Father’s Day has become ___

Father’s Day has become a day in which I don’t exactly know what to do with myself. I don’t know if I should keep busy or be calm, be around folks or take time to myself. I don’t know if I should celebrate or mourn, be thankful or cry, or give myself permission to feel every emotion in the book. Do I do something special in remembrance, or do I attempt to live a normal day?

Writing often helps me piece together my thoughts and order them in a healthy way so that my poor heart and brain are not struggling at maximum capacity. There are rare times in which those writings come out in the open to be shared though. Father’s Day is going to be one of those times.

A second Father’s Day has passed where I am blessed that this June day not only serves as a reminder of loss. I praise everything worth praising for that reality. I am blessed with “The Incredible Chad” (super hero title, perhaps?) who has loved us, supported us, and served as an incredible father to us for so long. Not everyone gets two incredible men in their lives, and we’re quite lucky for that.

Unfortunately, a second Father’s Day has also passed which no longer solely represents a day of joy and appreciation. It has and forever more will serve as a reminder of loss, of grief, and of a deep and unexplainable shade of pain.

While I strive so hard to continue seeing Father’s Day also as a celebration of my dad’s life, there is always the reality that it is never again to be the same. It seems that the two can confusingly fit together so well. It is a celebration, it is an appreciation, it is a day of love. It is a void, it is a sadness, it is a loud and unending reminder of loss. I look through picture after picture, letter after letter, and pour over memories in order to remember and celebrate what was, but it is with a heavy heart that I am again and again reminded that there is not a chance for what will be.

Things are unfair, we know. Sometimes death seems to be the most unfair though. I think that when you experience loss, and the pure heaviness that comes along with it all, you are at least at times allowed to feel as though yours is the most unfair. I feel that way about my dad. I feel that way when I remember how he had to spend his last days, months, and years. I felt that way when I was in the deepest places of pain that I can imagine a person tolerating. I feel that way when I remember how hopeful I was to see him again and for what the future would hold for us all. I felt that way when we were unable to say goodbye. I feel that way when I think of how much more of our lives we should have been able to share with him. I felt that way when I first did a double take when I thought I saw him on the street. I feel that way when it gets harder for me to remember his voice and his laugh. I feel that way all the time. And pain demands to be felt.

Living with loss is something that you will never understand until you have to understand it. And for the sake of all who love, I pray that that day doesn’t find you soon. It isn’t a kind day, and from that point on the view is forever different.

 

 

May the sun bring you new energy every day, bringing light into the darkness of your soul.

May the moon softly restore you by night, bathing you in the glow of restful sleep and peaceful dreams.

May the rain wash away your worries, and cleanse the hurt that sits in your heart.

May the breeze blow new strength into your being, and may you believe in the courage of yourself.

May you walk gently through the world, keeping your loved one with you always, knowing that you are never parted in the beating of your heart.

-Native Apache Grief Blessing

The Sprout & The Seed

The culmination of a number of reflections on this past season, where things currently seem to rest, and how therein lies both a certain amount of peace, as well as a certain amount of necessary recognition of frustration and longing. Grief and growth do a little dance.

 

Oh, how I wonder if the sprout ever longs for the familiarity of its seed self.

The seed that it once knew so well.

That self that was whole before this process called transformation, which rips and stretches the seed beyond what it ever imagined could be endured.

Time, they say.

And they’re right, you know.

Time.

The sprout has become a new one, no longer the same.

A new one who is still fighting to believe the encouragements that are shouted so confidently about the goodness of and the beauty in growth.

But it hurts, don’t you know, to succumb to the growth that an unknown force decides for you.

It hurts to see what you knew so well change into something unknown, unfamiliar, and unrecognizable.

No matter how many shout about the beauty in transformation, no matter how true those words may be, the process also holds pain.

Oh, how I wonder if the sprout ever longs for the familiarity of its seed self.

A Big Day

Yesterday was a big day. It was a different day, a hard day, a heart bursting happy day, a day that shook me. Yesterday was a day that I am very thankful for.

Something exists here in Miami that I am honored, and dang proud, to be able to share with you. This something is called the Children of Inmates program through an organization that I’ve become involved with here called Hope for Miami. Every three months they organize visitations to various correctional facilities for children in the Miami-Dade area who have an incarcerated parent.

These visits are significant because they look very different from normal visitations. During these visits they are able to spend 3 ½ hours with their parent, as opposed to the normal designated hour. They have toys and games, activities and crafts, and a literacy activity that they are able to participate in together. They get the chance to share a meal together. They are able to show affection much more freely than in a normal visitation. They are able to experience real time together as a parent and a child should.

It was one of the most joyful sights I have ever witnessed to be able to see the reunion of these families during this time. I watched child after child light up, beaming with happiness, as they ran towards their dad, and I watched father after father light up, beaming with happiness, as they ran towards their child.

Something that I find important to share is how effortless it was to forget where we were. This wasn’t a room full of inmates. I was in a room with kind, loving, wonderful fathers who were so evidently invested in and madly in love with their children. I was having conversations with intelligent, funny, caring men who were nothing but grateful to spend this time with their families.

I was given such a great deal of hope during this day. I already knew the stereotypes that go along with individuals who are in prison—I fight to break them every time I share about my own wonderful, loving, and inspirational dad—but to have that reaffirmed over and over with every family that I spent time with…it gives me so much hope that this world really can make the choice to see people for who they are. We can make the choice to throw stereotypes out where they belong and to give people a chance to be people, rather than choosing to see them in a way that limits their wholeness. It gives me hope that programs like this exist to give these children, these fathers, these families the chance to spend such important time together and to be reminders that so much love and care can exist even through such difficult stages of life.

I am just…full. This is such a good thing to exist in this city. Hope for Miami thinks it, these families think it, I think it, and I know my dad would think it. I am just…full.

Celebrating the Happy

I’ve been finding it difficult to keep up with this blog for the past few months in a consistent way. I haven’t felt as though I know what to share with you, my family and friends, who are loving me and supporting me in this time. However, I still appreciate US-2 for pushing us to create and keep up with a blog. I think it really is important to share in our adventures, our thoughts, our feelings, and our experiences…even if it is a little hard to get those thoughts together sometimes.

There have been many things to celebrate recently. The biggest cause for celebration in my mind, though, is the strong feeling of happiness that has been walking alongside me. This hasn’t been the “I’m happy at this cloud, or meal, or good night’s sleep, or hug, or painting” happiness, though. Those are good and they are worth celebrating as well, but that’s not what this is. No, this holds much more weight. It’s the “things have been hard for a long time and we’re now being reintroduced in a beautiful way” kind of happiness. It’s the kind that recognizes that there has been pain in loss, and there is grieving, and there is reorienting, and there is recognition that things will not be the same…but alongside of that truth, it also recognizes that the hard isn’t all there is. It’s not all there is supposed to be. But it’s the kind that isn’t trying to fool anyone either. It’s not claiming that we’ve reached “normal”, nor is it rushing me to find healing more quickly than is healthy. I’d like to think that it is a patient kind of happiness. One that I am seeing hope in and one that I can look back on even when things will still be hard, and my sweet dad’s loss will still be so painfully real…but one that is reminding me that it is real too.

I rode my bike to a park last week and ended up journaling a bit. This is what I ended up writing & I think it provides a helpful look into what I’ve been feeling.

“How do you begin to describe how peaceful, refreshing, comforting it is to feel like you? It almost seems silly to revel in you-ness…but in actuality it is one of the most unsilly things I can think of. To see and recognize by name parts of yourself that you feared had fled. To be assured that the hard and the scary—that that’s not all there is. To feel the sweetest relief at the stretch of your own smile and at the sound of your own laugh. Those are anything but silly. Those are important, and those are worth celebrating. Those are worth finding hope in, and those are worth thanking God for. A vacation back to yourself. I want to collapse in thanks for the first tangible sign of healing. And here it begins…here I can always return to be reminded that it is real and that it will come.”

“A Place at the Table”

I really love learning. I love when something is so powerful and important that it doesn’t leave you, but rather makes constant visits to your thoughts and encounters and opinions. I experienced a new one of those this weekend with a wonderfully made documentary called, “A Place at the Table”. This is a documentary about the issue of hunger in our country.

A few weeks ago, I was also exposed to the viral video about wealth inequality in America. Both of these films stir up such intense emotions within me. Both of these films are huge mixtures of heartbreak, confusion, and enraging feelings. Both of these films show similar, pressing issues that need to be addressed in our country. Issues that are terribly interwoven and feed into one another.

It is unacceptable when:

-Obesity and hunger are connected—when an individual or a family is struggling so greatly to reach each meal that they are forced to search out the cheapest calories they can find.

-This hunger is causing more than just obesity. There exist an extravagant number of other medical-related problems such as high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, and developmental growth issues.

-These medical problems pour into the individual’s ability to work well, to be alert and present at school, to properly nourish both body and mind, and also create a cycle of poverty that so often confines people to these situations.  “This generation will live sicker and die younger than their parent’s generation.”

-A family cannot qualify for food stamps because the single mother makes $2 over the set limit. As they quoted within the film, “Who defines starving?”.

-Food deserts exist. People are stuck miles away from any form of fresh fruits or vegetables and cannot get a hold of these nutrients without travelling unreasonable amounts.

-So many citizens are forced to rely upon charitable food donations to eat. Charity is wonderful and addresses the needs of so many that may not otherwise be met—but charity itself cannot end hunger.

-Schools are struggling to work with the funding they are given to provide free and reduced lunches to the children who are in need, but are having to settle for filling those meals with sugar, salt, and processed foods because of cost restrictions.

-Government funding is shifted to provide approximately a dollar more per child to invest in these healthy lunches, but that money is taken out of the food stamps program in order to do so, thus continuing the cycle—a bit more food at school, a bit less at home.

-Healthy, nutritious foods are significantly more expensive than processed, “food-like” substances.

-Hunger is even something that exists within the lives of individuals to begin with.

There is a quote within “A Place at the Table” that simply states that if another country was causing this to happen to our children, we would be at war. And that is so true, isn’t it? It is so hard to wrap your mind around the fact that something as simple and necessary as the right to food (and healthy food at that!) is so difficult for fifty million people in this country.

I am heartbroken and enraged by these realities. I also find a great deal of hope in the work that is being done to eradicate the issue of hunger in our country. It is powerful when people stand up to affect change and to encourage public policy changes through their stories and experiences and their commitment to make something different that so desperately needs to be different. I hope that these changes can continue to be made through sharing and through learning—and through the result of something so important sticking with us in our thoughts and encounters and opinions so strongly that we use them to create lasting change.

Check out the trailer to “A Place at the Table”, as well as the video for “Wealth Inequality in America” below.

http://www.magpictures.com/aplaceatthetable/

http://mashable.com/2013/03/02/wealth-inequality/

Small Balloon

From a dear friend:

 

There was a balloon, very small in size

that try as it might it just could not rise.

Its rubber was worn

and its knot barely tied

and often it wanted to run and to hide

because life was not always so easy.

But it could not let go of its longing to soar

and it would not give up on believing in more.

So it gathered its string as it perched on the floor

and it lunged for the air with such hope to explore,

but fell back to the ground, this time harder than before.

“How can I go on like this?”, the balloon sighed,

“I’m not strong enough, I’ve already tried.”

And in its defeat, and its very crushed pride

the balloon sat alone, and it cried.

 

“I think you’re strong”, came a very small sound.

The balloon was so shocked it turned all the way around,

and fixed its gaze on a tiny toy bear

with one button eye, and only patches of hair.

“I think you’re strong, and I think you can fly.

Please promise me that you will still try.”

The balloon struggled over to where the bear lay

and tied its frayed string around the bear’s waist.

Then nervously stumbled to rise from the ground,

this time on behalf of the friend it had found.

And without delay the two took flight,

they flew through the day and into the night.

They flew through the air, and they flew through the trees,

and they flew alongside of some birds (and some bees).

Then little by little the balloon came to see

other tiny balloons that were being set free.

Because when one has the courage to rise from the ground

it becomes hard for others to stay lying down.

That Full Feeling

It was Thanksgiving that my thoughts last made it here. I have had no earthly idea how to update my “goings on” through this means these past few months…and haven’t necessarily had any problem with that. They have seemed too big to be shared in this way. But, as I sat on my porch today and watched a lizard flex its crazy, red gobbler (technical term, obviously) & do her/his lizard thing, I thought differently for the first time.

There are everyday experiences where I have been floored by the love I am shown—where tears have been brought to my eyes by the words and actions of others, where I have wanted to jump and shake and run because of how others step into my life to show their love for me. But that becomes exponentially present on those not-so-everyday days. Those days where the unexpected happens and the extra doses of love need to fill the empty and confusing spaces—and there are friends, family, even people whom you don’t know, who so strongly desire to step in and do just that for you. I think this post is me wanting to update all of you about the presence of that in my life recently. I am wanting to let these thankful (I wish there was a stronger word) thoughts that have been swimming in my head and in my heart to gather together and have a way to pour out for other eyes and ears and heads and hearts. Because they have been keeping me going…and sometimes it does something unpredicted and wonderful in our lives when we hear about how others have been touched. Maybe this compilation of letters and words and paragraphs can be that for someone outside of myself.

I knew I’d be experiencing new things in this time of my life. I knew it would be unknown and scary and exciting and wonderful and crazy all at the same time. I really did. I never considered though, that the first handful of months into my US-2 experience would forever be marked by the passing of a parent. There is no need to elaborate on the known fact that that is hard and that that is painful. That isn’t what this is for. The transparency about what has occurred, does however, speak important insight into the remainder of these thoughts. I’ve mentioned here how I’ve been shaken by the love I’ve been shown, both by those who know me best and by those who have never even met me. I have been supported and loved in ways that I cannot use the term thankful for, simply because it does not encompass my true meaning of it. I am consistently encouraged by how powerful and overwhelming love can be and how it can move each person differently when they see a space where more is needed.

This is not to say that loneliness has not been felt. Boy, has it. There are times when I feel as though I have a small understanding of what contributes to that. And the reason is that situations like these are uncomfortable for all people. It creates a fear for those around you of not knowing how to ask about it, of not wanting to bring it up for fear of upsetting those directly affected by it, or of waiting for that affected individual to come to you…but I have found that those are the worst for me. I believe that being there for someone does not mean knowing what to say, but rather making yourself available to them in the time where all involved don’t know what to do or say. But the simple acts of that care, regardless of all else…that’s the good stuff. These moments I’m attempting to share about & highlight here rock that sticky and stubborn foundation of those lonely feelings. It’s these moments I’m celebrating here that remind me when it’s most needed that while I may be the one who is actually going through this time, that there exists that genuine, genuine handful of individuals who act to remind me that I am anything but alone.

I had a friend write to me in December and tell me that there are times when we need to let those who love us be strong for us. And while I have recently felt so stretched in the “strength” I feel I am capable of mustering, there has been a long line of individuals who have stepped up to give strength that really could not come from me most of the time. I have had the hardest, hardest time trying to express my thanks for the ways this has been manifested. This feeling comes often for me & I try to describe it sometimes as when my lungs feel so full that it’s as if words just want to come pouring out, but there are too many that are fighting to go first, so they just create a swirly, big, full feeling. But, really, none of those words can even come out anyways…they’re not enough. And thank goodness there are gestures and words and actions and thoughtful responses that are too dang big to allow a response. Thank goodness those full lung feelings exist and we can sometimes feel helpless in our gratefulness, that we are shown so much love and understanding that all we can do is sit in the big, swirling wonder that has been poured out on us and try—just try to understand that it’s real. Try to understand that others’ love for us exists in such big ways that even when you can’t see beyond your own pain, sadness, and confusion, that they remind you otherwise. They remind you, not only that more exists, but that you are more. They help you find it and they celebrate with you along the way when you rediscover those genuine smiles, those belly laughs, and those happy tears, and are not fazed amongst the other honest and real times of the opposite.

One of the cards I’ve received during this time was amongst a pile from, wonderfully enough, children I don’t know who wanted to show me their care & thoughts. It’s when a little girl writes on a popsicle stick to “feel so much better in life” and “Sarah’s missing a piece of her heart so we gave her ours”, that you have to try to understand what I mean by all of this.

A New Kind of Thanks, a New Kind of Thanksgiving

I spent Thanksgiving here in Miami this year & was able to have an entirely new kind of celebration.

Wednesday night I was able to attend an Interfaith Thanksgiving service at my church, where a number of congregations, from different religious traditions, came together for worship. I was so happy to be a part of it and to have the chance to be thankful for congregations who are seeking to come together in respect and celebration of one another during this time of recognizing thanks. This service was like nothing I had ever been a part of. We had a Native American call to worship, an opening prayer by a local Rabbi, a reading from the Quran on gratitude, as well as songs and messages from various religions and denominations. I loved it. Here is the benediction we shared:

“May an abundance of gratitude burst forth as you reflect upon what you have received. May thanksgiving overflow in your heart, and often be proclaimed in your prayer. May you gather around the table of your heart the ardent faithfulness, kindness, and goodness of each person who is true to you. May the harvest of good actions bring forth plentiful fruit each day. May you discover a cache of hidden wisdom among the people and events that have brought you distress and sorrow. May your basket of blessings surprise you with its rich diversity of gifts and its opportunities for growth. May all that nourishes and resources your life bring you daily satisfaction and renewed hope. May you slow your hurried pace of life so you can be aware of, and enjoy, what you too easily take for granted. May you always be open, willing, and ready to share your blessings with others. May you never forget the Generous One who loves you lavishly.”

An organization here in Miami, called South Florida Urban Ministries, holds a Thanksgiving outreach each year that is able to serve over 6,000 families. (Woah, right?) There are a number of locations spread out across the area where people from all over South Florida come to help prepare & deliver meals to families who may not otherwise be able to celebrate Thanksgiving dinner together. I was in awe of how many people came out to help on Thursday morning (and I only saw one of the sites!). There were so many people, that I ended up coloring cards alongside an elderly couple for them to deliver to the families on their list. I think it’s a pretty great problem to have when there are too many people wanting to serve. It was inspiring to me to see that so many wanted to give their time on this day to recognize their ability to serve, and to place their focus on creating opportunities for others to be thankful as well.

Thursday afternoon & evening were spent preparing and partaking in our campus ministry’s international student Thanksgiving celebration. FIU is an international university, so we have a number of students associated with us that were away from family during this break & some who also were able to celebrate Thanksgiving for the first time. We set up the backyard of one of our Wesley houses with a long line of tables and chairs, hung lights all around the house & tree, and finished preparing all of the food. I had about forty people to celebrate Thanksgiving with this year. Gosh. Friends from Nepal, Saudi Arabia, China, Argentina, India, Japan, Brazil, Ecuador, Libya, Venezuela, Ghana, South Korea, Nigeria, and more. Along with our traditional Thanksgiving foods, we also were able to share Arabic coffee & dates, Indian samosas along with mint rice with curry sauce, and Argentinean empanadas that were shared by our friends. We ate, talked, gathered around the fire in the backyard, and even did some dancing! (Introduced the wobble & Cleveland Shuffle to the group, and it was quite an enjoyable time. I know I loved it!)

Never have I had a Thanksgiving like this one. I continue to be so thankful for the new experiences and new friends that Miami is able to provide. I missed being with my family on this day, but am so glad to have been able to spend the holiday having new experiences, meeting new friends, sharing in new cultures & traditions, and embracing one another as family when ours were far away. I am genuinely thankful for this Thanksgiving and all that came along with it. I hope you were as well!

Passionate People

Passionate people are something to be celebrated. We should celebrate ourselves, celebrate one another, and celebrate the fact that somewhere, in some way, we all care. I’ve been realizing this a great deal lately in various ways, but I’d like to share a bit more about a more specific instance. The Wesley Foundation at FIU has now put on two incredibly powerful weeks, one last spring and one this October, to bring about awareness of human trafficking (sex trafficking, specifically) to the students on our campus.

I had the privilege this year of being a part of the Freedom Campaign—seeing it come to be through planning, preparation, and through the actual week itself and all that it entailed. It was a week of creativity, newfound realizations, indignant responses to such a harsh reality, and hopeful pursuits of wanting change. This week entailed so much. We had artwork put up around campus to both draw in attention, as well as inform about the reality of human trafficking. We had speakers come in to talk about what trafficking looked like specifically in Miami, considering it is in the top 3 cities in the United States where sex trafficking occurs.  In addition, these women talked extensively on the psychological manipulation associated with trafficking. There was a panel discussion where various individuals (from a representative from the Department of Homeland Security to workers from organizations that work with recovery for survivors) from the Miami community came to share their knowledge and experience about their personal relation to trafficking. There was a day when a survivor came in to share about her personal story of being trafficked in Miami and what she is now doing with her life in response to that. There was a documentary, Nefarious: Merchant of Souls, screened to give a more comprehensive understanding of the issue of trafficking itself and what it looks like around the world. There was also an outreach event in which the students were able to gather for a training on what trafficking may look like in relation to prostitution. We were able to go out to various hotels and motels in the area and educate the establishments on what to look for and on how to respond.

The week was chalk full of opportunity for learning and for providing an opportunity for the desire for change to grow. Regan, a woman I work with at FIU-MDC Wesley and the one who had the vision for this week last spring, and I just got back from Imagine What’s Next in St. Louis, which is a conference for young adults involved in collegiate ministries. We were asked to come and speak about the Freedom Campaign and share with all present how we both came to be passionate about this issue and the lives behind it, how the week came to be, as well as the influence that it produced on our campus. It was incredible to be able to share about such a powerful week & to seek to recognize that all of us have our own passions, opportunities, and spheres of influence. We were able to share about our particular experience with the intended purpose of inviting others to call to the forefront their own passions, and to evaluate how those excitements could and should be encouraged. We were able to get excited about the fact that caring about something matters, that recognizing that that care exists matters, and that figuring out what to do with that care matters.

Passionate people are something to be celebrated. Something that I tell myself so very often is that simply trying is worth so much. I hope that we can all continue to allow ourselves room to care with intensity and to allow ourselves room to figure out what that can encourage us to try.

 

Realizing Difference in New Ways

Something I’m not sure I’ve elaborated upon about my time in Miami has been the excitement I have towards the culture and the people here. We need to first sit and recognize that Miami in & of itself is a diverse place. We then need to recall that my placement is with a ministry at an international university where a significant number of students are here from other countries. Lastly we need to remember that my housemates & I are living within the area of Little Havana in Miami, a historically Cuban area and an area with the largest Hispanic population in Miami.

Never in my life have I been able to have so many new friends from all over the world. From my roommates, to the staff I work with, to the students that I meet, to the people I interact with at the store, I am surrounded by difference and uniqueness of background, experience, and understanding in a new way. It’s wonderful, people! Wonderful! Sometimes I feel like an overexcited animal or something when I am talking with some of these people…just calm it down, Sarah. Act cool. But really, it is just a refreshing thing to build relationships in a way that I have never before experienced and be able to learn in a such a new way.

I took a class last semester at App called Race & Minority Relations. We talked a lot about privilege and what that looks like, especially the seemingly unnoticeable instances of privilege. I remember coming to the realization one day that I have never had to wake up and consciously be aware of my race. I have never walked around thinking, “I’m white. I’m white, I’m white, I’m white.” And that in and of itself is privilege. When you are in a place where you have the ability to go around without that subconscious thought constantly reminding you of your difference, that’s huge.

There is a grocery store down the street from us called El Presidente, and I walk to it every now and again to get groceries. If you’ll remember that I live in Little Havana amongst a primarily Hispanic population, you can also take a gander that this grocery store also falls into this. Now, even though I am trying to brush up on my Spanish skills, I have sadly realized that I am unable to brush up on my “I am not going to stick out” skills quite as easily. I go into El Presidente and literally feel eyes on me. I am unable to communicate as effectively as I desire, I am painfully aware sometimes of wishing I wasn’t white, and I feel an overwhelming feeling of self consciousness. I’ve had a startling realization that I have never, never had to feel this way before (minus my mzungu days in Kenya). And that is an example of privilege.

I will never try to compare a feeling of slight self-consciousness at a silly grocery store to the feelings of prejudice, judgment, and discrimination that so many have faced and face because of something as inherent as race. Never. Because I will never be able to do more than attempt to learn about being a minority in that way. I do write about this realization, though, because it really is the first time that I’ve been aware of my “whiteness” and even wished that I could tone down the amount I stick out because of something such as my race. It has been a strange and important recognition for me that I am not only thankful for, but strongly hope I can continue experiencing and learning from.

I think it’s important to take a step back and recognize our privilege—recognize the things that we do not need to think of each and every day. “I just woke up from a bed.” “If my family is hungry I can hop in my car and purchase food without the blink of an eye.” “I am going to college right now.” “I have a skewed power that others do not because of my gender or my race.” Gosh, how easy to forget how big those are. I never want to become numb to those things. I am honestly scared of how easy it is to dwell in power and privilege and simply forget that anything else exists.

I think I’ll end this puppy with a quote from a Rob Bell book that I came across about a month ago that I’ve been pretty fond of lately. It said, “Central to the way of Jesus is serving, which is the loving use of whatever power we possess for the good of another.” I am repeatedly hopeful in the realization that we are all able to both serve and be served despite the sometimes unchosen privilege (or lack thereof) we posses. I am hopeful in the words of the quote because I am reminded that there are some forms of power I hold, some forms of power others hold, and we are able to serve one another, this world, and the people in it regardless.