Funny thing, this poetry and theology class is kicking. my. ass. These poets were hard core in their theology and making even the smartest in the room scratch his head for interpretation.

WH Auden, in particular, is a trickster. (Also, some of his poems are 50 pages long, with 60 pages afterword of “notes.” While cryptic, the dude had a LOT to say.) While my favorite poets remain lyricists, I have been getting a lot out of trying to decode this religious poetry and how it means something different to each person in the room.

Kinda like faith.

This week a friend sent me a message on Facebook asking why I’d chosen to be a member of the United Methodist Church. This time the answers came easily:

So, I have a random question for you…I noticed a bit ago that you said in a status update that you found a church you love and I think you said it was United Methodist. I was just wondering why you love the United Methodist church? Since we also have moved I’ve been trying to find a place where I feel good about going – a place that theology I am not always battling – and a few people have told me that I probably would like the United Methodist church. Anyway, I was thinking about going, but just wanted to ask your thoughts. Thanks so much!!

I fired back:

I have attended the UMC since baptism, so it wasn’t hard for me to buy into finding a church in this denomination when I came to Denver. For me, it is critical that my faith is all-loving. I believe in a God who loves homosexuals equally to heterosexuals, Republicans and Democrats alike, women and men exactly the same. With this in mind, it is also critical to me that God and my faith follow the teachings of Jesus and the Gospel. A reconciling UMC does all of these things. Right now the official slogan of the UMC is “Open hearts. Open minds. Open Doors.” In other words, our church is calling us to reach out to everyone and make every single soul feel welcome and loved in our worship. 

This is who I want to be. So, this church jives for me.

With next week being the final poetry class, I’ve decided to give the instructor a tongue-in-cheek card to thank him for his leadership and time. It will go a bit like this:

Dear Mr. Poetry Dean,

I really should call you Mr. Mean.

Auden, Stevens and more.

Difficult to the core!

All that said, I thank you for your patience and time.

You listened to me ramble without measure or rhyme.

I learned much from your love of words, faith and art.

I always hated poetry, but now have a fresh start.

Dylan and Seuss remain my favorite poets,

(I am not one, if you didn’t know it.)

~K

I am taking a new course at my church on poetry and theology. The church has a resident theologian, thanks to a nearby seminary. I expected very little and was a touch overwhelmed by the 25 folks who came together for this first class, much of which was far over my head. Needless to say, I know little about either topic, but am always hungry to learn.

A few of the ideas we discussed included having an internal theology. What do you believe and why? The leader said he thinks poetry is one of the most abstract forms of art, and yet huge world views can be contained within a 10 line stanza. We are studying three poets who were Christians and included their religious views and doubts in their work: T. S Elliot, W. H. Auden and Wallace Stevens.

The leader also mentioned Rudolf Otto, author of  “Idea of the Holy.” Having never studied religion or poetry formally, Otto’s writings on the beauty and repulsiveness included in man’s relationship with God are fascinating and new to me. We discussed several stories in the Bible where the concept is showcased. Think of Noah being saved while the rest of humanity drowns. Or Abraham taking the son he so cherished up the mountain at God’s command to be sacrificed. Or, you know. The idea of setting up your only Son to be crucified at the hands of the rest of those you also created. Repulsive. And yet, as a Christian, there is nothing more beautiful than the sacrifice of the Savior.

We had a fairly involved discussion about symbolitry and how it can quickly become idolotry, as well. I shared my confusion on the topic; living in Mexico at age 14, I was exposed to the Catholic tradition of stations of the cross for the first time. I also spent a good bit of time with a Muslim family that shunned any symbolotry in their home. My Methodist roots couldn’t make sense of the two extremes, which both seemed like the right fit for either family. As do my own beliefs — that praying to items rather than to God is missing the point.

I’ll be sharing a bit of the class here and there as we continue. I know it freaks a lot of my friends out that I talk about my faith, but the older I’ve gotten, the less I care. It is important to me, as is the continued study. My beliefs have changed and matured with time, as has my comfort level in discussing these matters. That said, I hope to never offend. My faith is an all-loving challenge and journey.

Cheers,

Kelli

Locally, I support Metro CareRing. I believe in their mission of providing food support for those in need. I appreciate their manner of having clients select their own produce and grains to both minimize waste and make the process of coming to a food bank as kind and respectful as possible. This is especially important when the families have children. Watching kids pick out their own fruit and vegetables they are excited to take home  – whether that is a trailer, a foreclosed suburban brick house or the city park — makes me happy. They are doing great things in Denver with people who truly need a bit of nourishment during a rough patch of life.

Volunteering here has been eye opening to the growing hunger in our country. The folks who come through the pantry are a slice of any city — they are all races, ages and of many educational backgrounds. It is humbling to shake their hands and help them fill a bag.

Inter/Nationally, I support Project Hopeful. Their mission of advocating for HIV-positive kids living in a handful of international orphanages is meaningful, life-saving work. They have classes for HIV-positive mothers in Ethiopia, providing prevention education information to limit the spread of the infection to others, and to encourage the women to become change advocates in their villages. They host educational seminars in the United States for families considering adoption. What would it be like to have an HIV-positive child in your home? How are these adoptions processed? What are the fees associated? What are the long-term psychological issues with cross-cultural adoption?

Hundreds of families have attended these seminars. As a result, hundreds of kids have been adopted from the most abismal conditions you can imagine.

They match HIV-positive orphans with American families interested in saving a child’s life. With antiretrovirals and adoption, the chances of an orphan going on to live a normal, happy healthy adulthood with a chronic disease is likely. If they remain in their home country, the chance of a life cut dramatically short by the disease is all but guaranteed.

Project Hopeful has helped advocate for more than 200 children who have been adopted in the United States. They have a 0% overhead, meaning their entire “staff” is actually a crew of dedicated volunteers. All of the money they raise, which at this point has been limited, goes directly to helping advocate and educated for such adoptions.

I’ve long talked about my interest in adopting a daughter from Ethiopia. I’ve attended playgroups for children adopted from the Horn of Africa, spoken with parents who have gone through this process, and started saving my pennies. While I am not yet to this stage of life, I am ready to commit to a child in need of advocacy and prayer with Project Hopeful’s FIG program.

FIG stands for Families in the Gap. This program allows donors to give a bit of money each month for the adoption of a specific child. Additionally, donors are requested to pray for the child and for the family waiting to adopt him/her, and to advocate for the process.

Serena was born in 1998 with HIV in Ethiopia. The 12 year old came to live at an orphanage in February when her extended family could no longer provide a “stable environment.” This could mean a variety of things. In Ethiopia, like many areas of the world, the HIV-positive are shunned and pushed to the outskirts of life. Serena’s health was failing because she wasn’t getting enough to eat, or the proper medication, while living with her aunt. She’s now living in a foster care home with specialized care and waiting for adoption by an American family. The money I give will help in the tiniest bit toward the adoptive family’s $20,000+ expense of bringing Serena home.

I think of this sweet little girl and the challenges she’s already faced in her brief life — the loss of her parents, the shuffling of homes. This program doesn’t allow photos of the children from Ethiopia. And so, I’m using photos from my orphanage work in Mozambique with this post. I have no idea what Serena looks like, but I do remember what it was like to be a 12 year old girl — full of mixed emotion. And through other travel, I am all to familiar with the plight of young, African children who’ve been left in orphanages by well intentioned family who simply cannot feed another mouth.

Today, I pray for Serena and the lucky American family who she’ll join with time. My happiest day will be when I am able to meet Serena and her new family. Can’t you just picture a sweet, shy teenage girl in a American suburban home whose hopes have shifted from survival to high school graduation? What a merciful scene that scene will be. And how thankful I am to be a part of this work, even in the smallest way!

There are 130 children waiting for advocates in the FIG program. Please consider supporting this work. Your donation will save lives of those most in need — sick children.

“If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.” 1 John 3:17-18

~K

To those who believe, a very joyous Easter to you and yours!

As a Christian, this weekend is the most holy; the resurrection of Christ is fundamental to my belief. I read this chapter — Matthew 28 — and weep with the miraculous generosity, kindness and boldness of God. Such mercy, grace and love to give his only Son!

May this season of rebirth renew and strengthen our faith. May we be touched by grace, and may our words and actions reflect our gratitude for this ultimate sacrifice.

~K

Calculated Acts of Kindness — CAOK — is a Lenten themed project I’ve led for several years. The idea is to spend the 40-plus days of lent in reflection, strengthening your faith through helping others.

This help may come in a note of encouragement, time volunteered at the food bank, buying a stranger lunch or simply paying someone a compliment. The intention of CAOK is to stretch your own comfort by being of service to others, and to do so humbly.

That humble part make this a bit tricky. I encourage you to share your ideas and acts here as a way of encouraging and inspiring others to participate. If you’d like to see what’s been done in the past, there are photo galleries and plenty of posts.

I look forward to this challenge each year because so many people reach out. They send the love letter they’ve been thinking of writing. They buy bus tickets and hand them out at the stop before work. They anonymously send flowers to the woman in the office going through a divorce. You wouldn’t believe how many of these emails I’ve received. It is a powerful project to be a part of.

So! If you are interested — now’s the time. Let’s do what they say can’t be done. Let’s make our homes, communities and world a bit brighter by truly being kind.

A Franciscan Blessing:

May God bless you with discomfort. Discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart. Amen

May God bless you with anger. Anger at injustice, oppression and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace. Amen

May God bless you with tears. Tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain into joy. Amen

May God bless you with foolishness. Enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen

And the blessing of God, who creates, redeems and sanctifies, be upon you and all you love and pray for this day, and forever more. Amen

~K

I spent this morning running with two friends rambling about how angry I became yesterday reading the most recent ” Interpreter.” This is a bimonthly magazine published by the United Methodist Church and sent to members nationally. To be honest, it normally doesn’t reach the top of the reading pile before it reaches the recycling bin, but yesterday I found myself without other reading material and with an unexpected handful of free minutes.

The stories are a great reflection of what’s happening in congregations nationwide. They are exactly what you may expect — super successful bake sales, cookbook ideas, fundraisers for homeless outreach, book reviews, military ministry, etc. There is typically the foreign mission story too — where we pat ourselves on the backs for nets distributed in African malarial zones, clean wells dug in remote South American villages, hospitals built in Asia. These stories fill my spiritual sails. The idea of being a member of an international church that prides itself on works of God — building schools, wells, hospitals — versus going door to door trying to convert people with the Bible, perfectly suits me. Actions speak so much louder than words.

(See any of the recent anti-gay sex scandals involving male evangelical ministers and their lovely boy toys as exhibit A.)

It seems harder than ever to claim Christianity in this American life. As a Christian, I am under a microscope. I know my every word and action are examined for fault — for proof that I’m no better than anyone else and that my beliefs are silly. Let it be said loud and clear that I have many faults, many of my beliefs are silly (love me some Nacho Libre) and no, I am certainly not better than anyone else.

But apparently, I am more compassionate. Because when I got to the back of this copy of “Interpreter,” imagine my shock, anger and disgust at the letters to the editor that came from a handful of communities across the country denouncing: gay marriage, gay members in the church, helping illegal immigrants, and perhaps the most hysterical — how yoga is a pagan ritual Christians should not participate in.

I’m tempted to write letters back but instead I’ll just stand on this little blog pulpit and scream my loudest:

Hey Christians! If we don’t collectively figure out how to stop being such a bunch of judgmental, hypocritical assholes — we are going to end up the with the dinosaurs and dodos. (Yes, Peggy J. Norris of Bolton, North Carolina — I’m looking at you. Really? You don’t think God loves gay people? Pretty sure God said love everyone. Everyone, Peggy. Not just people like you. Everyone. All. Todo. Tout. Get it?)

And Alan Blackford of Shelbina, MO — as  person who lives in Arizona I can tell you that taking water to illegal immigrants in the desert is something I would proudly be arrested for. Again, while you cite a handful of verses on how we as Christians are to obey the law, I’ll repeat what Jesus said was the most important commandment –love God and love your neighbors as yourselves. Next time you decide to escape the snow and fly south for the winter, to say, Tucson — I pray that you have enough water. Because God forbid you get a little too tan on that vacation and be parched. I’d hate for a Christians with your mindset to pass you by, citing federal immigration law as a reason we shouldn’t help our fellow man. I also pray that you take a good look around your own neighborhood and consider why, Mr. Blackford, your people were allowed to immigrate so freely. (I’ll take a huge leap here and say perhaps our people were on the same boat from Europe. The pasty white boat.) In other words, DUDE! Stop the hate. Think a bit bigger. Think how miserable it would be to roam a desert for, say, 40 days and nights without food and water.

And for you, Lafe Tolliver of Toledo, Ohio — I can only say namaste. May the Lord be with you and may Saint Peter meet you at the pearly gates in a full downward dog to show what an ass you’ve made of yourself to suggest yoga is an “occult novelty.” Really? You mean to tell me there isn’t some social justice issue a bit more important in Toledo you couldn’t get behind? Is this really the best use of your energy? I think not Lafe. In fact, I think you sound a little tense. Could I suggest some Bikram? It would do wonders for your energy and for your attitude. Stretching, learning to meditate and being at peace is not in opposition to our faith! In fact, I’m pretty sure Jesus was a fan of all three.

But most importantly, I am certain that this bickering of how to behave and who to love is pointless. It is a waste of our effort as United Methodists and as Christians. If you feel so strongly that someone is living in opposition to your faith — then lead your life the way you see fit. Show them through actions!

And again, the point of our faith, of our walk with Christ is clear: We are here to comfort each other. We are here to be the light. We are here to love and be love!

That’s right. Peggy, Alan, Lafe — I love you. You are numbskulls, but I love you.

Be well, amigos.

~K

I sat in my boss’s office and watched as the skies turned an eerie shade of yellow before crashing, banging and otherwise throwing a giant tantrum that left much of the Valley in disarray. The car dealership nearby reportedly lost 300 cars to severe damage; it was unreal — a bit of mayhem for people who rarely if ever see snow, much less golf-ball sized hail clumped among the cactus.

This storm arrived the day after a much scarier one thankfully began to dissipate. For the last six months my my mom’s been sick. It started with a backache and quickly progressed to something obviously more serious. It took four months before the specialists could figure out the region of her body causing the pain and another two before surgery was scheduled. There were countless appointments and even more tests. She was poked and prodded and thoroughly annoyed by the time they got her into the surgical suite.

My parents mean everything to me. These two, and my brother, are my world.  Somehow, out of 6 billion of us, I got lucky with these three as my clan.

The last six months have been an ugly blur. Many nights that I woke up at 1 am crying. Bags form under your eyes, your belt gets a bit tighter as you try to eat away exhaustion, your mood is snippy and nothing seems to be good enough. The looming darkness that could be wrapped us in blankets of anxiety. I reverted to a selfish child. What if she was really sick? What if she couldn’t come to my wedding one day? What if she never met my children? What would my dad do? What would we do? I want my mommy!

Night after night I made a list of things I had to ask her, things I wanted her to teach me, sentiments I had to say again and again to make sure she really knew. Just in case.

It’s that space of “just in case” where we do so much needless harm. My dad and brother weren’t coping any better. Thankfully, we took turns calling each other to cry — rotating who was the strong and who was the one overwhelmed with grief. To hear my dad and brother cry — I would have given anything in that moment to change life.

We rallied her and made sure she had no idea how very worried we were. She was showered with cards, flowers and prayer. My dad’s adoration for my mom was even more clear — he did everything he could to make sure she was comfortable and as happy as could be.

The surgery came and went last week. I sobbed and later celebrated when we got the news — no cancer, completely treatable, she’ll be fine.They finally figured out exactly what it was and she would be good as new.

The day after the storm, two days after the surgery, I called my insurance company about the damage to my car. The agent apologized for “acts of God” that caused the destruction. I couldn’t respond. What do you say to a “storm specialist” after this kind of week? How do you adequately communicate your pure relief that this act of God kind of damage could be repaired with a $500 check?

The same way you say, “I am so glad you didn’t die. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. I love you.” You just do. And then I recommend hugs and margaritas all around.  Because, oh sweet God, it is time to get back to celebrating life!

~K

Golden; book published; Cody + Jessika; People of the Book; 50 ml lens; Cezanne; Mad Men 4; dinner party; Tempe Town Puddle; Meg, Scott + Roscoe; bamboo bags; Matty’s great return; Sheila, Charlie + family.

A beautiful month, well lived and loved.

~K

I’m leading Vacation Bible School at my church this week, in the evenings after work. The theme, which my friend Tina brainstormed, is “Super Heroes for Faith.” Last night was the first night and to be honest, I didn’t know that I’d have many kids show up. We are a central-city church with very few children in our congregation. I was hired in February as the youth ministry leader to help bring new families with children to the church, and to make those with kids who do attend feel at home with more comprehensive youth programs.

Needless to say, I’m at the bottom of a very big hill. I thought a fun week of evening activities at the church would help get kids familiar with each other and with me. I figured this way they’d be more interested in coming on Sundays to play at Sunday school, etc. If you’ve worked with children in this capacity, you know the resources available are lackluster. There are thousands of websites dedicated to specific educational products but nothing that I’ve been able to find to: get kids to trust you, get parents to trust you, get both parties interested, explain complex issues of faith in simple, clear terms, make children comfortable with the super scary stuff that happens in the Bible ( Let’s not sugar coat this. Our leader was hung from a cross with nails and eventually cut open to bleed to death. When Old Testament God (cranky God, as I like to call him) got angry, He killed in swaths without mercy. We love to talk about Noah, but how about everyone else who drowned in that flood? Pestilence, wrath, pilars of salt … Lovely imagery when you are ultimately trying to teach, “Love everyone!”)

This week, and my youth leadership generally, is geared toward the happy side of faith. I’m always willing to discuss the heavy stuff, but summer vacation to me means fun. It’s pizza, movies, super hero capes, reading great books and swimming with hot dogs barbecuing nearby. It doesn’t mean memorization, castigation or guilt.

When I asked the kids last night what their super power would be — after discussing Noah’s means of getting all the animals in the ark in twos, Jonah’s ability to survive in the giant fish, Jesus’ talent for walking on water and feeding the masses with a few loaves of bread and a couple fish — their answers varied. One little boy in particular had the adults giggling with his immediate response — “telekinesis!” I had to later ask him what that meant. The 7-year-old impressed me wildly with his eye roll and quick, disgusted response, “Mind reading. Duh.”

Duh.

Rather than following a set curriculum for purchase for this week, I’ve thrown together four nights of activities that I hope will both engage the kids and meet some of the goals listed above. Last night was decorating our own capes. Tonight we are watching a movie. Tomorrow we are learning the art of storytelling. Thursday we are swimming.

I may just ask them to try to walk on that water on their way in the pool.

-K

Wishing you a blessed Easter!

~K

Have you ever wondered what 450 plastic Easter eggs look like? Well, there you go. Why are these heaped on my living room floor? Because I am organizing the egg hunt this Sunday at church for the kids. So, off to Coscto and the dollar store I went and a couple hours of craziness later…

they were each filled. Eventually I started finding a sick pleasure in color coordinating each candy to the color of the egg. I moved quickly, while listening to NPR, contemplating a few new challenges and wondering if it was wrong to scratch such an unhealthy itch. Like many, when something suddenly spins out of control, I find a sincere pleasure in being hyper-controlling of other things. So, while I can’t do anything to change Arizona’s state budget, I can bleach my floors. I can place watermelon candy in pink eggs. I can pull out the toothbrush and Comet.

Let me explain.

Yesterday I came into work, high from my great trip to San Francisco and excited about the day ahead, when my boss called a quick meeting. State funding cuts in Arizona led to the cancelation of my program and job over the weekend. I’ve got a few more months here, thankfully, to figure out the next move.  Phoenix, the fifth largest city in America, will still be without a strong public health graduate program. Our health will suffer as  result. And the short-sighted Phoenician status quo drags its statistically obese, skin cancer-prone, Type II diabetes-laden self forward to an early death.

But hey, something had to be cut — right?

I’ve got no clue what I’m going to do next, but there is certain to be an adventure around the next corner. In the meantime, I’m making the most of the sudden free time I have by cleaning (see above: bleach, Comet, toothbrush) and making sure my life is otherwise as tidy as possible. This is the only way I know how to cope with sudden change: pick up the pieces where they are and make the best of it for the time being. And Magic Eraser the baseboards, logically.

~K

Yesterday, our sermon was focused on compassion. The minister — Jeff — said compassion is often confused for charity or pity. Really, compassion is trying to understand the other side and find similarities, not providing platitudes or feeling superior by providing for someone less fortunate.

My weekend included a blur of work and fun. The choreography of my schedule lately has left me running from one thing to another and not paying enough attention to what I’m saying or how I’m acting. (Yes, I’m my biggest critic.) After having fun with friends at the ASU basketball game Saturday afternoon, we ended up at our friend’s sports bar drinking wine and eating nachos.

Come on, who wouldn’t want to drink with that adorable face? Bec and I sat outside on the patio enjoying our time while the boys went back to the game for the second half. We hadn’t caught up in a while and it was so nice to enjoy the weather and just have girl time. Then I looked at my watch and realized I was to be at a debate about a mile away in 10 minutes. Of course, I’m wearing heels and jeans. Saying a quick goodbye, I raced (teeter tottered) through campus to Gammage Theater to hear Karl Rove debate Howard Dean.

(Cameras weren’t allowed and this is the best I could do without a flash.)

When Karl Rove took the stage, I joined in the frenzy and booed. I’m not proud of it, but in the moment, with a couple glasses of wine under my belt and a lot of anger about the war brimming in my heart — I screamed along with the rude masses. My friend Juliann sat next to me with disgust. It was fairly immediate that I realized I was acting like an idiot and should have given the man a chance to speak.

In fact, the debate brought out the ugliest in the crowd. While I then limited my reactions to appropriate clapping, there were dozens of interruptions from people shouting from the balconies. It made me sad that Tempe portrayed itself in such a crass way.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning, still confused and angered by a lot that was said at the debate, that I realized finding a common ground politically in our country is going to take heaps of compassion. I should have been merciful. I should have been kind. I should have listened more clearly for the similarities, rather than clapping at each of the differences I thought made me superior.

So, I don’t like a lot of Rove’s policy decisions. I remain steadfast that war isn’t the answer and that there must have been another way to handle our conflicts with Iraq and Afghanistan. I also think the amount of money we are spending on warfare is criminal and could be the final straw for our economy’s back. But, there were things he said that I did agree with too. I am a big believer in personal responsibility first and foremost. I think government should be smaller and community should be strengthened to help citizens in need. I think our immigration policy is failing wildly.

I look forward to having lunch with my friend Dena this week; she was at the debate and our political views couldn’t be more different. I plan on speaking less and listening more. There has to be a middle ground.

~K

Paired with some greens for dinner last night. The new farmer’s market at ASU started yesterday and I spent way too much money on way too little — but the flavors were wonderful. Plus, I’m learning that it is often not cost/time effective to do the best thing for your community (farmer’s markets, carpooling, low energy use electronics) but it is still the better option. And so, we very much enjoyed the $5 tomato — sliced with a bit of salt and savored before scallops and greens.

Today starts lent, and those who’ve been around for a while know that traditionally means the kickoff to Calculated Acts of Kindness (CAOK). I’ve done this for 4 years. This year, with a variety of new challenges in hand, I cannot. I fully believe CAOK is something you do regardless of the season and I hope my excessive efforts of the past have encouraged others. My one hiccup was the jaded feedback I’d misplaced humility to seek praise for good deeds. Noted. This year, my lenten journey will be private.

If you are participating in CAOK, I’m happy to praise you. Keep me posted on what you are doing!

~K

If there is a theme to my closest circle of childhood friends, it’s that we all attended United Methodist churches as youth. We were a part of Methodist Youth Fellowship.  This means we spent our summers playing late-night, sweaty, parking lot volleyball tournaments against each other. We passed our winters curled up in drafty cabins or hunting jackalope on Mingus Mountain. We danced far too close wearing far too much Jovan/Sand and Sable to Boyz II Men at countless dances and lock-ins. We adventured for weeks in vans trekking across the western United States volunteering  in forests, sleeping on hard church floors and eating copious amounts of Taco Bell until we thought we would eventually ring.

And at some point, we became adults and scattered.

It’s funny to think of it now — the Yas — all in this group. As are many of my closest male friends. I spent so much of my teenage awkward years in a church fellowship hall flirting, eating pizza and rolling my jeans, it is amazing I learned anything from my pastor. Most of my friends don’t attend church today. Just as I can’t imagine my life without it, they cannot image theirs with it. To each is own.

On top of a few of the other changes happening around here this week, I’ve accepted a part-time gig at my church to help with children’s ministries. I am really looking forward to creating a MYF group, strengthening Sunday school curriculum, getting more kids and parents involved and making church a fun place for little ones to come spend time.

So — this is where you come in. Do you have any happy memories of church as a child? What and how did you learn that you still remember today? If you are a parent, what types of activities do you like to see your children involved in with church? What seems to work?

I am completely new to this type of ministry and would love any suggestions of books, activities, etc you may have. So, please delurk and leave a comment.

~K

P.S. Get the girls in the car and we’ll still sing any Boyz II Men song at the top of our lungs. Also, we’ve been known recently to still enjoy copious amounts of Taco Bell.

With the 25 citrus trees we planted last Spring and the 50 fruit trees we planted yesterday, our community garden is starting to resemble an orchard.

(That’s Thelma’s date palm! Every time I see it, I smile.)

We had more than 40 volunteers come to the garden to help yesterday morning. Refugees, high school students, retired master gardeners, church members and Sydney — the superpooch. (I’m watching Syd for the weekend. He’s fun to photograph and I have a feeling you’ll be seeing him in a lot of my posts for the next couple of weeks.)

(Proof I don’t just boss people around. I worked! Although there was a good bit of bossing too..)

I cannot belive how rich my life is with community. There is no way I could have ever dreamed I would be a part of such a great group of people. It simply tickles me pink to think one day soon, hungry families in our neighborhood will have fresh fruit thanks to land donated by the church, trees donated by friends and planted by volunteers, and good old reliable Arizona sunshine.

Something magical is happening in this garden. We are planting hope. Miracles will bloom.

~K