AfricanKelli

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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