we all want to be loved.

i realize that i haven't written yet about my work at polaris project. this is partially because of the confidential nature of the work, but also because of the emotional intensity of being with victims of human trafficking. as i've been reflecting on my experience at joseph's house compared to this, i've seen both similarities and differences. in both places, there is incredible respect, care, and compassion for those who are vulnerable. there is a commitment to empowerment. there are chances to both cry and laugh together, moments that are heartbreaking and full of grief, and moments that are full of joy. at polaris, one of my biggest joys has been to see the way that the women support and encourage one another, share their stories, and no longer feel alone. their hugs, kisses on the cheek, words of encouragement flying around in tons of different languages, make our drop-in center feel full of love. i am so, so grateful for the chance to work with these extraordinary women, and amidst the heartbreak of their stories, i would never give up my chance to be with them.

but i think one of the hardest differences for me has been in seeing those who are causing this violence. at joseph's house, we talk about how racism, classism, poverty, incarceration (that is unjust based on race and class), and other systemic and institutional injustices lead to lack of access to health care, to drug use, and ultimately, to someone dying of AIDS or cancer in our house who had no where else to go. i can rail against the government, or the "system," but my enemy feels fairly abstract and inaccessible. the story is different, however, at polaris. i have seen a woman's arm covered in bruises from her pimp's fist. i have heard the cries of a woman who has been utterly abused and then abandoned by a man who pretended to love her and brought her to this country that is so far from home to sell her body. i have witnessed the agony of a woman not being able to go back to her home country for her family member's funeral because of the power that her trafficker still has there. and still, i can and do protest the sexism and xenophobia that makes these women (and men) who are trafficked so vulnerable. but, there is also a person who's fist has left marks in her skin, whose abuse has left wounds in her heart. often a man, sometimes a woman, who is clearly a vessel of abuse and exploitation, whether for labor or sex. and when faced with that individual through my clients' stories, or to read about a man like shelby lewis in the news, i feel myself much more angry, much more sick at heart about the state of humanity. why do we exploit? why do we oppress? why do we abuse? how can we do this to one another? i do believe, at the heart of it, we all do want to be loved, to feel like we are of value, to feel that we are safe. this desire is what leads many of the women we work with into sex trafficking in the first place - the promise of love, of safety, of care, by a pimp who then turns their life into a living hell. but i believe that many of these abusers, along with sometimes mental illness, are confusing this desire for love with a desire for lust, for power, for sex, for money. the money, power, control will never satisfy that inner desire to be loved and to feel safe in the world; i believe only a trust in Someone greater than ourselves can do that.

so i guess this is just a reflection and a call for each of us to reflect on what it is that makes us feel loved and safe in the world. and if our sense of love and safety comes from the abuse of others in any way, from putting down others with our words, to consumerism when our underpriced products contain the sweat of children in third world countries or are sold by companies that exploit their employees by refusing them benefits, then we need to stop and think. and then we need to act for transformation of ourselves and our world, for a love that is not twisted into power or oppression, but based on care and service and a chance for each human being to live into his or her full potential. love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. may it be so.

tattoo.

today, after about 4 years of talking about, thinking about, drawing it, i finally headed over to d.c. ink with some of my dear friends and got my long-awaited tattoo! i'm pretty psyched about it on many levels, but i thought it would be fun to write about its significance, since i'm all about symbolism.

the dove design was drawn by my dear friend jolynn, so the image holds a lot of significance for me because of that. i chose a dove for several layers of meaning. first, my name, kathryn, comes from the greek word, katharon (it looks way cooler in greek!), which means pure one. so in this way, a dove is a symbol of my name, claiming proudly who i am in my uniqueness. the dove also stands for peace, peace which i desire to strive after in following the example of Jesus and the principles of non-violence for myself, peace which i pray for the world to find. furthermore, the dove also stands for Spirit and creativity, aspects of both the Divine and of myself that i want to spend my life exploring and cultivating. the dove is in flight because of the image of freedom and movement, freedom to live fully and celebrate the gift of life, freedom to be who i and who we are called to be. the flight of the dove also makes me think of joseph's house, of singing "i'll fly away" in the garden while sprinkling ashes, of all those who have flown away to freedom and have touched my soul so deeply.

lastly, the word beloved holds special meaning to me. the reality that i am loved, cherished, valued as my identity, for my being, not for anything i do but for who i am, by a loving God, is key to my view of the world. i have articulated my call in the past as to affirming belovedness, for myself and for others, to celebrate and value each person and to confront systems of injustice and oppression that detract from that belovedness.

so there it is, in case you were curious... :-)

trusting the journey.

as i reflect on these past three years in DC, especially my time the last three years at joseph's house, i feel a lot. a lot of sadness and joy, a lot of apprehension about what will come as well as overwhelming gratitude for all that i have lived, learned, all those i have loved and who have loved me. leaving joseph's house feels huge, even though i've left it in several ways in the past year - moving out, paring back to one day a week, starting school. even so, joseph's house has been a place of such incredible depth and growth and love, like my soulmate job. i know i'll carry what i've learned always; it is a part of me now. and as i step out of this place and into another, i want to continue to trust that in the journey, i am and will continue to be changed, molded, and become more and more fully who i am and part of the work of healing and love in the world.

one of my soul sisters shared this poem with me tonight, and i want to pass it on because i find it to be true and beautiful.

"Trust in the Slow Work of God"- Pierre Teihard de Chardin

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way
to something unknown,
something new.
Yet it is the law of all progress that is made
by passing through some stages of instability
and that may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually. Let them grow.
Let them shape themselves without undue haste.
Do not try to force them on
as though you could be today what time
- that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will -
will make you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new Spirit
gradually forming in you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that God's hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

facing injustice. and our part in it.

last week, i finished reading the book "three cups of tea," a pretty incredible book written by greg mortenson about his journey building schools, particularly for girls, in pakistan and afghanistan. his commitment to empowering communities and pursuing peace not through weapons but through education is inspiring. but one of the things that stuck out most to me from the book (not surprisingly considering my vast ignorance about the rise of the taliban and issues in the middle east in general), is that the u.s. has perpetuated the problem of terrorism by giving money to corrupt leaders in order to "fight communism," and by failing to follow through on our promises of aid. this promised aid could provide real education and options for the people of afghanistan and pakistan instead of making them reliant on the multitude of wahhabi madrassas, schools of extremist islam who often are the only option for education for the poorest students. according to mortenson's conversation with the afghani minister of finance, less than a quarter of the aid money promised by president bush ever made it to afghanistan, and of those insufficient funds that did make it to afghanistan, hundreds of millions of dollars were taken to build runways and stock depots that everyone knew would be used for the u.s. military when the invasion of iraq came. no wonder america stirs so much hatred in this part of the world and extremism continues to thrive.

tonight, emily and i went to see a documentary called "return to el salvador", a film about life after the horrific civil war in el salvador. again, although the images of the violence that occurred during the war are themselves disturbing, perhaps more disturbing is the fact that the u.s. was pouring up to a million dollars a day into the salvadoran government and military, which was in turn slaughtering its own people, in the name of fighting communism and extremism. and of the military leaders who were found to have committed human rights violations during the war, all of them had been trained at fort benning, georgia, known formerly as the school of the americas, which has trained a multitude of military leaders and dictators in tactics leading to torture, massacre, and other atrocities in many countries in latin america. and if this isn't enough, the u.s. continues to contribute to injustice and violence in el salvador by sponsoring the central american free trade agreement (CAFTA), which robs countries like el salvador of their rights to their own land. currently, the canadian company pacific rim is using CAFTA to sue the salvadoran government for millions of dollars for rejecting their gold mining proposal, which would rob the people of their land and damage the earth, the water sources, and the well-being of many communities.

in our own country, we also perpetuate injustice. we are destroying our environment by our insatiable addiction to oil, shown by the BP oil leak in the gulf. pointing fingers at BP officials or regulatory agencies may help us feel better, but until we acknowledge our own participation and guilt in this disaster through our overconsumption of energy and oil, our environment will continue to suffer. and closer to home, last sunday, joseph's house celebrated its 20th anniversary by reading the names of all those who have died at the house since david hilfiker and his family moved in with several HIV+ men in 1990. there were over 280 names on that list. 280 people with families, feelings, pain, life, and now death. and over 80 of those men and women have died at the house since i first began working there almost three years ago. this is not a result of individual bad choices or lack of responsible living - this is a result of injustice, of racism, of a failing health care system, of a lack of affordable housing and mental health services and subsequent rise of homelessness, of a lack of compassion and a whole lot of fear and greed.

i don't pretend to be an expert on any of these areas. i also don't see any point in just being a debbie downer, and i know how easy it is to become paralyzed in the face of so much injustice. but i do see value in raising awareness and a righteous anger, a holy indignation, at the fact that we and our government are not only ignorant of but also causes of perpetuated violence and injustice around the world. these stories need to be told, and from there, we must each find out how we can use our own unique gifts, experiences, and passions to fight for justice and peace in the world. i know that i have too often used "i don't know" or "i don't care" to enjoy my happy, privileged, isolated existence. let's stop ignoring, stop pleading overwhelm, and start facing our own participation and need for action. let's keep marching and singing. we shall overcome someday. i hope and pray that we can all be stirred to continued action, to sustained compassion for those around us who may not look like us or speak like us but who are all children of God.

freedom to sing.

a man who had been at joseph's house for about a month and a half began to really decline at the end of last week, or actively die as we call it. his breathing shifted, he stopped responding, he was unable to eat or drink. a man who was able to come to us to spend his final days instead of returning to prison, he was both lovely and hard to work with. he loved holding hands and the simple joy of sitting and sharing a meal together. but he was also in a lot of pain and had experienced a lot of trauma, and so even a small thing like changing his pamper sometimes took an hour and a half. he taught me a lot about patience and love, and i am so grateful for his friendship. one time as we were changing him, i asked him to give me a hug, as that was an easier way to turn him on his side. he looked up at me, smiled, and gave me a huge hug, which was so beautiful. then i said, "ok, time to turn." "what??!" he replied, surprised, "you tricked me!" i thought he may get angry, but he just started to laugh, until we were all laughing. another time, he asked what he thought people would think if we could walk down the street together, a black man and a white girl. i told him i didn't care, and that it would be nice. he told me he wished we could have been friends in high school. that would have been great, i replied. we've both been on such different paths, but what a gift to share friendship in this moment.

as i sat with him on monday night, alone in the house, i felt the sacredness and the beauty of that moment, and i felt suddenly completely free to be with him however felt right to both him and me. i typically sit at the bedside in silence, knowing that even silent presence can be meaningful. but because i knew my friend and felt comfortable in myself, i felt free to use my voice in being with him. i knew he was a man of great faith, and so i just started singing to him whatever hymns came to mind. after half an hour of singing by myself, i picked up his bible and read some of his and my favorite passages out loud. just about half an hour after this, my friend took his last breath. i was able to bathe him with patty, playing "i believe i can fly" softly as we opened a window and lit a candle. i felt sad and grateful. i don't know when i'd felt so comfortable and free to be me and be with another for a long time. i received such a gift in that, and i pray he felt comfort and love in those last moments as well.

i realize that sitting at the bedside with another is a rare experience for most of us and is clearly a privileged, sacred moment. but what would it look like if i felt that freedom in all my interactions with others, to be fully myself and fully open to the other person, wherever they are coming from? what if i felt that comfort to sing, to affirm, to speak or to be silent, in all my relationships? i think that i and we sometimes spend so much time worrying about how others perceive us or will perceive us that we lose the freedom to be fully ourselves and fully present to others. and as i learn more and more fully the truth that i am beloved and precious as i am, and that we are all beloved and precious, i believe that this freedom to be will flow more fully. i want to live more in this freedom, this freedom to sing, whoever i'm with and wherever i am.

bodies.

so this is a perhaps edgy? post, but it reflects what i've been experiencing and thinking about as of late and is intended more as a start to a dialogue - so please join in. now that school is out for the summer, i've been able to spend more time back at joseph's house. what a joy it is to be back there more regularly! i am constantly learning, laughing, crying, growing. so grateful for that place.

lately, it's seemed like joseph's house is a place where sex is on the brain. yes, i've said it. from a man with dementia who seems to think we were all his previous girlfriends and asks us regularly to shut the door so we can do "the booty," to another who requires an hour long bath to get his man parts good and clean, to crushes by older residents on young, cute volunteers, to silly readings of daily horoscopes that imply relationships are on the up and up, it seems that many at joseph's house right now are feeling some strong feelings around their bodies and sexuality. i remember the first time i realized that even people who are older, sicker, even dying are still people with sexual desires and bodily sensations. even in death, we are still in our bodies and desire to feel the closeness of other bodies, whether in a sexual way or just in a companionship. the whole life cycle holds sexuality, from babies in utero who can experience arousal, to men and women on their deathbeds. why is it that touch is so powerful, that we hold hands of those who are dying to comfort them when the time for words is through, that we lay next to one another in bed in solidarity? it seems that our bodies are powerfully connected to our souls, in ways that are beautiful and frightening.

i've been doing a lot of thinking about bodies and sexuality in the last few years, and while i am no where near a scholar on this issue, one thing that has become clear to me is that my body is good. bodies are good. this isn't a message i feel like i got from the church growing up. bodies were to be feared, to be hidden, to be protected. and yes, i believe bodies need to be protected, especially as i grow more passionate about the tragedy of widespread sexual violence against women. but i also realize that my experience of the church growing up was stuck in a gnostic dualism, a heresy that the church tried to overcome in the last first and second centuries, but still seems to be lingering today. this idea that the spirit is good, but the body is bad. that Jesus came not in body but just appeared to be a body, coming in spirit alone.

i reject this idea. to me, a key part of the reality of Jesus is that he came embodied, as a human being, in the flesh, and was also completely aligned with God's love and will as a part of God. clearly, our bodies are not bad, our sexuality is not bad, and God's spirit is not a spirit of fear, around these issues or others. it takes a lot of discernment of the spirit and creativity to honor God with our bodies, but to shun them or ignore them or reject their desires as bad or sinful is, to me, to reject the incarnation. i am still struggling to get past this dualism, to celebrate my body as a gift of God instead of fearing it. i'm not advocating for some kind of free-for-all, sexual revolution. but i do pray that the church can struggle with this same issue. i pray that we can move past talking only about how "true love waits," but go deeper into God's intentions for our bodies as a piece of God's intentions for our lives - not "thou shalt not" but what would God have us do, celebrate?

i don't have a lot of answers, but i have many questions, and i want to live into them, both at joseph's house and in my own life. can i provide touch and companionship to this man who has these desires in a way that is not sexual but honors both him and myself? through a warm bedbath, a foot massage, a hand held? can we experience the freedom of the Spirit instead of fear around our bodies? Lord, be with us and help us to honor you, in all things, with all things, not just our spirits, and our minds, and our possessions, but also our bodies, your good creations.

birthdays and mary oliver.

as i approach my 25th birthday (quarter of a century, i am reminded :-), i can't help but think of all the beauty and the pain that i've seen in these 25 years, all the incredible people i've met and lost and love, all the things i've learned and realized that i don't know. i feel incredibly grateful for life, for my life, for those who hold and surround me, for those who teach me and challenge me, and for whatever is to come. thank you, to all of you. i give thanks for you.

mary oliver is always profound to me, but i thought i'd share a few of her poems that i particularly love (thanks to angie and joseph's house for introducing me to this amazing poet!):

logos

Why wonder about the loaves and the fishes?

If you say the right words, the wine expands.

If you say them with love

and the felt ferocity of that love

and the felt necessity of that love,

the fish explode into the many.

Imagine him, speaking,

and don't worry about what is reality,

or what is plain, or what is mysterious.

If you were there, it was all those things.

If you can imagine it, it was all those things.

Eat, drink, be happy.

Accept the miracle.

Accept, too, each spoken word

spoken with love.

the summer day.

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

God hates NO ONE.

this morning, one of my clients at the transitional rehabilitation program where i have my field placement, a substance abuse inpatient program for men who are homeless, had a court date. i figured that i had never been to a trial, and it seemed like attending this trial would be a good learning experience.

i forgot, however, that this was a historic (i hate saying "an historic" even though that's the technically correct way) morning for washington d.c. - gay marriage became officially legal today. and as i approached the d.c. superior court building, i saw a large crowd gathered outside the entrance. apart from the masses of cameras, news reporters, and human rights campaign demonstrators, there was a small group of five or six people maybe? i'm not sure; perhaps more. i've heard about this group before - they are a group that travels around protesting at funerals, schools, colleges. their protest cry? "God hates fags," their signs loudly pronounce. other signs talk about God's judgment and wrath on those who are gay and a nation that says it's ok, quoting bible passages, spreading hateful messages. in my diversity class last semester, we watched a video clip of this group protesting at a school, and i burst into tears. now, that was already an emotionally charged class. but to see the hatred of others so blatantly in the name of God, this breaks my heart and turns my stomach. and today, walking within three feet of this group of angry, hateful protestors, singing songs about the vengeance of God, i felt almost overpowered by the sense of hatred and my own sorrow and disgust. tears welled up in my eyes and i began to feel nauseous. i wanted to scream, God LOVES everyone! how dare these people hold these signs in the name of being "christian"?

at that moment, the hardest thing to remember was that God even loves them, those perpetrators of hate in the name of a God of love. God loves them still. Jesus loved the pharisees and the prostitutes; Jesus shared meals with the tax collectors and with the teachers of the law. and yes, Jesus spoke some harsh words, but those words were targeted at whom? not the prostitutes or tax collectors... no, Jesus said that these people would get into heaven ahead of the pharisees. Jesus' harsh words flowed towards the religious authorities, those who judged and ostracized others in the name of God. woe to you, he said to the pharisees. daughter, you are forgiven, son, you are healed, you are loved, he said to the prostitute, the tax collector.

my court house adventure didn't end there by the door... once i got inside, i was appalled by the racial divide, the power imbalance, the fact that all the defenders were african american and most of the lawyers were white, the fact that the lawyers didn't even seem to look their clients in the eyes, call them by name, make sure they were understanding these life-altering sentences, the fact that our criminal justice system is so broken, perpetuating a cycle of violence rather than breaking it and setting people free.

our world is full of brokenness, divisiveness, judgment, hatred. and yet the message of Jesus, to me, is that these things are not the strongest, they are not the ultimate truth about the world and about God. no. God is love. God hates NO ONE. we are the ones that project our own hatred and fear of others onto a God that mourns for us but loves us in spite of ourselves. may we know and live out the love of God that conquers fear, that breaks down barriers, that heals people, relationships, and systems, more and more fully.

women and power.

so i've recently started reading a book called "half the sky" by nicholas kristof and sheryl wudunn about turning oppression into opportunity for women around the world. it's a captivating, sometimes sickening in its description of the truth, powerful book about the oppression and violence endured by women around the world as well as movements that are at work to turn that around. i've been inspired and disturbed by the book, as it builds on my pre-existing passion for women's issues and feminism. i'm only about half-way through, but i would definitely recommend the book for anyone who is interested in gender inequality and the way it affects the world. i appreciate especially the way the authors link the oppression of and violence against women to the well-being of all of us, male or female - how educating and empowering women can lead to a decrease in terrorism, an increase in the economic climate, and a greater respect for all humanity, male and female.

as i've been reading this book, i've also been thinking about my own power and oppression as a woman. of course, as a middle-class, highly educated, white woman living in the U.S., i have a lot of advantages that many of the women in the book do not. as much as i can protest the objectification of women's bodies, the unequal pay for women in the workplace, the lack of women in corporate and government leadership, and these things are real and incredibly important to address, i also don't have to worry very often about being kidnapped and sold as a prostitute, or gang-raped by my town's leaders, or the police. i believe that the misogyny and sexism that exists in our world is a worldwide issue, and does manifest itself in incredible and horrible ways in the u.s., including rape and domestic violence and abuse. but i also acknowledge that sometimes all this thinking and talking about women's issues is an academic issue more than a lived experience.

this week, however, i got a little chance to act on behalf of myself as a woman and, i hope, women in the world.

on thursday, i got to take a group of guys from the substance abuse inpatient program where i have my field placement on a field trip to the national portrait gallery. we've been talking in our therapy group about emotions, identifying and expressing emotions and feelings, and so we were excited to take the guys to the museum and have them identify the emotions portrayed in the beautiful paintings, as well as get out of the shelter and experience some culture. as we were crossing a street, one of the guys who i don't know very well came over to me and said, "do you need me to hold your hand while we cross the street?" i replied, no, and continued walking. at this point, he put his arm around my shoulder and jeered, "are you sure?" i moved away and walked ahead, while he yelled ahead at me, "you sure do look nice today!" i felt annoyed, uncomfortable, powerless. i didn't know how to respond, so i didn't. how many times has this happened in my life - a guy verbally harassing me, and i try to just ignore it and say nothing, because i don't know what to say. i avoided him for the rest of the trip, stewing over it and feeling awkward. when we got back to the shelter, i realized that this was an opportunity for me to stand up. if i don't do it now, i'll never start. so i went back to his room and told him that i felt upset by how he had treated me, and i wanted to treat him with respect and wanted him to treat me the same way. he was very apologetic and embarrassed, told me he was just joking around, and said he was sorry. i then told him that often time, when men "joke around" like that with women, it isn't a joke to us - it is uncomfortable and objectifying and disrespectful. i asked him to please treat me as he would one of the male social workers. he said he would, and i left his room.

now, i felt incredibly empowered by this experience (sorry this is long - if you've made it this far, congratulations!). for perhaps the first time in my life, i'd stood up to objectification and been received well, and i'd been able to make it a lesson not just about how i should be treated but how he as a man should treat women. i still feel grateful for that. but as i continue to reflect on the experience, i also feel some sadness and compassion. that man didn't and probably still doesn't know how else to interact with a woman in a meaningful way. he was being honest when he told me he wasn't trying to be disrespectful. how he treated me, this is what he's learned from the culture, from his peers, from the media, from the streets. he, too, is a victim, missing out on human connections with the women around him that goes beneath physical looks to souls touching. so as i continue on my journey of empowered womanhood and feminism, my desire is not only to stand up for myself and the women around the world, but also to extend compassion and awareness to the men around me and around the world who don't know how else to act, who are just as powerless, caught up in a system of violence and oppression where the only way they know how to treat women is to objectify and dominate them to make themselves feel powerful. i want to pursue the way of Jesus that does not just demonize enemies, but loves them, creating a space for transformation of all people.

may we all know the transforming power of love.

toboggans and enough.

last weekend, we got to spend the weekend with my dad's family at a beautiful getaway in the pocono mountains of PA. it's a beautiful place that we look forward to going to every year, staying in the same cottage, eating in the same dining hall, going down the same ski slopes, laughing at the same old jokes, doing the same grand march at the same dance each saturday night, looking forward to the same crepes for brunch on sundays, and just enjoying each other. it's a place that spoils us for a weekend, but it also provides a space for a beautiful togetherness.

one of the sweet winter activities at skytop lodge is a toboggan run. it's an old tower with a concrete chute that is iced and spits out onto the lake. you climb the steps to the tower, lugging your toboggan sled up behind you, cram on to the sled at the top of the chute, and scream the whole way down, hitting the frozen lake and gliding as far across as you can until you spin out of control and fall off the sled in a pile of laughter. it's fun. this year, my two sisters and i were waiting in the line to take a turn. we needed a big sled for the three of us to fit on together (we're grown-ups now! :-), but none were free. and we were definitely not fitting on a two-person sled. so as people trudged back up the hill after taking their ride, carrying big sleds, we asked them if we could use the sleds they'd just used. so many people refused! "we're going down again!" they said protectively, possessively. after asking three people and getting rejected, we were next in line and still without a toboggan. i asked the next man who came up with his long sled. "i'm going again," he told me and started walking towards the back. "sir, we're next in line! i'll give it back to you as soon as we get back up; i'm sure you won't be to the front of the line before then!" he sighed and gave me the sled.

now, i was annoyed. here we were at this incredibly nice, high-class winter resort. we're amongst lots of white, upper-class folks with lots of money and privilege. and we're fighting over sleds?!? afraid there won't be enough?!? why are we so afraid that there won't be enough? this is a silly example, but to me it exemplifies an attitude that is pervasive and is hurting the poor and the vulnerable in our country and our world. and in the process, it's actually hurting us. we're so afraid that we won't get a turn, that we'll lose out somehow, that we won't lend what we have to our neighbors in need. never mind the fact that the sleds aren't even ours to start with. that our money, our land, our resources aren't ours - they are on loan to us from a Creator who desires that all would have enough. it is when we let our selfishness, our sense of entitlement, and our fear control us that we buy into a myth of scarcity, that there actually isn't enough, that i have to hold on to the bit that i have as hard as i can or i'll be left with nothing. health care debate, anyone? i was reminded, i suppose, that when i hold on so tightly to what i think i deserve, what i've "earned," which usually means i've just been born in the right place and the right time to the right people to get that privilege (or that i rushed out right after lunch to get the toboggans first!), i'm neglecting the people on the margins. and not only that. i'm saying with my attitude, with my life, that i don't actually trust that God will provide. i'm saying that i don't trust that God is big enough, bigger than my fear, to provide for all of us what we need.

i want to trust that there are enough toboggans for all, enough to share and still get to take a joy ride myself. and isn't it great to hear the gleeful scream of my neighbors experiencing that joy themselves? i am totally convinced that as we live more communally, sharing so that there is enough for all, we all experience greater joy, deeper life. help us to trust, God, and release us from our fears. pry open our fingers and let us know the joy of living together in generosity and freedom.

ice cream.

of course, it's a family tradition to love ice cream. especially of the peanut butter variety. it's a tradition in our house to have at least six different half gallons in the outside freezer, or the "ice cream freezer" as my friends like to describe it. ice cream may very well be my favorite food. as i think back on my life through ice cream, i find it fascinating how much life and connection has happened over a bowl of dairy goodness.

this post is inspired by an interaction at joseph's house last week. there was an older, white, pretty crotchety man who had end-stage AIDS who came to the house. he was really bossy; i couldn't do anything right, couldn't position the pillows right, couldn't get him the right ratio of ice to water, couldn't put his blankets on correctly. eventually, however, it came out that he likes ice cream. at that moment, i looked at him and said "i know we're going to be friends." and finally, he smiled at me. that night after dinner time, we shared ice cream together, clinking our bowls. "to ice cream! to each other! to this moment!" we said. he ate three bowls, falling asleep in between so that the ice cream melted and mixed with the chocolate syrup i had poured on top from the giant costco hershey's syrup container. i felt so grateful for that moment of connection.

i've had lots of other beautiful ice cream moments at j-house - another resident telling me he loved it so much he just wanted to lick the bowl, and so he did, and i did, and we laughed and laughed. a man who used to walk me to the coffee shop on the corner and buy us each ice cream cones that we licked while we walked back to sit on the front porch. ice cream seems to be a food that's easy to swallow and delicious; when nothing else can go down, ice cream sometimes still does the trick.

there have been so many beautiful ice cream moments in my life. with a little girl we met in zambia; with my girlfriends at sleepovers after getting out of the hot tub; at goodnoes with my grandfather, trying to finish a giant atomic sundae; on dates; at the beach; at birthdays; at christmas; at skytop (on top of chocolate obsession!); in a fancy dress at dairy queen with a friend who put on a suit just so we could match and get blizzards; after band concerts, choir concerts; at the cornell dairy; in paris by notre dame; in north carolina with my family; after a rousing game of mini golf in the Q...

as i think over all the ice cream i've had in my life and all the beautiful people i've shared it with, i feel incredibly grateful. not guilty for eating so much of a high calorie food, not guilty for eating so much of a treat when so many people go hungry... there will always be more things to feel guilty about, and it's good to be both healthy and socially conscious. but it's also good to celebrate, to enjoy the goodness of life with others.

taste and see that the Lord is good. ice cream, to me, is a little taste of God's goodness. especially when it's shared.