March Newsletter

March

Football, Flowers, and Fair Trade: A February Update

February

Willing to Dream

On Monday, January 16 2012, a group of people from our neighborhood gathered together to share food and fellowship and to remember Martin Luther King Jr. and the movement for which he stood. Before eating together, we listened to part of Dr. King’s famous “I have a dream” speech:


I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”


I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.


…


I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

We sat and stood in silence, listening to Dr. King’s powerful words. We sat and stood together: young and old, black and white, male and female, student and teacher, parent and child, poor and well-off…

We listen, we remember, and we are inspired. Martin Luther King Jr. and so many others involved in the civil rights movement were bold enough to dream and to do whatever they needed to do in order to achieve their dream. We are touched and we are inspired and we cry and we pray…but do we dream? So many of us fail to dream because we are afraid to fail. We dream of getting a stable job or finding a spouse or maybe even something crazy like learning to play a few chords on the guitar. We dream of things we know are attainable, we dream of things we know we can achieve.

But the slaves dreamt of freedom. The Israelites dreamt of the promised land. Civil rights activists dreamt of blacks and whites being treated as equals. The people who inspire us, the people we look up to as heroes and role models all have this in common: they allowed themselves to dream. They couldn’t help but dream. They dreamt not for themselves, but for the world.

Let us dream.

We have a dream for our community. We have a dream to not only share the occasional meal or conversation but to share our lives. We have a dream to want for each other what we want for ourselves and to fight for it. We have a dream of sharing each others’ burdens and living lives marked by radical generosity and hospitality.

There’s a woman who lives a few blocks away from us who is dedicated to picking up trash from the side of the road and putting up signs to discourage dumping. She fights to keep her neighborhood clean because she believes it is worth it. She believes that she and her neighbors deserve to live in an area that is clean, pleasant and safe. She has a dream to improve her community and the lives of those who reside there and she is fighting to make her dream a reality.

I have a friend who is a refugee and works harder than anyone I know to single-handedly provide for her five children. She has a dream to raise her family in safety, far from the wars and unrest of her home country. She has a dream for each child, to see them prosper and grow into their full potential. She lives in circumstances that could make the strongest man break down and weep and yet she brings joy to everyone she interacts with. Her laughter and hugs melt away the most disheartening thoughts or situations. She is able to laugh because she allows herself to dream, to have faith that the way things are right now is not the way things will always be.

The people I work with have a dream to end slavery. They have chosen not to turn a deaf ear or a blind eye but to be aware of the monstrosities present in our communities, cities and nations and to combat it with all the tools they have. They have a dream that all children can live in safety and attend school rather than be forced to work. They have a dream that women will be treated as humans rather than objects for pleasure and profit. They have a dream that consumers will rise up and demand products that are free of injustice. Each day they hear and read stories of slavery and oppression in our nation and around the world and each day they continue to pour themselves into the battle for justice.

Let us dream.

January Newsletter

January

Looking Forward

With the new year upon us, I decided to follow the age-old tradition of making resolutions. However, in the interest of saving myself from utter failure, I have made resolutions that I feel very strongly about keeping. Without further ado, Sarah's 2012 resolutions:

#1. Be awesome.

#2. Have awesome friends.

Done and done.

This year there is a lot I'm looking forward to. I love the way my life is falling into place! Therefore, here is Sarah's list of things she is excited for in 2012:

#1. HRRC internship: if you don't already know about this, please read my previous post. This is a fantastic opportunity to do something I love with purpose. Getting this internship was undoubtedly orchestrated by God and I am already seeing His provision for the coming months.

#2. Teaching art: two of my roommates work with a non-profit organization in our neighborhood. One of their programs is a backyard bible club for neighborhood kids. In the spring, they're hoping to add art to their curriculum and have asked me if I would be willing to help. I love kids! I love art! I love life!

#3. Relationships: I have the most amazing roommates, friends, family, and boyfriend I could hope for. I'm looking forward to continuing to deepen those relationships, opening myself to others and allowing them to open themselves to me.

#4. Dancing:....why not?

"Seek the Lord and his strength; seek his presence continually! Remember the wondrous works that he has done, his miracles and the judgments he uttered..." (1 Chronicles 16:11-12, Psalm 104:4-5)

As we enter this new year, don't forget to remember. Remember what the Lord has done. Remember that he is faithful and unchanging.

Love.

December Newsletter

December

A Kingdom Banquet

The other day a tire shop in our neighborhood was celebrating 70 years of business. We heard that they had a band playing and were providing food (we’d go almost anywhere for free food) so a few of us wandered over that way. A friend of ours who is homeless had been hanging out with us, so he headed over as well. Kate, Matt, and I walked inside and one of the men working there offered us sandwiches and drinks. We gladly accepted and took them back outside where we sat on the steps to eat. Our homeless friend went in after us. A few moments later he emerged, empty handed. I asked him, “Didn’t you say you were hungry?” He nodded slowly, his lips a tight line across his face. “They told me it was a closed party.” He laughed, a tired laugh, one resigned to this outcome, having seen the situation too many times before.

The realization of what had just taken place slowly washed over me and I felt emotions rising up inside me like the buildup of a tidal wave. My friend had just been refused a meal because someone had looked at him and judged him, deeming him unworthy to take part in their celebration. I didn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry.” The laugh again. “Welcome to my world.” He walked away, sketchbook in hand, to draw the band that had started playing. I turned to Kate. “Should we say something to them?” She didn’t reply, her brow furrowed in contemplation. Our friend left after a couple short minutes.

Matt walked inside. When he came back out Kate and I asked him if he had said something. He nodded. He had asked them, “Isn’t this a community event?” They said yes. “Well,” he said, “I came in here and got some food and then a friend of mine came in after me and you turned him away.” They gave some excuse about not having a lot of food and wanting to save it for customers. Well, we’re not customers and never will be. We didn’t finish our food after that. I called our friend and told him that we hadn’t left the situation alone, that Matt had gone in and said something to them. I invited him to join us for dinner. At first he was noncommittal, but then he said, “Yes. Yes, I will come to dinner, because I still have my Mission Year friends. They still love me.” And we do. His rejection at the tire shop was like a knife in my gut.

I was upset by this episode the rest of the afternoon. As we walked through our neighborhood I thought of the passage in Luke where Jesus talks about giving a banquet.

“When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed…” (Luke 14:13-14)

I wished I could invite everyone to dinner. Anyone I saw who looked dirty or homeless or poor or sick. Anyone who might have been judged or turned away by the owners of the tire shop. I wanted to celebrate with them, to give them dignity and show them love.

Later, I read another passage:

“If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink.” (Proverbs 25:21)

Once again, I was convicted and aware of the bitterness and judgment in my own heart. I was angry at the people who had turned my friend away. They had become enemies to me. Yet we are commanded to love our enemies, a concept I have been wrestling with throughout this year. We are told to feed them when they are hungry, to give them water when they are thirsty. I began to picture a different kind of banquet – one that included not only the oppressed but the oppressors, not only our friends but our enemies. Jesus dined with the “sinners” and outsiders in society, but he also ate at the table of Pharisees, people who were watching and judging his every move. What does that look like for us?

Love.

This is all I know:

to love the person in front of me.

Love who?

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:43-45)

“But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you…If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that…But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because He is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” (Luke 6:27-36)

Love your enemies. This is something I’ve been thinking a lot about. This is not just a suggestion or a crazy concept – this is a direct command from Christ. What would happen if we decided to follow this command? How different would this world be if we chose to love our enemies? What does that even look like?

Last weekend we talked about this for morning devotions. We named some people and groups of people we could categorize as enemies in one way or another or toward whom we harbor resentment in our hearts. Then we prayed for them. There is such freedom in letting go of anger and hatred and seeking to view your enemy as God does: a beloved child created in His image.

This semester I am taking a class called “Global Issues, Social Change.” Recently we have been discussing human rights. In our last class we split into small groups and discussed human rights issues with each other. My group focused on torture. Most of the people in my group seemed to agree that although torture is wrong, it can be justified in certain situations. The whole discussion felt wrong to me. I wanted to say that I believe torture is always wrong, that it cannot be justified in any situation. I wanted to say that instead of torture, we should love. I didn’t want to speak, though, until I had time to gather my thoughts and organize them into something coherent.

Love your enemies…it’s hard enough to grasp on a personal level, but what about on a global scale? What does it look like in the context of torture, terrorists, and national security? Love a terrorist? Love someone who has plans to kill hundreds or thousands of people? That's insane. Yet isn't that what Jesus is asking us to do?

I was quiet for most of the discussion. I wasn’t sure how to present my view. I wasn’t even completely sure what my view was. I wasn’t sure what it would look like to live out what I was thinking. Exploring issues like this is one thing within the safety of my Christian community, but it’s a little more intimidating in a diverse group in a college classroom. When the time came for each group to share with the rest of the class, my group nominated me as the spokesperson since I hadn’t said much. I agreed. I recounted to the class what we had talked about, all the different aspects of torture that we discussed, and the general consensus that the rest of my group had come to. At the end I added, “I feel pretty differently from the rest of them, but we don’t have to get into that right now.”

After class one of my friends (who had been in my group) commented on how quiet I had been. I told him that I hadn’t been sure what to say because I had a very different view and it was pretty radical. His reply was, “And you don’t like conflict. You want peace and harmony.” I laughed and agreed. He said that I should have shared anyway because discussions are boring when everyone agrees, they’re much more interesting when someone has an extremely different view, especially when that view is radical. Then he asked me to share with him. So I told him, “I believe torture is wrong in all situations. The philosophy I try to live by is radical love (which is impossible to completely achieve in this life, but I hope for it anyway). I try to follow the teachings of Jesus, and He taught us to love our enemies.” His response was that no one lives that way. I replied, “You’re right. I guess I’m a crazy idealist.” As he walked away he called back to me, “Keep the dream alive!” I smiled because that seemed like the kind of cheesy line that would be in a movie.

After he left one of the girls from my class approached me and said, “I wanted to ask you about what your view is because I remember you said you felt differently from the rest of your group.” What followed was a great conversation and I was able to explore my ideas even further. We talked about love and trying to live a lifestyle that doesn’t compromise the values to which we cling. We talked about hard situations and having faith that God would always provide a better way, that He wouldn’t put us in a place where our only option was to compromise. We also talked about grace, because we’re only human and we will make mistakes.

(side note: I’ve been praying for God to open my eyes to areas in my life where I can grow. Obviously, I need to grow in my confidence and boldness in speaking out about my convictions and beliefs. I asked this girl to call me out in the future when discussions like this take place and to directly ask me what I think. I think it would have been really interesting if I had brought my view before the class. Maybe doing so would encourage others, like this girl, who do believe in God to think a little more deeply about how Jesus lived and what He said. God is faithful. I feel challenged.)

Love.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” (John 13:34-35)

Love God. Love people. Love your neighbor. Love your enemy.

Let us live guided by Love.

two zero one one

As a new year begins, I am amazed and encouraged to look back and reflect on the year that has just passed. The faithfulness of our God never ceases to astound me. My cheeks are wet with awe and humble gratitude. I consider where I am and realize that it is somewhere I never would have envisioned myself. Now I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Without the quirkiness of Houston, the busyness of the city, the diversity of the people, the struggle, the despair, the victories, and the celebrations, my life would be missing so much. I would not be who I am today.

I have planted myself in Houston’s soil and slowly but surely my roots are extending deeper and holding me stronger. The nutrients of this Houston earth are beginning to feed me, to grow me, to sustain me. Houston has become a part of me and continues to be more so.

I am allowing myself to fall in love.

The other morning I read through some of my journal entries from this time last year, when I was beginning the second trimester of my Mission Year.  I was floored as I read story after story of how God showed up. All I had to do was make myself available to Him. Though I doubted, though I struggled, though I resisted, though I closed my eyes and my heart – God was faithful. God is faithful. Always, ever will He be faithful.

What I loved the most was seeing certain names come up over and over and remembering the process of beginning, pursuing, and deepening those friendships. I read about interactions with neighbors, my hopes and prayers for those relationships, and how God answered those prayers and blessed my often feeble efforts. I read about my friendship with the refugee family and all that we went through with them. Although I was often tired and not extremely excited about going to their house and struggling through communication, I always ended up feeling blessed by our time together. Being with them made me feel at home and as I think back on our relationship, I am amazed at how God brought us together.

Now God is dreaming a dream within me. I dream of remaining in Houston, of moving into a neighborhood and dwelling there, building relationships and maintaining them for years, investing in the children of the neighborhood and watching them grow, caring about the needs and issues of the community because it is my community, my home. I want the threads of these relationships to be woven throughout my journal entries and memories not just for one year, or even two, but indefinitely.

As Mission Year ended last year, Houston looked at me and said with furrowed brow and slight sad confusion, “You can’t leave.”

I looked at Houston and said, “You’re right.” And I stayed.

As I began to consider options following my second year working with the program, Houston again looked me in the eyes and said, more firmly this time, “Sarah, you can’t leave.”

Again I looked at Houston, caught slightly off guard, and I said, “You’re right. This is home.”                                                                                                                                        

I look forward with anticipation to living out my life here until God leads me elsewhere.

Amy

Tuesday, October 26

10:00am rolls around and I leave my morning class feeling groggy and wondering where I can get a caffeine fix. I’m told you can get a cup of coffee for a dollar in the San Jacinto building. “It’s crappy coffee,” they say, “but it’ll wake you up.” They’re right. Nonetheless, my caffeine craving is satisfied and I settle down to get some work done.

11:00 comes and my stomach starts to speak to me. Breakfast seems like ancient history. Nine dollars in my pocket, I head over to Subway to grab some lunch. A woman is sitting on the sidewalk by the door. As I approach, she looks up at me and asks if I can help her get something to eat. I recognize her. I’ve encountered her there before and passed her by. Today I almost do the same. I wonder if she recognizes me or if I’m simply another face blurred among the hundreds who ignore her each day. In my heart I am convicted and I offer to buy a foot-long and split it with her.

As we wait in line I learn that her name is Amy. She is pregnant and at the moment she is also homeless. She stays in a church that opens their doors to the homeless a certain number of hours each day.

We get our meal, I give Amy my change, and we part. As I walk back to HCC I want to cry.

I will finish my meal and go through the rest of my day at peace because I know that tonight I will eat again with my housemates. Amy will finish her meal and hope that someone else will find enough generosity in their heart to provide her with another. I can complain about a crappy cup of coffee or my lunch being interrupted by a fire drill because I don’t have to worry about finding a safe place to sleep or getting back on my feet so that when my baby is born I can provide for him. I go home knowing I won’t be kicked out when the doors are closed.

I wonder how Amy got to where she is. I wonder who the father is and how he can live with himself knowing he’s left Amy and their child to fend for themselves on Houston’s streets. I wonder if he even knows he has a child…

Today Amy is grateful because she was acknowledged and valued. Tomorrow she will hope and pray for someone to stop, to listen, to try to understand.

Lord, bless Amy tonight.

Houston - Year 2

It is absolutely crazy to me to think that I've been living in Houston for over a year now. Houston is not a place I ever would have expected to end up. In fact, it isn't a place that ever crossed my mind. I never though about Houston. I knew it existed. That's about it.

I have to admit that I don't love Houston in and of itself. It doesn't have what I really desire or expect from a big city. It's too spread out. It's hot and humid. The public transportation is not exactly convenient. Downtown Houston lacks vivacity and activity. But when I moved to Houston for Mission Year I fell in love with the people I met, with our neighborhood, with the opportunities that we had to serve God, with the redemption stories I witnessed.

Houston is growing on me, and that scares me. The vision of Mission Year is a vision that I love and cling to, a vision of transforming communities from the inside out, of spreading the love of Jesus by living like Jesus. Mission Year has planted a seed in my heart, a seed that is slowly growing into a strong desire to put down roots, to dig deeply into an inner city community and to stick it out through times of suffering and times of celebration. I only planned to stay in Houston for a year, but I'm still here. I think I'm afraid that God will ask me to stay beyond this year, that He will ask me to put down roots in Houston. I find myself thinking, Let me move one more time and then I'll stay. Then I'll commit to a community. Then I'll remain. But not here...don't ask me to stay here.

I don't know if this is where God will ask me to stay. I don't know what He has in mind for my future. But I do know that this is where I'm meant to be this year. I have a genuine peace about that and I'm excited to see what is in store for myself, my team, and the other Mission Year teams.

This year there are three Mission Year teams in Houston. They've been here for about a week now and so much has happened already. The year has had an incredible beginning.

My house this year is in the First Ward in the northwest part of Houston (the opposite side of Houston from where I lived last year). We live in a yellow house on the corner of Spring St and Holly St, right next to the intersection of I-45 and 10. Our neighborhood is one that is undergoing a period of change. Many of the old homes are being torn down and replaced with modern condos. Money is moving in and families who live on lower income are being forced out. It is a neighborhood marked by separation between social classes. Our hope this year is to be a bridge, to connect people from the different classes to each other so that they become real to each other.

Please keep us, our neighbors, and our neighborhood in your prayers. God is working in beautiful and exciting ways.

Love.

they could not steal our love

Closing retreat was wonderful. The time spent as a team reflecting, encouraging, and enjoying each other was essential. The time spent with all the teams from the 9 different cities was uplifting and unifying. It was a beautiful time of closure.

We returned to Houston on the 29th to find that our AC was broken. Oh well. We were too exhausted to care at that point. The following day we completed our packing and cleaned the house. We boxed up all of our belongings and moved them into the front room. That night we stayed at various friends' houses or at hotels so we wouldn't have to endure another night in the heat of our house. 

We got to the house the next morning to find everything trashed. Our house had been broken into. On our last night. The irony of the situation was incredible. Throughout the year I had prepared myself for something like this to take place. Time and time again, I was pleasantly surprised. The house was empty for 3 weeks over Christmas break and nothing happened. It was empty again for a week over spring break and nothing happened.  Everything was fine while we were gone for retreat.

But -

Our last night. Things were stolen, and the house we had spent so much time cleaning up was a chaotic mess. It wasn't my favourite way of saying goodbye to the neighborhood. 

In a way, however, it was oddly freeing. After all, the things they stole were only things. 

They could not steal our friendships.

They could not steal our memories.

They could not steal the lessons we learned.

They could not steal our laughter.

They could not steal our tears.

They could not steal our celebrations.

They could not steal our love.

Goodbye, Eastwood. 

Endings and Beginnings

This is our last week. It's official - Mission Year is ending.

This weekend it really started to sink in. We're moving out of our house, leaving each other, saying goodbyes and going our separate ways. On Saturday we began to pack. Our walls are bare and lifeless, our shelves are empty, and our shared lives are being separated into cardboard boxes. Memories are flooding back of our first days together - sleeping on the living and dining room floors because we had no beds or air conditioning, using mattresses as couches until we had couches donated to us, bonding in garage apartments and the long road trips to and from Atlanta. Soon we'll be heading that way again for our closing retreat...

Before beginning our Sunday School lessons yesterday the kids sang a song for us and the Children's Ministry leaders gave us a fruit basket and thanked us. Our Pastor called us up to the front at the end of the service to pray for us and bless us as we begin our new journeys. It was our last Sunday at Ecclesia as a Mission Year team.

Yesterday I was struck by the incredible beauty of my community. I sat in service with the kids from Generation One before they went to Sunday School. The kids beside me played with my hands and asked me how long until they could leave. As we sang I could hear the pure voices of the kids behind me. I couldn't help breaking into the biggest smile in the history of my life and shedding a few tears as well. When they eventually filed out for Sunday School the empty seats in my row were filled by a loving and inspiring family from my church who have taken in so many children, children with special needs and who desperately need their love. The seat to my right was filled by Michael, a dear friend I met through Simple Feast.

Our Pastor gave us a great reminder through a quote by Martin Luther King Jr. : "...many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom." I thought about that in the context of my life and relationships this year. My freedom, joy, fate, well-being is inextricably bound to that of the refugee who struggles with English and with single-handedly providing for her children, the man sitting beside me who is trying to get back on his feet, the young mother at the end of our street whose husband will soon be leaving for OTC in Alaska...

We are all so completely connected and so desperately in need of each other.

Mission Year is ending, but a new journey is beginning. And I still have so very much to learn...

Thank you, Lord, for leading me on this journey. 
Thank you for the path that stretches ahead of me.


Love.

Imagine...

"Imagine the city the way God wants it to be. No more poverty. No more injustice. Every person matters. Now imagine a handful of young people moving into a house in the city, working to make this a reality.

People who learn from their neighbors, listen to their needs, and pray with them over and over. People who work hard to love others the way Jesus loves. People who stay long enough to become true friends.

Imagine that house becoming a safe place in the neighborhood where people see the gospel lived out, alive and available to all.

Imagine each individual devoting each day to God, then going out to do what God says. Partnering with social service agencies and local churches who are working towards the same goal. Offering compassion and working for justice.

Can you see what happens? That household makes a difference in the neighborhood, and the neighborhood makes a difference in return. The living gospel transforms everything it touches. The Kingdom of God advances.

Now, finally, imagine all of that a thousand times over..." (www.missionyear.org)

This is the vision of Mission Year. I feel tears threatening to escape my eyes every time I read that. How beautiful it is to dream these dreams, to imagine creative ways to advance the Kingdom of God. How beautiful it is to believe that when Jesus prayed for God's will to be done on earth as it is in Heaven, He meant that - the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. How beautiful it is to live in the light of Redemption and of Grace and to know that one day all of creation will be restored!

I just wanted to share with you that vision, and I pray that it touches you heart the way it constantly touches mine.

Regarding my previous post: no one had to return home! Mission Year is still struggling, however, and still needs to raise more money in order to get by and to continue operating beyond this year.

Lord, let Your Kingdom come and Your will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.

Jehovahjireh

Money. How I wish we didn't need it - but it's unfortunately a necessary part of our lives.

Before beginning Mission Year I read a book about the life and ministry of George Mueller, a German missionary who had a heart for orphans and an incredible faith in God. As I read about how he relied on God to provide for him, praying in faith and receiving exactly what he needed, I was awed and humbled. After much prayer and discussion with my parents, I decided that I wanted my funds for Mission Year to be raised that way - through faithful prayer. For me it was an exercise in faith. I informed people about my plans to serve God in inner city Houston and also about the fact that I would be living off support, but I never asked for money. Instead I prayed that as I shared with people about my experiences and my heart for the work I'm involved in, God would move in people's hearts and urge them to give.

As I began this journey, my Dad blessed me with a verse from Genesis: "So Abraham called that place The LORD Will Provide. And to this day it is said, On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided." (Genesis 22:14). Jehovahjireh ~ The Lord Will Provide. Throughout these past months, I have had periods of complete confidence, when I would be consistently hearing from people who wished to support me, and periods of doubt, when my support level would not change for weeks and months at a time. But I continued to pray and to trust in the Lord. Indeed the Lord did provide, and I have now raised more than the amount I need! Thanks to all of you who supported me financially and to those who continuously support me through prayer!

This journey has not ended.

Recently we were informed that Mission Year is in a bad state financially. Although we knew this from the beginning, we never knew how desperate the situation was. Mission Year has never wanted people to decide against participating in the program for financial reasons. They have always asked team members to raise $12,000 but have never turned people away if they could not raise that much. In the past this has worked out as some members have raised more than $12,000 while others have raised less. Oftentimes between team members, the support would level out, but if it didn't, Mission Year had a surplus they could dip into in order to subsidize the funds of those who didn't raise enough. Due to the recent economic recession, however, Mission Year no longer has that surplus available and now have a significant deficit.

This year a large number of team members across the country are at a critically low support level. These team members are being asked to raise $1,500 within the next two weeks. If they are not able to do so, they will have to return home as Mission Year is not in a position where they are able to support them.

Obviously, no one wants this to happen.

When we were informed of this news, I was surprised to find that rather than being filled with dread, I was filled with excitement. I am confident that we will be able to raise this money and that we will see God move in incredible ways through this struggle.

Mission Year teams are coming together now to help our teammates raise their support and stay in their cities. Already we've seen beauty come from this. First and foremost, it is a beautiful thing that through this struggle we are being drawn closer together as we join together as a community to raise money to support Mission Year and our teammates. I have seen God provide for me this year and I have a peace and assurance that He will provide for us in this seemingly dire situation.

Jehovajireh.

As we've made this need known to our friends here in Houston, so many of them have already stepped up to help us and surround us with support. Our supervisor at Ecclesia has given my teammate Bonnie permission to devote her time at Ecclesia next week solely to fundraising. She also told us that she has a bunch of old furniture and other items that she will donate to us to sell in a garage sale. Yesterday a group of children from Generation One, an after school tutoring program that four of us volunteer at, set up a lemonade stand on the patio outside of Ecclesia. They raised over $300 and are donating half of their profits to our team.

One immediate result of the financial state of our organisation is that our food budget for this month has been cut in half. Already we've seen God provide for us as a couple from Steven's church came by on Saturday with practical donations to our ministry - including a large amount of food! God's timing is crazy like that. Our neighbors also continue to be generous in cooking meals for us as they have been all year.

Following Spring Break our city directors had us start working a few Astros games to raise money for Mission Year. Aramark, the company that runs the concessions, has an agreement with non-profit organisations where a group can work a concession stand and receive a portion of the profits. We were trained and certified to do this before we knew about Mission Year's finances. God's timing again is incredible. This week we will be working games each night, bringing in a significant amount of the funds we need to raise.

We continue to serve in faith that God will keep our team, and all Mission Year teams across the country, together through our fundraising efforts and the support of our friends and family.

Thank you again!

Love,

Sarah

the need for sleep, emptiness, and the smell of flowers always

This week has been a long one, filled with long days. I'd like to sleep forever, please.

Many months back, Bonnie decided it would be awesome to start a Bible/book study based on the book "Not For Sale" by David Batstone. We finally got it started a few weeks ago and have been meeting on Tuesday nights to discuss what we've read. God has been breaking my heart for these atrocities that I've known about for so long but from which I kept my distance for so long. It's easy to become depressed and hopeless, but our Lord is full of grace and beautiful promises. Please read Isaiah 58. I would write it all in this post, but I'm afraid the abundance of words might scare people away from reading the rest of my thoughts. :P

So Tuesdays are long, but they're wonderful.

God is asking me to give things up. I want to. I want so badly to trust Him completely, to allow Him to fully be Lord over my life, my future, my dreams, my heart...everything. But it seems that any time I give something up to Him, I immediately start searching for something else to hold onto in its place. I'm in need of emptiness. Only in my emptiness, my fragility, my vulnerability am I able to allow God to fill me. It is then that I catch a glimpse of vision and purpose. When I try to figure out my own life, to decide on a future path, I end up feeling like my life has no direction...

"Then I thought, 'To this I will appeal: the years of the right hand of the Most High.' I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all Your works and consider all Your mighty deeds." ~ Psalm 77:10-12

The Lord is faithful.

I love the song "Young at Heart". And the smell of April flowers in Houston.

It rained yesterday, so we had Simple Feast under the bridge. It brought back memories of rainy Simple Feasts in late August and September - back when all of this was so new. I love those memories. They remind me of how far God has brought me and how faithful He's been.

i guess it's about time

Time for an update!

So. The new building that Ecclesia was going to buy fell through. I'm confused by this. It seemed SO perfect. It was in our neighborhood, about 25 minutes walking from our house. The location is in the second ward, close to both the third and fifth wards, providing countless opportunities to minister to the poor and marginalized. I just KNEW it was the building God wanted Ecclesia to have. I guess I was wrong. Because we're not getting it. I'm struggling with this...

We had a lovely two weeks of Spring when we returned from break. Now it's beginning to feel like summer (to me anyway, but I'm not a native Houstonian). It was nice while it lasted. I'm bracing myself for the coming heat and humidity.

Yesterday we celebrated Easter with a service held at Miller Outdoor Theater. There were THOUSANDS of people there. Rich, poor, young, old, all different races. It was a small glimpse into the Kingdom of God. Afterwards we feasted. Thousands of hot dogs and hamburgers were grilled and people brought food from their homes as well. We feasted together, celebrating the Risen King. When the service began the sky was overcast. By the time it ended, the sun had broken through. What beautiful symbolism. It was a beautiful day!

I love God. He is so faithful. I was reminded recently of how He brought me to this place, how He called me and led me and spoke to me. It was a beautiful reminder.

These are some things I've been hearing from Him lately:

"Faith never knows where it is being led, but it knows and loves the One who is leading." ~ Oswald Chambers

"Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I lift up my soul." ~ Psalm 143:8 (this is my prayer)

"'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus and to take Him at His word; just to rest upon His promise, and to know, "Thus saith the Lord." Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him! How I've proved Him o'er and o'er! Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus! O for grace to trust Him more!" ~ Louisa Stead

Faith. Trust. Waiting on the Lord. This is what I'm learning. This is what I'm striving for.

Love.

sacred moments

Every now and then I take a step back and just soak in the moment. Our lives are filled with sacred moments, moments of beauty, moments bursting with God's grace and redemption, moments that we often miss...

We've started taking the kids from Generation One (the after school program we volunteer with twice a week) to a community garden every other Friday. The first week we went the kids planted tomatoes in pots they had painted the previous week. Many of them had never seen a tomato plant before, the only tomatoes they had seen were in the grocery store. So when they were given their baby plant to put into their soil, many of them asked, "Where's the tomato?"

The next time we went their tomato plants had grown. This time they had the opportunity to water the plants and put worms into the dirt. After they had gotten over their fears of touching the worms, they kept going back for more and more. I couldn't hold back my smiles and laughs as I watched them gasp and crinkle their noses and poke the worms and hold them up over their friends' heads.

Our times at the community garden are times when everything feels right. Those are moments when I step back and am amazed at God's beauty. It's an incredible experience to watch those kids learn about how things grow - the different elements that work together to create these living parts of God's world. The garden is a place of redemptive beauty in the midst of the run-down buildings and littered streets of the Third Ward.

For a while now we've been taking a volleyball and net with us to Simple Feast on Sundays. Yesterday I jumped in and played with some of the other Ecclesians and guys at the park. I had no idea a casual game of volleyball could bring tears to my eyes. It was a time of laughter, unity, joy, and fun in the middle of a park filled with stories of betrayal, loneliness, addiction, separation, and struggle.

God's presence in the ordinary - things like volleyball and tomatoes - makes them sacred and beautiful tools of redemption.

Amen.

P.S. The story from my last post got into the Houston Free Press!!

Life of a Houston Artist…

Don Collins awoke the morning of Tuesday February 9^th as he always does. He shook himself from his sleepy state and got ready for the day. After preparing for the day in his normal morning ritual he started out for his favorite coffee shop. Don does not drive; he walks. Don arrived at Taft St Coffee, the coffee shop that serves as both his studio and muse, and began to converse with his friends and those he does not know. Don draws people, places and things as they appear to him. After Don had finished at Taft St. he headed out for his next destination, a destination he would not reach.

As Don was crossing the road he heard the sound of an oncoming car so he instinctively sped up his pace to cross the street before becoming the next Houstonian to be the victim of a vehicular accident. After reaching the opposite curb Don heard the same car slam on its brakes and as he turned he saw that it was a Houston Police Department cruiser. By the time Don had turned around the passenger side officer was already out of the car walking toward him. Don is not a stranger to the H.P.D. and he knew what was coming. What followed was a horrible display of profiling by the HPD officers.

The first officer asked Don why he was walking so fast and requested to see his identification. The officer proceeded to ask Don who he was and tell him that he had never seen him in “their” neighborhood before. The next question was a forceful request to search Don’s backpack for his “crack pipe”; Don does not smoke crack. Upon searching his pack, much to the chagrin of Don’s personal rights, they discovered a bag of Crayola colored pencils (let me remind you Don is an Artist) and the officers proceeded to ask Don if he was a “pedophile”. The fact that the possession of colored pencils is enough for the police to think that someone is a pedophile is absurd, but also that they would ask such an audacious question to Don based off of the contents of his bag is overwhelmingly upsetting. Also during this absurd police investigation a mid-twenties African American man happened to be walking by and he received a harsh greeting and rude questioning as to his destination and reason for being where he was.

Upon searching through their records they found that Don had a few outstanding tickets and decided to take him in to process him through the system. The first holding cell that Don was placed in was a twenty-man cell that had about forty or fifty men in it. After several hours Don was moved to a smaller cell with three other men, one of whom was suffering from some mental ailments and had been in the cell for longer then he should have been in that situation. Don continually requested to talk with a superior officer (which is something that one of his cell-mates had for the previous two days) and was repeatedly told to talk to the next shift-captain, of which he saw about three come and go. Don finally went before a judge to deal with his delinquent tickets and copped a plea so that the frustrating madness would come to a more concise end. His tickets were written off after he spent some more time in his cell and was subsequently released.

As previously stated, Don is not a stranger to the HPD. In fact, they harass Don quite often. On top of being a wonderful artist, very friendly conversationalist and traveling philosopher, Don is also homeless. It is an upsetting fact that just because Don has the appearance of a homeless man and was walking faster than some police officer decided that he should have been, he was the subject of situational profiling and the harassment that comes with it. No man, whether he goes home to a multi-million dollar house or a pad made from cardboard and thrift-store blankets, should be subjected to such inhumane treatment. Don had not done anyone direct or even indirect harm in that situation and aside from his appearance and supposed unfamiliar presence in the neighborhood the officers had no feasible reason to “pull him over”.

This situation was upsetting to Don, but even more upsetting to those who care about him. Don is a kind and generous man to everyone both friend and stranger alike. Over the Christmas season Don sold cards based off of his paintings at Taft St Coffee and donated all the proceeds to the church that he has been attending so that they could dig fresh water wells over-seas. He is an accomplished artist, and a brilliant intellectual, nothing about him says dangerous, harmful, or even scary. This situation brings into questioning the methods by which our HPD officers are deciding who is and is not criminal. I can only hope that this situation will bring an inquiry into the police department and their practices of profiling.

----

This story was written by one of my teammates, Isaac about the injustices that have affected our dear friend Don. Isaac's intention was that people would see that these things happened to a beloved friend rather than just some homeless guy.