beauty to be had. I mean, what’s better than a decorated Christmas tree full of lights? You can squint your eyes, you know, and the sparkling is almost as good as the sun hitting the ocean for miles and miles. Beauty can do wonders for a hurting and hesitant heart.

Maybe that’s the way. The healing path for this heart of mine, slowly and surely letting beauty land. Christmas is beautiful in so many ways. And even moreso, really, Jesus is beautiful. I have this feeling that Jesus wouldn’t want me to lose myself in giving my heart to him. It seems to me the calling is to follow him, to be like him in the unique way that only I can be, heart intact ready to love because of being so well loved. Safe. Seen. Wanted. Known. It’s a lot more like dancing…following the lead of someone looking at me with love like no other. I think I can say yes to that, with a heart that is a bit afraid but willing to lean in. And I can feel Christmas wonder rising up slowly, stretching this creaky heart of mine in a good and healing way.

I’ve learned to plan my walks in new places with my GPS by searching for either green space and water and/or “coffee roasters near me.” Thanks Andrew! I get to enjoy local coffee wherever I am…it is quite a wonderful routine. And so this past week as I wandered around the outskirts of Nashville to start my day I discovered OSA coffee. So good!

Edgehill is an interesting place. It is quite a mixture of old and new. The first day I went in the direction of the green space that was a big park…with new condos lining the streets and constructions crews hard at work building more, seemingly in every direction. I was thinking as I walked that this must be a high growth area. The day I discovered OSA coffee I headed off in the opposite direction, excited about the good reviews and that latte that would soon happen. Much to my surprise, though, the opposite direction took me straight into block after block of government housing projects. The buildings were brick, drab, with broken windows and old air conditioners. I guess I was surprised because of my own ignorance of how change happens in cities.

I’ve been in places like this before, in Los Angeles. I had forgotten the feeling. It’s a kind of ache in my gut, up through my heart, catching in my throat. I’d spent the week in affluent schools in the middle of luxurious beautiful homes. Huge yards with gates and Christmas decorations and gardeners cleaning out the fallen leaves of fall. Very beautiful places. This place, this place was about survival…and likely about trying to get out, and hoping for kids to get out. Such a contrast.

As I walked “home” from the Osa coffee shop I paused and looked back. One side of the street was different from the other. I know this is not that unusual in cities, in our country. I know about redlining and other side of the tracks and other side of the highway. I know in theory but there I was standing in the middle of it and it was…well, it was sad. How does affluence sit across the street from poverty in so many places in our country? How are some people hungry and some people building ballrooms?

Walking through the housing projects, though, I wasn’t surprised by the people. I’ve seen this before too. There were smiles and children in and around the rundown brick apartments. Walking by I could see Christmas lights through the open door. I said good morning and I love your tree to the people on the steps. “Yes,” they said smiling, “we needed Christmas joy early this year!” Indeed. Yes, same. School kids, cleaned up and bleary eyed, came running out apartment doors slamming behind them, trying to catch their busses. Life, there is life, lots and lots of life, beautiful life… in these places where figuring out food and clothes and rent is a struggle. I know for many they have also figured out how to live joy in the midst of trying to survive.

I can see clearly now too that the brick apartments are slowly being torn down, families pushed to figure out something else. It is gentrification unfolding right in front of my eyes…and I can feel my participation/complicity staying in my Airbnb and drinking that delicious coffee. Hmmmm. Things to wrestle with….

Gentrification is the process of a neighborhood transforming as higher-income residents move in, leading to rising property values and often displacing lower-income residents. This process can be driven by private investment and public policy and is characterized by the arrival of new businesses and the renovation of buildings. While it can lead to neighborhood improvements, it often results in increased living expenses and can have detrimental effects on long-term residents.

Source

We live in such an interesting country, especially right now. I’m not holding myself in judgment about my walking and renting a place to rest and drinking good coffee. I am asking myself with curiosity…what else is there for me to do here in these United States, right now? What is mine to do in Nashville and these cities I visit? What is mine to do in my neighborhood? Kindness is not always about money…and yet sometimes it literally is.

It’s all a big question that won’t be answered here in this short Substack, but I think part of what I’m to do is to say it…say the question. Say it for all of us. Imagine if we all did our part…helping those with less, being willing to see and not look away. Staying generous, not greedy. That giving line is something very personal for sure, we all have the ability to share. It’s particularly ridiculous that our government seems to be (is) lobbying against helping people who have less…especially because so much of the poverty in our country is directly due to generations of systemic oppression.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. There’s much to say about that of course…the real truth of this day and the origins of our country and the horrors inflicted on indigenous people. I’m not looking away from that either. Our family gathers to be together and thankful for life and so, this day is about that for us. I’m grateful for people and love and time, the very best gift.

I think, for me, gratitude and generosity go hand in hand. When I am content with what I have, and thankful, I am more willing to have less and give more away. I prefer systems that take care of people, and I also want to be part of the giving that makes it happen. It isn’t socialism, or communism…it is generosity. It is in actuality, literally, absolutely being woke. Awake to other people, awake to what’s happening on the streets of this country, awake to what’s happening in our cities and for our poor. It is kindness and empathy and a willingness to find ways to help. Life is rich, living this way, for my heart, is the very best way to live.

I’m excited to work more in Nashville. I’m excited to learn more about the edges of poverty and how, perhaps, some needs could be met by some of those really wonderful people I’m getting to know and work with there. I’m sure there are many groups doing exactly that good work already…I want to find them and help in any way I can. That’s what we all need to do right? Do all the good we can…

Praying for provision for all this Thanksgiving…and every day.

And now, yesterday, I was walking again, this time with beloved friends down neighborhood streets in the suburbs of Chicago. Streets lined with yellow, red, orange, orange mixed with red and yellow mixed with orange leaves big and small, bright against the blue sky—beautiful! Stunning colors on all sizes and types of trees in every direction...I couldn’t stop looking up and around and smiling. And the thought that came was, “I think I’m in love with fall.”

I also think I’m learning how to feel more, period. If I’m sad, I’m learning to let myself cry. If I’m happy, I’m learning to really feel it, and maybe even dance a little (at least if I’m alone :). If I’m grieving, I’m learning to spill it all out on paper and let all the emotions come—fear, anger, sadness, grief. I think maybe there’s a connection between giving these emotions permission to show up in the light, as they actually are, and feeling I’ve fallen in love with fall.

I mean, this obviously isn’t my first fall. This love for fall colors and beauty hit deeper this fall season. There is a new intensity of joy in my chest as I look at something as simple and fantastic as these beautiful fall trees. I think I landed on calling it “falling in love” because it’s a feeling inside that isn’t manufactured. It just rises up, unbidden, doesn’t it…in love, “real” love? I can’t manufacture love like this on cue, it just happens. There can be an unpredictable, risky, out of control, what’s going to happen next aspect to feeling feelings—even wonderful ones like love. It can be scary. At least that’s how it often feels to me. Right now, though, I also feel fear falling away a bit and something new rising up in my heart. This is a welcome shift. This is a place, I think, for love to grow.

Feelings are an important part of how we do life. My usual strategies have involved a lot of self correction—“hmmm let’s not feel that” types of messages. That’s wrong to feel that or that’s dangerous to feel that, I may never stop feeling that if I let myself go there…. Staying “in control” has been my safe place. Feelings can be quite disruptive if they get out of control, right?

How do you manage feelings in your life? Can you name them? Do you let yourself feel them? I seem to be both crying more and apparently falling in love as well…and I’m starting to embrace it all.

It helps me to pause and remember that if I am made in the image of God, the feelings were and are actually God’s idea…and, AND, therefore, God actually has them too. I don’t have to figure this all out over here by myself and then present my perfectly processed feelings to an unfeeling God. God is with me without judgment. In fact, in trying to help us understand who God is, the Bible called God something pretty remarkable. God is love, we are told. God IS love. That seems like the very best sentence to describe God—I really want a God who is, literally, love. God is that love, that spontaneous and out of control stirring of joy rising up from deep places. God is love with me when I feel sad or angry or completely out of control and unlovable.

I also love how God tries to teach us about love. The earth is, it seems to me, a love letter. Fall is a very beautiful love letter. Hm, maybe falling in love with fall is kind of me falling in love with God in a new, deeper way. Jesus, it seems to me, lived love better than anyone I’ve ever known or seen. Jesus, loved and loving, still and forever. I think Jesus is actually quite loveable. Kids running to him says a lot. The way he treated women was better than how a lot of men treat women even now. Jesus demonstrated no condemnation of people or their behavior—well except maybe for the judgmental religious people using their power in oppressive ways. Inclusion was his mantra. Forgiveness. Patience. Sacrifice. Some of his last words were along the lines of…everyone will know you are one of my people by how you love each other. Love one another. Love one another. Love one another. Please just love one another.

It seems to me there’s a lot more hate than love in this world—maybe that’s why he emphasized love so much. Humans have a tendency…hate is real. Hate is obviously an emotion too. It can also rise up unexpectedly and feel out of control. It’s a cold darkness that I can tangibly feel when I let it into my heart.

Since this is what I do now, I asked AI for answer to my question: “Why do people hate people?” I mean I could guess. I for sure have my reasons. I tend to hate people who hurt people. Cruel ICE agents with masks get to me. Hate rises up. Nonviolence is not my first instinct. Sometimes hate feels justified. But there’s a lot of hate in the world that doesn’t make sense to me, too. Why do people hate people?

Here’s some Artificial Intelligence trying to explain human hate:

People hate other people for a complex mix of psychological, social, and personal reasons, often stemming from factors such as fear, past negative experiences, and social conditioning rather than being an inherent, universal human trait.

Psychological & Social Roots of Hatred

• “Us vs. Them” Mentality: Humans are social creatures with a natural tendency to form in-groups and out-groups based on shared identities like race, religion, nationality, or ideology. This can lead to an “in-group bias,” where one’s own group is favored, and the out-group is perceived as different, inferior, or an enemy.

• Fear and the Perception of Threat: Fear is a powerful driver of hatred. When people feel their values, beliefs, or safety are threatened, they may develop hostile feelings toward the perceived source of that threat. This can lead to the “fight-or-flight” response, where the brain activates fear and aggression centers when encountering those perceived as different or challenging.

• Prejudice and Stereotypes: Hatred often stems from prejudice (negative feelings) and stereotypes (overgeneralized beliefs) about entire groups of people. These biases are often learned from family, friends, media, and society, and can persist across generations.

• Scapegoating: When people or groups experience frustration or are blocked from achieving goals, they may blame an out-group for their problems, a process known as scapegoating.

• Need for Self-Esteem and Dominance: Some individuals use prejudice to feel better about themselves or maintain a positive self-concept. By putting others down or asserting dominance, they can feel superior or more secure in their own worth.

• Lack of Empathy and Understanding: Difficulty seeing things from another person’s perspective can lead to misunderstandings and negative conclusions. A lack of empathy can make it easier to view others as less important or less human, a key component of hatred.

Personal Experiences

• Past Hurt and Trauma: A history of being hurt, betrayed, or abused can lead to a general mistrust of others and a defensive mechanism of developing hatred to avoid further pain.

• Chronic Stress and Burnout: Long-term stress and burnout can diminish patience and empathy, making individuals more irritable and prone to negative judgments about others.

• Insecurity and Comparison: People with low self-esteem or who frequently compare themselves to others may project their insecurities outward, resenting those they perceive as more successful or confident.

Ultimately, while the capacity for dislike exists in everyone, persistent and intense hatred is a learned behavior and mindset influenced by a combination of personal vulnerabilities and social dynamics

Persistent and intense hatred is a learned behavior and mindset. Yes. And, what is learned can also be unlearned, says my hopeful heart. Hate steals life, in lots of ways. That creeping darkness that settles in as coldness and locks up my heart…it steals love, and joy, and peace, and that hope. Even hating for good reason has a darkness to it. There’s a meanness that can escalate quickly—it affects my body, my blood pressure, my energy. It is a filter that interprets people and actions. And also hatred steals life in a very concrete way—hate literally gets people killed. Hate received over and over can make people not want to be alive. There’s that.

Dr. King had and has so much wisdom around hate:

In one of his most famous ser­mons, Loving Your Enemies, Dr. King preached: ​“Returning hate for hate mul­ti­plies hate, adding deep­er dark­ness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness can­not dri­ve out dark­ness; only light can do that. Hate can­not dri­ve out hate; only love can do that.” SOURCE

Can love really be the answer to dismantling hate, driving out hate, from my heart and from this world?

Lin-Manuel Miranda said something in 2016 that was so powerful. Did you see it? He was accepting the Tony Award for Hamilton—Best Musical and TEN other Tony awards that year. Please pause for a moment and watch and listen. The award show was right after the devastating murders at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. Hate killed people that night. He wrote this sonnet as his acceptance speech—he was honoring his wife, his love for his work, and especially those killed in Orlando, and the whole LGBTQ+ community. Here’s a link: Lin Manuel’s Sonnet. The line that many have quoted from what he said is, “…love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.”

There is so much hatred directed toward gay and lesbian and trans people. The long answer above to why people hate people would lead me to believe it actually has very little to do with the people being hated, and most everything to do with the people doing the hating. If I’m feeling hatred, I need to look to myself to shift to love, or I am just like those ICE agents. These are hard words to take in…. The demonizing way LGBTQ people are treated is not about them, it’s actually about those who are hating them.

The Supreme Court is getting involved right now, again, with a challenge to the legalization of gay marriage. As one person said in my Threads feed: “…they are against me being legally able to sit at the bedside of my loved one while they are dying. And the reason? God. Just stop and let that sink in.”

I know many (including me, in years past, I am very sad to say) use theological interpretations to justify their “moral stance” towards people and sexuality and gender. This is not love. The thing is, it’s just not any of our jobs to decide these things for anyone else. Jesus didn’t leave and say our responsibility is to morally police every human and be sure they are doing what we say is right and good, and if they’re not, kick them out of church and church leadership and hospitals and families and for sure don’t let them marry each other. Jesus said, love one another as I have loved you. Jesus didn’t say hate the sin, love the sinner. Jesus, it seems to me, would say, “…love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.” Shade never made anyone less gay, would be another way to say it. We need to calm down. We need to step back. We need to love people and just let people love. Let love decide. Let love win. Let love lead. We need to examine ourselves and take the log out of our eyes, and learn to love each other. All of us. Period.

Falling in love is a beautiful experience in life. Sometimes people fall in love, mysteriously, and sometimes people fall in love with fall. Falling in love isn’t the problem…it’s the gift. And loving each other, well, I think that is the best gift we could possibly give to each other.

I wonder, who needs to, who gets to, be loved by you today?

It really has me thinking. I’ve been thinking so much I have grown quiet…yes, I see the irony. I needed it, though. I want to be more about responding, not reacting. It seems, at least for me, it helps to be quiet first. And so I’ve been sitting and staring a lot. It’s November and it’s beautiful outside, and my gnomes are cute, and candles signal stillness…so it really is all creating a lovely time and way to be quiet and think.

Currently staring at this guy…and my candle.

I’ve sorted some things in my journal and felt a quieter calm settling in my soul a bit. Much needed. But. There is this reality that “they” are saying the quiet part out loud. Actually, not just saying…harm is happening. Backing up though, what is the quiet part? And why is it described that way?

I think, correct me if I’m wrong please, this phrase means that true motives are often or can be hidden. True opinions. True biases. Racial undertones. Viewpoints that are perceived to be somewhat unacceptable are muted, held underneath, hidden. There is often a shadow thing going on that is not brought into the light…for various reasons. Sometimes there’s a quiet part in us that we don’t want to look at or acknowledge, too. Blind spots can be very quiet things.

The quiet part at my former church was that men are better than women—better leaders, better pastors, better…. That women have deficiencies (Eve sinned first and such) and so they should be, well, quiet. No one said that to my face, exactly…I just was not hired to lead (fired when I tried to) and not encouraged to teach others (especially not men). My perception was that I was a bit much, in general. I didn’t see it, until I did. The quiet part.

Racism is no longer the quiet part—at least for some. Of course for some it never was. Some angrily react that they are not racist, which is interesting. Some clearly feel no need to hide that they are, who they are, at the core. In the mid 80’s I was trying to teach my predominately white students in Southern California about Martin Luther King, Jr. They didn’t know about him. They thought it was history from a long time ago, the civil rights movement. We had a discussion I’ll never forget. They were telling me that racism wasn’t a problem anymore. That they didn’t see black people as less than…and that black people had every opportunity that they have. I listened. I was trying to figure out how to help them see things more clearly. Teaching not telling…. And so I asked them—who are the people standing on the corner at Home Depot? And they said Mexicans who can’t find jobs. And they started using words like lazy and uneducated. And I asked them if those were possibly racist opinions…and it got really quiet. I was glad it got quiet.

Now, in 2025, Home Depots are targeted. People are being brutally hunted down on those corners and in neighborhoods and in bakeries and on farms and apartment buildings…handcuffed or ziptied, punched and kicked, thrown in unmarked cars and into inhumane detention centers, denied due process, and disappeared, because of the color of their brown skin. The Supreme Court has said yes to this. The Supreme Court. Racial profiling is ok, yes to that. Are any real Americans brown? I think if I were teaching high schoolers now they would call those people at Home Depot illegal aliens. They’ve been taught this…the quiet part out loud, the quiet part that isn’t true. I appreciated the truth spoken by Brandon Johnson, On Language-the mayor of Chicago. Did you see the interview?

It never was not there, racism, here in our country…it was quiet…mostly. It showed up in violent ways that were hidden by white sheets or police before videos, justified by law and order lies. And now it is just not quiet at all. It is an out loud epidemic. Please. Don’t look away. The Vice President of the United States says it makes perfect sense to not want to live next to someone who speaks a different language. So there’s that.

It’s interesting who is vilified and who is elevated by this Christian Nationalist White Supremacist movement that is sweeping our country—being used and manipulated by white men who want power and money. Some are calling it a revival. I’m very confused. How can a “revival” be so not like Jesus. Wouldn’t being revived mean there is a spiritual deepening that returns us toward the image of Christ? We will, says the Bible, know who people are “by their fruit”…we are no longer living with this wisdom. We, many of us, are quiet and have blinders on (inside and outside). This is our privilege as white people in America now. I point to myself as a white person with privilege. I know people of color are quiet too—that is not about privilege but about protection. I’m not saying anything here about that…stay safe friends.

There is a ground swell of firing of Black women, and men, all over the country. From the military to CBS to…well where else? Thousands of places that’s where. It’s quiet but not quiet.

Between February and April 2025, over 300,000 Black women left the workforce due to factors including federal job cuts, corporate retreat from Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) programs, and the impact of economic policies. This resulted in the Black women’s unemployment rate increasing to 6.3%, its highest level since October 2021. In the period of February to July 2025, Black women lost 319,000 jobs in public and private sectors, with experts attributing this to federal agency layoffs where Black women are disproportionately represented. (LINK)

Is it a coincidence that making our government more “efficient” has involved cuts like this, for these people? Or is it a racist agenda? Targeted? Crafted carefully? Planned? The quiet part out loud?

Trans people are horribly vilified. Why? Humans, I think, are often afraid of what and who we don’t understand—and willing to listen to what certain people tell them, without discretion. The way to understand is to seek to understand, really understand. Trans people are people. And they are people to be loved and cared for, listened to and learned from, equally valued and respected. Why is sexuality and why is gender such a big “issue” to be crushed? This is a good place to pause and really think, those who are convinced…do you know why you think what you think? There is so much to say about this and I need to say more in this my no longer quiet state…and I will.

For now I want to say something so cringy it makes me smile. What would Jesus say and do right now in the United States of America? No really. I’m speaking to those of you who are not and seek to not be “woke” and yet are maybe starting to think…hmmmmm, some of this, it doesn’t seem quite right. This whole illegal alien, hate gays and lesbians and get rid of trans people, fire as many Black people as possible, don’t feed the poor they are just lazy thing…it is starting to feel, in fact, wrong. Maybe you are starting to wonder, am I missing something? Yes. Yes. Yes. Let’s wake up. Waking up is literally what we are commanded to do—wake up oh sleeper. Ephesians 5. Read it with the lense of the quiet part out loud. It’s about light and right and wrong and exposing shameful things and being careful how we live, “not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil. So do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.” Let’s all be woke, please. Please. Please.

Love God. Love your neighbor. Isn’t this the will of the Lord? And seeking to justify himself that guy in the Bible said something along the lines of…sure, right, of course…BUT, who is my neighbor??? Surely not someone who speaks another language, or has different skin color, or is trying to understand themselves and their gender and figuring out a way to want to be alive still. Surely not those people…. Who were the vilified in Jesus’ time? And who are the vilified in ours? And who are the quietly vilified in our hearts? We need to repent and love…out loud. Not quietly. I need to repent and love out loud, not quietly….

I hear some people saying that we need to be more concerned with our own spiritual development than with what is happening in our country “politically” and I’m…😳stunned. Shhhhhhh is what I hear. Be quiet. Settle down. Mind your business. This is what set me off, this encouragement to disengage for spiritual growth purposes…it sent me into the quiet to figure out how to be and how not to be.

The quiet part of withdrawing, yes, is needed. I need beauty and silence and pauses. I need God’s help to breathe deep and regain strength. Every day. Yes. I do. And not just me, I think. We all do.

We who can’t look away. We who are saying, wait a minute. We who heard what Charlie Kirk actually said, more often than not. We who see violent arrests. We who understand that poor people need food, and our government would rather vilify the poor than care for them. We who see that our cities are not at war…and our president wants them to be. We need to pause in the quiet… Jesus often withdrew to be alone. We need to as well. And we need to not stay there, in the safe quiet of our privilege.

I’m here to add my voice to the many voices that are saying…please don’t be quiet. If the quiet part exists, we can’t be quiet about it. If the quiet part is said out loud, we can’t be quiet about it. If the quiet part is going to not just exist, not just be said out loud, but be violently used by people in power to harm people, we cannot be quiet about it.

Do you agree?

I was driving to get to this beach when it occurred to me that my thinking was, perhaps, weighing me down. I was rehearsing in my mind the many scenarios that were not what I wish they were—I’ll spare you the list. Suffice it to say that this is not a great way to arrive at rest, or peace, or contentment or, well, anything good! Certainly my line of thinking was missing any sense of gratitude for the way (some) things are in my life. Let’s begin with this—I’m driving along a beautiful road with my GPS guiding me to a beautiful beach. I have the whole day to explore…AND it is sunny in Oregon. Warm and sunny. And quiet and beautiful. Have I mentioned that it was all beauty in every direction? Soul stirring beauty.

My thoughts were interrupted mid-complaint and sadness. “What if….” That’s the phrase that stopped me in my tracks, literally. I pulled over. Here…

Now, I have experienced plenty of what if fearful downward spirals, full of worst case scenarios. This was not that…not another cycle of negativity rehearsing the what if possibilities of things getting worse. This was a completely different what if interruption. This was—what if there is actually…HOPE?

Something shifted in me, right there staring at that bridge. I, and the day, was changed.

HOPE. It is such a powerful and interesting…what is hope anyway? Is hope an emotion? Brene Brown says no, it’s a cognitive process. She refers to Charles Snyder’s definition of hope as, “a cognitive process involving the ability to set goals (goals), find ways to achieve them (pathways), and believe in one’s capacity to do so (agency).” That makes sense, but that was not my experience in my moment by the bridge. Some research has described hope as “a powerful emotion that provides meaning and keeps spirits lifted….” I did experience a powerful emotional shift as hope entered the picture.

I’ve been trying to learn more about mindfulness and pay attention to my feet on the ground where I am. As I do that, I am noticing more and more what’s going on in my body. So I want to describe this shift in me on the road last week—sadness and frustration to hope—as a clear and powerful bodily shift. I felt it in my chest, deep in there. I didn’t get to it by talking myself into feeling differently or by setting any goals. I didn’t “should” on myself about all the reasons I shouldn’t feel how I felt. I just got still and paid attention to what was going on inside of me. I let myself feel how I was feeling. And then a new thought emerged, a thought that landed inside of me. I still felt some sadness and frustration, but there was a new base to stand on that came underneath it all and lifted me up. The word that fit all of that is HOPE. It was, “Yes, and….” Yes that is sad…and, what if there is hope for different and more at some point? I kept rehearsing these thoughts all day, as I made my way up the coast and into Washington. The heaviness began to dissipate. There was a release. I was able to take in the beauty all around me. I guess you could describe the day as filled with a cognitive process that led me to be willing to hope, but that sounds kind of logical and a little too clinical. This felt more…mysterious.

I most often associate hope with my faith. I think for a lot of years, though, it was performative. I based my hope on faith that God would do something, that God would make things better. And if God didn’t, it became a “should” thing. I should trust more. I should believe more. I should be ok even if…. This day was different. This was more along the lines of what felt like a nudge from God toward hope, with love and gentleness. And a Presence sharing the load of not yet, and inviting me to enjoy the beauty of creation along the way through my day. Hope isn’t about what is, after all, it’s about what might be. There’s a waiting involved. I can wait hopefully, or I can wait frustrated and angry and sad and all the not hopeful things I so often feel. And I’m learning also, I can actually be frustrated and angry and sad AND hopeful. 🤯

Hope takes the edge off, which I’m seeing then allows me to direct my energy away from ruminating and towards action. That is the agency part, I think. I feel energized by my day “alone” on the beautiful Oregon Coast. I learned something important that day to carry with me no matter where I am. I must, I think we must, hold onto hope, return to hope, look for hope…in all circumstances, every day, everywhere we are.

I’m home now, and I woke up today to the news that Marina Corina Machado was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. In the beautiful video with Norwegian Nobel Institute Director Kristian Berg Harpviken I saw an emotional and humble man honoring a strong and humble woman, who immediately deferred to the courage of the people of Venezuela to pursue democracy and peace. Their interaction fueled my hope to grow. I had feared the committee would give in to the constant propaganda and lobbying coming out of MAGA sources and Trump himself. I dreaded that they would bend the knee to this narcissistic man, as so many have. And yet, they did not. They stood strong for a real pursuit of peace. This also grows my hope.

Then later this morning I read about the experience of three medical professionals who chose to go to Gaza to try to help. "It Isn't Fair" is a beautiful Substack post by Jeff Chu, which shares their stories and experiences. This is the type of brave action that inspires me to never ever give up. Keep working. Say yes. Go and help. Even in the face of horrific impossible days, these people reported on the demeanor and resiliency of the Palestinian people in Gaza. A resiliency they demonstrated by their willingness to put themselves in harms way to help others. Oh Lord, may this ceasefire hold…may hostages be freed…may bombing truly stop…may prisoners be released to freedom…may life giving supplies be finally provided to those who are still alive in Gaza. I am holding on to hope for the Palestinian people.

In the midst of escalating violence and so many lies here in the United States, with generals gathered and threats of troops being deployed and people being disappeared—due process and freedom to protest being stripped away, our country is fighting back, nonviolently. This gives me hope. There are frogs in Portland, the city is not burning down. (I was just there!) And daily and strong resistance in Chicago, even as priests are hit with tear gas. October 18 is coming. Where will you be? Goals, pathways and agency…it’s time to act.

I also bought a magnet for my car that says I read banned books. And I do. Reading is also resistance. Thank you Danielle Coke Balfour. Your website says, “Seek Justice, Stay Hopeful.” YES!!! Exactly. Hopeful indeed.

I hope you are hopeful. I keep hearing the quote from Jane Goodall, who is no longer with us, but her words are alive and powerful:

Hope is often misunderstood. People tend to think that it is simply passive wishful thinking: I hope something will happen but I’m not going to do anything about it. This is indeed the opposite of real hope, which requires action and engagement.

Jane Goodall, The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times

I’m thankful for the interruption of my day and movement toward hopefulness. And I’m also thankful for the ability to step into that hope with action and engagement. It’s a good time to be filled with hope, and to live hope, and to share hope. Together we can…God is with us.

Once upon a time I was a high school teacher assigned to teach a class about worldviews. It feels like a lifetime ago, but many memories came back this week— beginning with this word, Epistemology. I doubt I knew much about this concept before I began preparing to teach that class. Epistemology, Cosmology, Ontology…those are the words of curriculum focus that I remember. Cosmology refers to “the branch of philosophy that studies the fundamental nature of the universe as a whole, focusing on questions of existence, reality, and the cosmos through abstract reasoning and conceptual analysis, rather than empirical methods,” I checked so AI could remind me. Light stuff. And the other two?

Ontology is the philosophical study of existence, being, and reality, asking "What is there?" and "What is the nature of reality?" Epistemology is the study of knowledge, focusing on "How do we know what we know?" by examining the nature, sources, limits, and validity of knowledge. In essence, ontology deals with the "what" (what exists), while epistemology addresses the "how" (how we acquire and justify knowledge about it).

What is real? What exists? And how do I know what I know about that reality? I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’m living in a dual (at least) universe of what is real and true and what is half truth or not true at all…and I’m often uncertain about how to acquire more accurate knowledge. What are the best sources? How do I examine the validity of the knowledge I’m receiving?

I loved teaching that class. I loved it because who can answer any of those questions without deep discussions and challenging our own belief systems? This is how we grow. I mean when’s the last time you asked yourself, on your own, what is the fundamental nature of the universe? What is the nature of reality? What is real? How do I know what I know? What is the truth I’m settled on? I think most of us are firmly in some level of survival mode, for a lot of reasons. Some of the survival is about the many “realities” coming at us from so many directions, and some is just life. Life is hard. It’s much easier to swim in familiar streams, and listen to familiar sources that don’t challenge our assumptions. In that class of high school juniors we tried to ask all of the questions and talk about what everyone thought. Assumptions were challenged and debated with respect…it was very wonderful.

How do I know what I know? Who is telling the truth? What is the truth? This morning it lead me to another question, because this is how my brain works. “Who told you that you were naked?” There are a lot of great questions in the Bible. Jesus asked a lot of great questions too. One of my favorites is, “What do you want me to do for you?” Whoa. I often think the key to all of this knowledge stuff is actually asking more questions…asking the right questions.

The naked question is in Genesis, and I honestly don’t think we talk about it enough. Why is God asking this question? Is it rhetorical? Wouldn’t God know if they were naked and where they were hiding? What was God after here with this line of questioning? Adam and Eve were quite happy being naked until they decided to eat that fruit. And suddenly they were hiding. Hiding from God. Hiding their bodies. Knowledge of good and evil had apparently messed with them to the core of their naked selves. What are we to make of all of that? I am stuck on the “who told you…”.

I’ve read the Bible cover to cover four or five or twenty times, I don’t know, and listened to literally thousands of sermons. It really is a book full of great stories about so many different types of people…and teaching the Bible can be very challenging. At least I think so. History and our present time shows us, the Bible is also a potentially dangerous book. I heard a preacher say recently, “God gave Israel the land as a promise (long pause with eyebrows raised)…but that’s another sermon for another day. We’ll talk about that another time, and offend more people.” Offend more people? Oh, I see what you did there. I have so many questions. That feels like a dangerous use of the Bible to me…God’s ancient promises grabbed to offer insinuations and simplistic interpretations…and that can be dangerous. Scripture can be weaponized, literally. Is that comment about “promises” actually promoting genocide…starvation…killing people…starving and bombing children? How could that possibly be in order to fulfill God’s promises? How can that be the way of Christ?

There are many groups of people whose lives are threatened because of how the Bible is taught. It has taken a while, but I’ve finally come to the conclusion that it’s actually not the Bible’s fault. And so I keep reading…and learning…and listening…and finding interpretations that make a lot more sense than some of the old ones I used to embrace. So much of the “biblical” messages actually revolve around God seeing me, and us, and loving me, loving us, all of us. And God’s heart calling us to love others who are not “us” in terms of our way of seeing. “Love your neighbor as yourself…” for example, is pretty clear. Even when Jesus said it, he was asked…wait, ok but who is my neighbor? Love your enemy…there’s that one. Not make enemies, not identify enemies, not watch out for your enemies. Not us and them words filled with hate and threats.

I also know a lot of what I know from reading other books and listening to other people. A book of quotes my great uncle, John Gardner, put together, inspired me as a young person— “Know or Listen to Those Who Know.” I don’t really know about slavery, so I listen to those who have studied this history in great detail—like Nikole Hannah Jones. I want to learn about the real experience of people of color in our country, so I read Ta-Nehisi Coates. I cried through Between the World and Me, a letter to his son. The Message is a phenomenal book. I want to learn Biblical perspectives about sexuality that are different from the ones I’ve been taught. I’ve read Colby Martin, his book Unclobbered: Rethinking Our Misuse of the Bible and Homosexuality. It is such a good book.

I think a lot of how we know what we know these days depends on our social media feed, giving us a reality and interpretations of current events that is a curated algorithm. These are such snippets and easy knowledge grabs. I find that in my scrolling I’m also teaching myself to lose attention after a few sentences. It’s hard to even read a whole article about something let alone a whole book. And the social media knowledge this past week has been…well, disturbing. I see pastors and conservative politicians elevating Charlie Kirk…and people of color recoiling, for example. Is he a hero of the Christian faith? Or is he a man who was elevated by wealthy people to promote a political agenda of white Christian nationalism? Or is he somewhere in the middle of both of those things? Human, flawed, good and bad, right and wrong? There is a huge memorial service happening to honor him as I type right now. His very life is being weaponized. And who are these enemies exactly?

Last weekend I heard a pastor say people loved Charlie Kirk because he was “winsome” in how he debated. And I heard a professor say in an interview that she and many like her feared for their lives (and their jobs) because his organization had targeted them as enemies of the movement. How (and why?) does a Christian leader target and demonize other people as enemies? I heard such violent rhetoric from Charlie Kirk himself discussing suggestions on how to carry out the death penalty, and his demeaning tone and words towards women of color. How can that be heroic? Do millions of people think that’s heroic? Apparently they do. Is it because they agree? Or do they not really know what else he has said? I go back to, “Who told you….” Please pause. Pause and think.

I want how I know what I know to be carefully curated, with many voices included, and the wisdom of God guiding each step. The wisdom of God is more than an acknowledgement of God. The wisdom of God is all about love. God is love, right? Love is the filter. The wisdom of God is about humility and kindness…the fruit of listening, really listening. I know I’m doing this imperfectly.

Here’s my last thought…this song: “Love’s First Act is to Listen.” Seems to me this is the key. And this is my goal for this week…imperfect but intently…listen as an act of love.

If love’s first act is to listen, today I choose to love.

Tell me something real, show me how you feel, I will listen

Our lives are woven together, but I get lost in me

I need a change, need to reframe, my perspective

When you open up your heart, you have my attention

Without your voice, something is missing

Everything you are is divine expression

You bring heaven, so bring heaven

Walking shoulder to shoulder, sharing in the load

Though we may fall, we will stand tall, together

When you open up your heart you have my attention

Without your voice something is missing

Everything you are is divine expression

You bring heaven, so bring heaven

Can we make it through, to the other side?

Just to know maybe the peace that we all need.

Let the sun shine on your face and dry your tears

When you open up your heart you have my attention

Without your voice, something is missing

Everything you are is divine expression

You bring heaven, so bring heaven.

Dear God, help us to love like you love. Help us discern what is real.

I’ve been trying to figure it out.

The best I can come up with is that the mountains here feel familiar. It’s a weird comfortability being in a place that you used to call home. I haven’t lived here for many, many years…but there have been so many visits for so many different reasons, over the span of those years. I’m wondering (and thinking) about how a place can feel familiar, like home, and what happens inside as those feelings rise up.

It used to be that when I thought about Santa Barbara I felt sad. There has been loss here, for sure, and there are some really hard memories. We moved here when I was 16 and I did not want it. I did not want the move. I did not want the mountains, or the beach or the new school or any of it. I was sad and angry for, well, a very long time. I missed Virginia. I missed my horses. I missed my sports teams. I missed my life. I missed the familiarity of those rolling green hills and trees that changed with the seasons, my friends, the barn in our field and the quiet and stars at night with horses content and munching on hay. It was all that I had known as home. We left everything and everyone to move here. I was very uncomfortable with the culture and the people and the pace. I didn’t belong and I didn’t know how to be. Santa Barbara was kind of the enemy…as much as a place can be that.

It’s pretty hard to stay angry at beauty, though. The mountains wooed me…with hazy sunsets and morning pink shades and their steady presence. I stared at them a lot back then. And the beach. It’s hard to stay mad at the ocean and sand and birds and sunsets and sunrises. The ocean is such a mystery to me. Shades of blue—it changes color and seemingly moods nearly every day. And those cool breezes and clear islands appearing and then disappearing. I stared at the ocean a lot back then too.

When my family moved north while I was in college, Santa Barbara kind of went away. I was in Los Angeles and had a very full and challenging life. I didn’t come here for quite awhile. And then slowly but surely things shifted and those interesting full circle things that happen sometimes started to occur. The sports camp I loved was moved to UC Santa Barbara…and I got to be here again—every summer for many years. I got to be back between the mountains and the beach, breathing that eucalyptus tree smell and enjoying that foggy morning coolness…making amazing memories. Then much to my grief, my work with the camp ended. And Santa Barbara seemingly went away again.

Then a young man joined our staff in Los Angeles and his family invited me to visit their home in Santa Barbara. Friendships were formed slowly but surely. And I was offered a home away from home whenever I wanted (or needed) it. I came back to the ocean cliffs with mountains right there rising up, again…just as I remembered it. One after another the circles happened and I am finding myself in Santa Barbara more and more, over and over again.

The sad memories have been eclipsed by laughter and friendship and good wine and deep sleep and long walks. The familiar feeling of the mountains—I think I can name it now. It’s a feeling of steady presence and beauty, like an old friend. Loss and sadness has faded. Instead of grief, here, I feel…thankful. I feel grounded and loved and cared for and present. Not stuck in the past and not wondering about if I’ll ever be able to come back, I’m just really glad to be here, today. And another visit will happen, in due time. This is a VERY new posture for me. I feel everything very deeply and can easily get stuck in the sadness of the past—the losses, the deaths, the changes, the moves. This shift towards receiving the gift of the beauty of this place today, with peace and joy, this is a welcome shift.

And it has me thinking and wondering if there are other places or people or memories in my life that could also shift and maybe even be transformed—from grief to gladness, a healing of heart and soul. I wonder if there are other “mountains” I could move towards and sit with that might become familiar friends too.

I’m even wondering if this movement and shift in me, inside, could be applied to helping with what is happening in this country and even around the world. There is so much devastation and heartbreak. So much lying and injustice. I become overwhelmed with anger and sadness…it feels like the biggest worst mountain ever. I’m staring at it because I can’t look away. It feels wrong to look away. It feels like giving in to evil to withdraw and stop caring, stop feeling, stop pushing back.

When I pause, trying to sort through it all, I often think of Mr. Rogers and the invitation to look for the helpers. And when I do, I think of the people who are protesting—nonviolently—day after day, week after week, all over the world. And I think of the brave women making a public stand against the abuse that they endured, demanding justice…and that there are many people who are standing with them. I stand with them! I think of the World Central Kitchen and nurses and doctors helping in harm’s way and billionaires who actually give their money away and the driven and generous lawyers fighting for immigration rights for people who are losing everything. I think of my friend helping homeless people recycle and find food. There are so many helpers and so many beautiful things happening in the midst of truly awful things, even this very day.

So today, as I prepare to leave beautiful Santa Barbara, I’m thinking about hope, and how important it is to not give up hoping things can be different.

“Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well.”

―The Shawshank Redemption

Ah yes. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. I think, I hope, (I dream) that maybe it’s possible at some point these United States could be a safe home for all people—a place to be loved and cared for, wanted and belonging. A place for people to thrive and build diverse and loving communities. It feels impossible—the impossible dream—honestly, the amount of change that’s needed on so many fronts. We are careening in the wrong direction with the wrong people driving, it seems to me.

It is maybe a silly comparison, but I do remember feeling like living in Santa Barbara was impossible too. All grief and loss and sadness…. Maybe there are some reasons to hope for our country. Maybe if we don’t give up. Maybe if we work together doing our part, every single one of us who is paying attention and saying NO…and YES to loving people and caring for each other as humans. Maybe if we lock arms as helpers, one day at a time, with all we have in us? Maybe, with God’s help…yes please help God. I think we have to, right? We have to not give up. Hope and help. Every day. One day at a time. Together we can.

I can still remember drawing airplanes as a child…here’s my re-creation from memory. It’s ok to laugh. :)

That’s me of course, Captain Debbie happily flying somewhere. I have no memories of my grandfather and I drawing together. Neither did he actually take me on a plane as a child. He did work as an air traffic controller at a busy airport in Washington D.C. so I’m guessing there were stories. I hung on his every word, so seems likely that it all began with him…this joy I have every time I get on a plane. I can still hear his voice, “Planes just wanna fly….” I’m guessing this was spoken to help with any fear that may have been creeping into my probably sixish year old heart.

I can also hear him saying, “Always feed your animals first, before you feed yourself.” We had ponies and dogs and cats and I followed him around a lot of early mornings and late afternoons with my stomach growling and feeling really good about how we were taking care of our animals. Also…it’s very important to line up the tires of your tractor with the row you just mowed every time, that way you don’t miss any grass, and the lines are straight and neat when you finish. The last time I heard his voice was when I was ten, and I still think of him every time I mow. Little things matter between kids and hero grownups, don’t they.

I also love flying for the view, of course. Window seat always, if possible. I’m never weary of cloud formations or landscape changes or soft pastels at sunset or those mountains. I do love flying over mountains…especially if there’s snow. Yes and I also enjoy taking pictures from my window seat.

Destinations can also bring added joy to the adventure. I’m flying right now after spending a birthday weekend with my first born and his siblings and the people who matter to him in his beautiful life in beautiful Colorado. Of course I wish I could just drive over for a visit at will, but we live 1,000ish miles apart. He’s happy and I love that even more than being neighbors. I’m just very thankful that I can step into this powerhouse of a bird and be there pretty fast. I know this is a privilege…all of this is a privilege. I get to have a son…and I get to fly to see him…with another son and daughter. My heart is full, and thankful.

I’m also thinking today that there’s another reason I enjoy flying…it’s this wonderful “in between” space. We were in one world, his world, for five beautiful days. We were pretty much completely separate from our daily lives and pressures and lists and work…and we will be landing soon, back into all of that and who knows what else in each of our worlds. But, for now, we are flying. We are in a long pause…a potentially peaceful in between, with an amazing view, and an opportunity to gather ourselves.

Sometimes I do give in to productivity on planes…but today I’m letting myself not…which I think is a really good choice. I mean, there are cloud shadows on the desert, and giant cotton balls suspended just outside my window. And whatever I might be planning to do, I can do later after we land.

This pause is reminding me that wonder is wonderful. And that my grandfather also loved flying, and I can still hear his voice in my head when I’m quiet. And that I can get back to my son when I want or need to if I save up a bit. And that life, as hard as it often is, and airplanes, are wonderful gifts.

I didn’t just sit in my chair and have that one pop into my head. I was actually reading my Bible. Matthew 6…

But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

Sometimes I can’t just keep reading. There’s a check…a wait, what? That’s the whisper. A…read that again. And again. Hm. I’ve probably read that verse a thousand times…but there was something different this time. It caused pause this time…so I paused. And I was thinking, it seems like Jesus had a tendency to encourage secrets. (Matthew 16:20; Mark 8:29-30; Luke 9:20-21 are other “don’t tell anyone” spots). That’s when I thought of the old narrative—you are only as sick as your secrets. Secrets are bad. Period.

But here Jesus flips that thought process. Don’t tell people you are praying…or fasting. Hide it. Keep a secret. Maybe some secrets aren’t about sickness. Maybe some secrets deepen intimacy.

So I’m looking at this mechanism inside of me that believes secrets are bad. Especially my secrets. (Don’t trust your deceitful heart.) The mechanism quickly shuts down any would be secrets, hiding them even from myself. And I think sometimes it has me keeping secrets from God, instead of sharing secrets with God. Keeping secrets from God seems foolish…is that even possible? I mean if God is God, doesn’t that mean God knows everything about me, inside and out? Yikes. And why would I talk to God about my secrets? I feel like I’m in trouble just thinking about it.

This narrative is so “sin” focused. Secrets are (always) about sin…and sickness. Desire is about sin. Anger is about sin. Unsettling thoughts are about sin. Doubt is about sin. My internal world is probably messed up and sick…is another way to say it. This pattern, I think, creates a performative faith disconnected from a loving God. And maybe it’s that performative faith that leads us to start only praying in “public” even excluding our authentic self from the conversation with God. Or only praying requests…. Or only praying sermons. I’ve heard quite a few sermons disguised as prayers. I’ve probably preached a few sermons disguised as prayer myself. (Insert hand to head emoji….) The thing is, performative prayer isn’t the kind of prayer Jesus is talking about in Matthew 6.

There’s some mystery here isn’t there, in this invitation to hide? Pray to your Father who is in secret. What does that mean? And your Father who sees in secret…what does that mean? Go into a secret place and whisper secrets to this Father who seems to like that a lot. God wants us to keep this secret…just us and God. This isn’t about a sick secret, this is a sacred space secret. What a relief. That’s how it’s hitting me now.

All of you is welcome here. That’s what I’m hearing. Come into the secret place we have, our getaway spot, and tell me everything. Everything God? Yes…everything. Your secrets are safe with Me. And I have some I want to share with you. Oh my.

As I think about my life, it seems to me I’ve lived quite a few different lives wrapped into this one. There have been moves and seasons and blind hills to fly over and sharp curves to navigate…and so, so many changes. Some of the actual location changes have been pretty drastic, involving a whole new start in terms of people and connections, routines and lifestyle. The moves mean people are left behind. It is for sure easier to stay connected now (as in 2025 vs 1975 or 1981 or 1995 or even 2007…some major “change” years for me). I’ve had moves and “lost” touch with almost everyone from the previous season several times…it’s quite disorienting. I’ve also relocated and somehow still stayed in touch with some of my closest people, finding ways to continue sharing life one way or another.

I’ve changed jobs and churches and been surprised at abrupt changes in relationships. Some people just stick I guess, and some don’t. Is it me or is it them…or is it us? If there is an us, actually, connection often seems to continue even through changes.

I am such an introvert at the core. I recognize that maintaining really big circles of “us” is just not possible for me…at least not without shared events. I used to run camps and retreats. There was a connection rhythm with people back then that made all the difference I think. Every year we, many of us, gathered to work together doing something we loved to do…sports and kids and Jesus. When those stopped so much changed. Those rhythms of shared “events” and work had helped me feel connected with a lot of different people—we had a community. There are a lot of reasons I miss camps and retreats…maybe this is the biggest one at the core. I miss the shared rhythms with people I care about. Circles of life and people crossed because of the common shared joy of the camps…and the retreats. And it just doesn’t happen like that any more. At least not right now.

My friend Amanda loves Venn Diagrams and I’m growing fond of them too. I like visuals that explain things.

I think I used to have a larger number of people in that ABCDE space. Lives overlapping and connected. I’m a little bit living more an AB or BC life right now…smaller circles…fewer circles…and not as much overlap.

I have learned a few things along the curvy road of life changes and comings and goings of people. For one, it’s pretty impossible to stay in touch with all the people from every season of one’s life. Some people just leave, and new people come. I think my tendency at times is to not want to let go of the leaving people. I grieve the loss of people in the D and E circles as I pull back to my smaller overlaps. I can’t figure out how to keep up with them…and I feel uncertain if they even want to try. I suppose letting go is part of life. There are seasons…seasons of people, seasons of work, seasons of change. Seasons of more…or less…or new.

Every now and then something happens, though, that seems to bring some circles back. It really is a small world after all. You might say, sometimes disconnected worlds collide again. I’m starting to pay more attention when this happens. Maybe a better description of this phenomenon would be “things coming full circle”…staying with the circle analogy.

Why do some people come back across our paths? Is it a “random” thing? A new circle of people happen to be connected to another circle of people who are connected to another person in another circle…and in a minute I’m with old friends and new friends and having a moment of wonder…how did that even happen?

And it seems to be happening more and more in some very interesting ways. I’m going to take it as confirmation…of something. I’m not sure exactly what, yet…I need discernment. My new friend who knows my old friend and introduces me to another new friend and then there’s a path that leads to even more circles colliding, more people from different parts of my increasingly (privileged) long life. Old and new mixing and new horizons around that bend that I didn’t see coming…that’s the story right now.

I have for a long time held to Psalm 31 and the verse that says that the course of my life is in God’s power. It’s a comforting verse, or it can be. It can also be hard to understand when the course is sad, or hurts, or ends suddenly in a way that creates difficulties and loss. And why do I get to have this course of life, and others are suffering so horribly around the world and in many corners of this country. It’s hard to not know what the course is exactly too sometimes…or to discern if it’s time to change course. I have told myself that God’s power is bigger than my unknowing and uncertainty. I have tried to lean into the hope that there is actually divine engagement in my shifting and changing Venn Diagram life. I say, you are my God, I trust in you…that’s what it says in Psalm 31 right there before…the course of my life is in your power. I say I trust in you, my God…even when I don’t understand (or particularly like) how exactly your power is influencing the course of my life.

Some full circles and bends in the road are happening that are giving me the opportunity to hear about situations and choices I’ve made, even years and years ago, that have hurt people. I’m feeling especially grateful for how God seems to be bringing people back, and allowing space for making amends. I’ve hurt people. And I’m sorry.

I have some fear around all of this, of course, which I think is a normal human thing. I don’t always remember what I’ve said or done, unfortunately, and it wouldn’t be too hard to be blindsided by someone who could lash out at me. I likely deserve it. I will do my best to not be defensive. To own things. There’s so much arrogance and so much deflecting and lying right now. It feels pretty good to not be that…I’d rather be humble and sit down. And listen.

I have shifted quite a bit in my beliefs…from a dogmatic evangelical to…hmmm. Not quite sure to what yet! Very nearly Episcopalian. Contemplative. Jesus follower, period. I could say a progressive liberal, just for fun. That’s pretty accurate. I’m a lot more love God and love people than I am do this or don’t do that these days. Maybe that’s another thing that happens as we age. I certainly hope so.

At any rate, I’m thanking God today. Thank you God for grace. Thank you for opportunities to say I’m sorry. Thank you for opportunities to be brave. Thank you God for life and Venn Diagrams and people who were and are and maybe will be again, friends. Thank you God for old connections sliding back into my world, and new friends who add so much joy and life to my life. Yes I’m thankful today…it is a good pause. It’s right and good to give thanks and praise….