AfricanKelli

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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

Last week the Phoenix area was hit with nutty weather — not yet another day of 100-plus degree heat, but tornadoes and hail the size of bricks. Car, house, window destroying bricks. My little car happened to be parked in the midst of chaos.

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