Tag: Leslie Verner

Posted on

What Happens in Neighborhoods {guest post}

By Afton Rorvik | Twitter: @AftonRorvik

When we moved into our new neighborhood, I did not know what to expect. Would we make friends and find connection?

I grew up on two acres of land in what was then rural Colorado, surrounded by German Shepherds, tomato plants, Russian Olive trees, gophers, and a variety of snakes and mice. Our nearest neighbors—mangy sheep and burly riding horses—didn’t bother us and we didn’t bother them. Of course, the barbed-wire fences helped.

When I moved to a Chicago suburb to attend school, I had no idea I would still be in this suburb decades later. Far away from rural Colorado, I now live next to people, not sheep and horses.

My husband and I and our two kids had only lived in our new house in a Chicago suburb for a few days when several women knocked on our door and invited me to go to a movie with them. I declined, explaining how overwhelmed I felt with the details of moving. My neighbors persisted. A block party. An open house. Coffee at the little shop down the hill.

So very different than living next to sheep and horses.

Nancy lived at the heart of our suburban neighborhood although not exactly at the geographic center. She came early to every neighborhood event and left late. Her mac and cheese had long ago become standard fare at all potlucks. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. She loved to walk through our streets, usually with her niece’s Jack Russell Terrier in tow. Walking, actually, does not describe what Nancy did. Her meanderings more resembled a halting waltz. She glided slowly, gracefully down the sidewalk until she spotted a neighbor. Then she stopped. Immediately.

The seasons came and went. I started to accumulate phone numbers and began to learn names. I had several conversations with Nancy and other neighbors. Our daughter memorized the names of all the dogs.

Then one winter, in the early hours of dawn, the piercing sound of an ambulance shook our neighborhood. As neighbors woke up that morning, news spread quickly: Nancy, only 49, had had a heart attack. The paramedics had not been able to spare her life.

I did not anticipate my reaction to this news: I sobbed.

I did not know Nancy well, and yet I did. I had come to depend on her mac and cheese, her face-splitting grin, and her probing questions. I loved her stories of talking about Jesus with people in line at the grocery store or Jehovah’s Witnesses who knocked at her door.

And now?

Bev had already planned her annual Christmas open house for the day of Nancy’s funeral. We all discussed canceling it, but then someone voiced our collective thoughts, “No. We need to be together. Nancy would want it that way.”

And so we celebrated Nancy’s life and faith at her funeral. The church oozed with friends and families. We carpooled there and back. We gravitated to Bev’s house where we all listened for Nancy’s heart-felt laugh and distinctive voice. We talked of her mac and cheese as if it had been some rare delicacy. We remembered. We hurt. Together.

I did not know that this happened in neighborhoods.

How thankful I am to live near people—these people—who have taught me the great joy of living connected, living in community.

About Afton:

Afton Rorvik savors words, flavored coffee, time outside, and living connected. Although an introvert, she has come to realize that what really matters in life is people and faith in Jesus, which gives her strength and courage to live connected. She is the author of Storm Sisters: Friends for All Seasons. Follow her at her website, www.aftonrorvik.com, Facebook and Twitter.

 

***

This month on Scraping Raisins we are talking about Friendship and Community. Be sure and subscribe to my newsletter or follow on social media so you don’t miss a post!

The theme for October is Practical and Impractical Hospitality, so visit the submissions guidelines if you’re interested in guest posting! New and seasoned writers welcome;-)

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

*This post contains Amazon affiliate links.

Photo by Daria Nepriakhina on Unsplash

Posted on

On Self-Care, Friendship, and Chocolate Cheesecake {guest post}

By April Yamasaki | Twitter: @SacredPauses

One of my friends lives in another town about an hour’s drive away, and at least once a year, she makes the trek out on a Sunday morning to hear me preach. After worship, we usually have a long, leisurely lunch followed by a not-so-leisurely walk in a nearby park so we can burn off some calories before we settle down somewhere else for dessert.

The last time she came for a visit, we talked about her recent trip to Tanzania and my stay-cation, her volunteer work and my church ministry, how we’re both managing to find time for family, friends, and everything else even when the days seem to go by so fast.

I savor our friendship and visits together. I want to hear about her latest project researching her family’s genealogy and about the summer coffee party she planned with a few friends. I want to groan over the bad news of illness in her family and celebrate the successes. That’s what friends are for, to share our lives together and to care for one another

Spending time with friends can also be an important part of self-care.

I once thought of self-care as caring only for myself. Like taking an afternoon nap, or buying myself a new scarf, or snuggling on the sofa to read a novel. And certainly when life gets too busy and filled with multiple people and multiple expectations, withdrawing for some much needed alone time can be a precious form of self-care.

But more and more I’m discovering that definition of self-care is overly narrow. As human beings, we are created for relationship—relationship with God and relationship with one another. So to be fully alive and fully human, we need relationships–and I believe that extends to a healthy understanding of self-care too.

Instead of narrowly defining self-care as caring only for myself, I now realize that sometimes self-care takes place in relationship with other people. Friendship can be a two-way street, where spending time with a friend and caring for her can also contribute powerfully to my own self-care.

Friendship can be a two-way street, where spending time with a friend and caring for her can also contribute powerfully to my own self-care. @SacredPauses

Click To Tweet

My friend and I ended our last visit by splitting a piece of chocolate cheesecake and two dollops of whipping cream, with coffee for her and tea for me. I can’t remember the last time I had such a decadent dessert, so it was a real treat. “Ah, self-care,” I thought to myself.  But it wasn’t only the cheesecake. That afternoon, our conversation was just as much a part of my self-care.

So here’s to the deep satisfaction of long-time friendships and the joy of making new ones, to family members that we care for and who care for us, to the constant care of God who is always with us and never fails—all these relationships and more can help to broaden us and broaden our understanding of self-care.

As L.R. Knost writes, “Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean me first, it means me too.” So I was glad to share that afternoon conversation and chocolate cheesecake, to care for my friend and care for myself at the same time.

About April:

April Yamasaki serves as the lead pastor of a mid-size, multi-staff congregation in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Canada. She writes blogs and books, including the newly released Four Gifts: Seeking Self-Care for Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength (Herald Press, 2018). Find out more from her websites: Writing and Other Acts of Faith (aprilyamasaki.com) and When You Work for the Church: the good, the bad, and the ugly, and how we can all do better (WhenYouWorkfortheChurch.com). Connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.

***

Check out April’s New Book!

Four Gifts: Seeking Self-care for Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength. From Amazon:

“Is self-care different from being selfish or self-indulgent? Is it the same as caring for your soul? And what does self-care look like in light of following Jesus, who called his followers to deny themselves?

In Four Gifts, pastor and author April Yamasaki addresses these and other questions about self-care. Drawing on the ancient scriptural command to love God with our heart, soul, mind, and strength, Yamasaki helps readers think about the spiritual dimensions of attending to your own needs, setting priorities, and finding true rest in a fast-paced world. She weaves together personal stories, biblical and theological insights, questions for reflection, and practical ideas for self-care. Four Gifts helps readers sustain their spirits and balance competing demands. Feeling overwhelmed by the pace and stress of daily life? Find respite from superficial definitions of self-care and move toward deeper engagement with God.”

***

This month on Scraping Raisins we are talking about Friendship and Community. Be sure and subscribe to my newsletter or follow on social media so you don’t miss a post!

The theme for October is Practical and Impractical Hospitality, so visit the submissions guidelines if you’re interested in guest posting! New and seasoned writers welcome;-)

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

*This post contains Amazon affiliate links.

Posted on

I Wrote a Book, Now I’m Letting Her Go

Exactly one year ago this week an acquisitions editor contacted me and asked me to send her ideas for a book. She liked the ideas I sent, so three months later I sent her a proposal and three weeks after that, they offered me a contract to publish a book in August of 2019.

I already have a full-time job as a mom to three kids, age five and under, and they are not the Angelic-Sit-and-Color-type of children. So I’ve written this book in every sliver and crack of time I have. I’ve edited at red lights and waiting in drive-thru lines at Taco Bell. I’ve woken up at 4 am some weeks and at 5 am on all the other weeks. I’ve paid someone to clean half my house every-other week and neglected cleaning the other half. My kids have eaten way too many frozen pizzas and watched three times the amount of T.V. they usually watch.

At times the Book felt like a third person in our marriage and at the very least it has made for some extremely predictable date night conversations. I’ve sacrificed money, other writing opportunities, time with my family and time with God. My insomnia has gotten worse.

This week my daughter asked why I have to work on my book all the time. I’ve been asking myself that same question.

Why write a book? Is it worth it?

I’m sure we all have our own reasons why we write, but I wrote this book because I had something to say and someone invited me to say it. I wrote so my babies could hold a piece of my story in their small hands and one day know their mama better. (It’s hard to resist the immortalizing promises of publishing–whether true or not.) And I wrote because to ignore the compulsion felt like tricking gravity, fighting a fierce wind, or letting fear win. And I wrote because this book offered me the privilege of being its messenger. And I said yes.

But the demons have been alive and well:

“Who do you think you are to write a book?”

“No one’s going to buy it.”

“If they do buy it, they’re not going to read it.”

“Okay, if they do buy and read it, they’re not going to understand it. They’re going to think you’re navel-gazing. They’re going to hate it…”

“Wait, people are going to actually READ this soul-spill that I wrote???”

My husband helps me slay the demons when I’m too weak to muster healthy self-talk, prayer or even logic. He is the only reason a word of this book will be in print. He has read every single page. Twice. If people hate it, I will hold him solely responsible.

As I made the final edits of my manuscript this past week, I felt like I was losing control. The massive ship I created from sketch to structure was leaving the shore. Without me. It didn’t need me any more. The final paint touch-ups, equipment checks and emergency drills have to stop. I’d have to let her go.

On Thursday I emailed and mailed the manuscript to five friends. I wondered if I’d feel more worried once she was out in the world without me to defend, edit or revise her. Instead, I slept more peacefully than I have in months. I felt like I handed over the burden for some other people to carry for a stint. They can sail around on her and put post-it notes on the walls that need a different color paint job, or jot down the places on deck that could use some reinforcements.

I feel a strange tranquility in the not knowing, the not controlling, the not even seeing how she is received. It’s time to release this ship. We’ll see where she sails without me guiding her any longer.

Whether it’s brilliant or boring, misunderstood or celebrated, timeless or short-lived, my job was to approach the page with my whole self, and offer what I had at that moment. And I did that. I wrote the book. And now I have to let her go.

Photo by Peter Clarkson on Unsplash

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Posted on

Run to the Darkness: A Meeting with Michelle Ferrigno Warren, Author of The Power of Proximity

I met Michelle Ferrigno Warren in a crowded empanada restaurant on a hot summer day in downtown Denver. We crossed the street to a pizza joint for a bit more quiet and privacy and Michelle let me ask about her work on immigration reform in Denver and the U.S., her experience writing The Power of Proximity, and her plans for the future.

Michelle and her husband, David, have lived in Denver for over 20 years and are the founders of Open Door Ministries, a ministry serving homeless and low income populations. They raised their three children in an immigrant neighborhood in inner city Denver and Michelle said they have no regrets about this. In fact, she wishes everyone could live the life she has lived. I once heard her share on a podcast about the nuanced lives her children have experienced because of where they live. They grew up speaking Spanish and have a desire to travel and learn about other cultures.

Michelle is the advocacy and policy engagement director for the Christian Community Development Association, an organization that empowers and equips leaders to serve in urban centers around the world. Dr. John Perkins began the CCDA with the vision of the “3 R’s”—relocation, reconciliation, redistribution, which has expanded now to 8 principles. Michelle works towards justice in the public sphere because she believes that “just because something is a law does not mean it serves the cause of justice. We need to enable the courts of law to rule in a manner that brings about justice for all the people” (118-119). She believes that as followers of Jesus, we are called to more than engaging in ministry from a distance.

We talked about what her children are doing now, and she shared about a couple “Michelle-isms” she tells her kids over and over again. “I remind my kids that they are the Light of the World and to not be afraid. When you see darkness run toward it with the Light.”

“I remind my kids that they are the Light of the World and to not be afraid. When you see darkness run toward it with the Light.” @mcfwarren

Click To Tweet
She hopes her children bring light to every dark corner of the world. The other thing she always reminds them when they discuss their plans for the future is “Don’t forget the poor. Don’t forget the poor. Don’t forget the poor.”

Michelle said she wrote her book, The Power of Proximity, with Millennials in mind because they are so hungry to impact the world. In her book she writes that “learning of the pain of others can compel us to become proximate, which should move us to engage more deeply. The more we know as a result of our chosen proximity, the more we have the opportunity to put our words—our ‘talk’—into action … This shouldn’t be a big stretch for Christians who follow Jesus” (71). She hopes Millennials will choose to live proximate to the issues and people they talk about helping. She also writes that “privileged people will listen to privileged people. You have a voice,” and goes on to talk about Paul using his privilege as a Roman citizen and Pharisee to spread the gospel (120).

Michelle struggled with whether or not she should write this book because she was worried it might not be her story to tell. She feared hijacking the stories of immigrant neighbors and friends she’s lived among over the years. But her good friend, Daniel Hill, the author of White Awake, called her out and said something along the lines of “the most deceptive lies are the ones painted in nobility.”

Before writing the book, she asked a group of friends to gather and do something called a “clearing committee” or “clearness committee,” a Quaker spiritual practice of worship, sharing, and prayer, to help her discern her next step. Through this experience, she realized she was using fear and the fact that she is a white woman as an excuse not to do what she knew deep down God was calling her to do.

Michelle wrote her first draft of The Power of Proximity in just three months. She reserved every Friday to write, but also spent many evenings from 10 pm to midnight completing revisions and editing. She admitted most of the book came from the previous twenty years of teaching, talks and speeches that were so familiar to her that she simply needed to record them all in one place.

Her book had a profound impact on my life personally in that it influenced the neighborhood where we bought a house last summer. Though we are in a decent neighborhood of houses built in the 1970’s, we purposely chose to live here because of the more diversified racial and socioeconomic groups that live all around us compared to other places in our city. Her words moved me as she wrote “we should be willing to leave our communities of comfort to choose a proximate place and humbly and sacrificially follow Christ’s example of love” (71).

I handed her the copy of her book I brought with me so she could thumb through and see the notes and tons of underlines throughout the pages. As a soon-to-be author, I imagined it might feel good to see how your words impact others. She smiled as she looked through, laughing and saying “Oh, that’s good!” She flipped to the chapter on race because she said that was one of her favorites, then opened the cover and signed the book, “What a joy it is to connect with you on your journey! Keep the Faith, Michelle.”

As we finished up our time together, I asked Michelle where she sees herself in ten years. With a gleam in her eye, she said, “Probably in the Senate.” I congratulated myself on my inner prophet because on the way to meet Michelle, I had told my husband, “I feel like I’m going to meet up with a Senator or something.” I told her it was a sign that she should definitely do it.

I don’t think I’ve ever met such a powerful, confident, or connected woman in person and yet I was intrigued by her quirks (all she ate was three sausage links and marinara sauce mixed with parmesan cheese) and softness (she wore a ruffled floral shirt, denim shorts, and sandals). The fact that Michelle was willing to meet with me even though I have a relatively small platform and no political pull or influence was a testament to her humility (or at least to her Christian sense of duty to serve the lowly bloggers, writers and wannabe do-gooders of the world). Our meeting was one of the highlights of my summer.

The Power of Proximity is a buy-and-keep-on-your-shelf sort of book rather than a borrow-from-the-library-or-from-a-friend type of book. You will want to scribble stars, notes and excessive underlines throughout every page. Beware, though, her words may propel you to flee comfort, security, and safety in order to live out your life of love from a place of proximity.

Meeting Michelle Ferrigno Warren with my friend, Annie Rim

More about Michelle (from Amazon):

Michelle Ferrigno Warren is the advocacy and policy engagement director for the Christian Community Development Association. She is an immigration, education, and human service policy specialist and is an adjunct faculty member at Denver Seminary. With over twenty years experience working in Christian community development, Michelle is a part of the national Evangelical Immigration Table and helps consult for the National Immigration Forum. She is a founding staff member of Open Door Ministries, a large community development corporation. Michelle, her husband, David, and their three children live in an immigrant neighborhood in Denver, Colorado.

Follow Michelle on Twitter at @mcfwarren.

You can hear Michelle interviewed on these podcasts:

Brew Theology: Part 1 and Part 2

My Changing Faith Podcast

Seminary Dropout

Open Door Sisterhood

***

BOOK GIVEAWAY

We’re giving away a FREE copy of Sarah Quezada’s book, Love Undocumented! To enter, visit either my Instagram post or Facebook post and tag up to four friends you think might be interested in her book. I’ll enter you once per friend that you tag. Giveaway will end Wednesday, August 29th, at midnight (MT). No bots and only U.S. residents, please!

 

 

***

 

The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger.” Follow along on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest posts or sign up for the newsletter below for links to the most recent blog posts, thought-provoking articles from the web, and a few of the things I’m into these days.

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

 

*This post contains Amazon affiliate links

Posted on

A Backwards Way to Welcome Strangers {guest post}

by Sarah Quezada | Twitter: @SarahQuezada

I walked timidly up to the counter at the bus station. I needed to know where the bathroom was located. And while I may have been overwhelmed here in the first hours of my time in a new country, surely my mediocre high school Spanish had been waiting for this very moment. Donde esta el bano? I was prepared.

The man behind the counter smiled at me. I cleared my throat and executed my most confident Spanish question. As it turns out, I was not prepared for his response. A frozen grin crystalized on my face as he gave me detailed and lengthy directions to the restroom. I nodded and walked away. I don’t recall every finding that bathroom.

Being in a new country, not speaking the language. These experiences are incredibly vulnerable. And while mine was born out of a sense of adventure, many people around the world find themselves forced to migrate and re-learn the world and words as they know it. It is not easy.

Most of us have a desire to welcome these immigrants and refugees well. If we’ve grown up in church, we’ve often heard how God instructs us to welcome the stranger. And beyond that, many of us feel a civic responsibility to be kind and nice to others. But what does that mean?

My husband immigrated to the United States from Guatemala in his late 20’s. In a recent conversation, someone asked him how we can better demonstrate welcome to new arrivals in this country. Among his responses, he said something I’d never considered before. “Go into their spaces.”

What? To my Southern sensibilities, that phrase feels intrusive. When I think about being welcoming, I consider having an “open door policy” for my own home, where people feel free to stop by, stay for dinner, or sit and talk awhile. I think about intentionally inviting others into my space and being available to them if ever needed. But I’ve rarely considering foisting myself upon someone else as a welcoming gesture.

But my husband’s perspective was different. “Go into their businesses,” he said, “and spend your money there. Attend their churches. Play in parks in the areas of town where immigrants tend to gather.”

“Go into their businesses,” he said, “and spend your money there. Attend their churches. Play in parks in the areas of town where immigrants tend to gather.”

Click To Tweet
These acts, which involve me stepping into the vulnerable position of maybe not understanding the language or perhaps not picking up all the cultural clues, can be a gift and a sacrificial demonstration of welcome.

I think back to my first visit to Guatemala and the man at the bus station. He was certainly welcoming. He was kind. He smiled. He gave me directions in response to my question. But I look back now and wonder how different it would’ve felt if someone had come to me, volunteered to give me directions in broken English, or walked me to the bathroom. It would’ve been more uncomfortable for them, but I certainly would’ve felt welcomed and cared for. I want to try to practice that kind of sacrificial welcome. I want to try going into their spaces.

About Sarah:

Sarah Quezada is a writer living in a bicultural household in Atlanta, Georgia. She has a master’s in sociology and writes regularly at sarahquezada.com. She is the author of Love Undocumented: Risking Trust in a Fearful World (Herald Press, 2018). Click here to download her list of 15 ways you can support immigrants and address the migrant crisis today.

***

BOOK GIVEAWAY

We’re giving away a FREE copy of Sarah’s book, Love Undocumented! To enter, visit either my Instagram post or Facebook post and tag up to four friends you think might be interested in her book. I’ll enter you once per friend that you tag. Giveaway will end next Wednesday, August 29th, at midnight (MT). No bots and only U.S. residents, please!

 

 

***

 

The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger.” Follow along on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest posts or sign up for the newsletter below for links to the most recent blog posts, thought-provoking articles from the web, and a few of the things I’m into these days.

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links

A Backwards Way to Welcome Strangers, by Sarah Quezada. "Go into their business, he said, and spend your money there. Attend their churches. Play in parks in the areas of town where immigrants tend to gather. These acts, which involve me stepping into the vulnerable position of maybe not understanding the language or perhaps not picking up all the cultural clues, can be a gift and a sacrificial demonstration of welcome." #choosewelcome #welcomestrangers #wewelcomeimmigrants #immigration #howtowelcome

Posted on

When the Church Opens Doors to Refugees {guest post}

By Tatyana Claytor | Twitter: @TatyanasTable

We sat in their living room surrounded by a feast. Thin pastry-like crust stuffed with seasoned rice, meat, and cashews. Grape leaves filled with rice. Folded pockets of creamy chicken. We reclined on couches circling a large coffee table stacked with dishes.

The mother of this family explained with halted English how scary it had become in their homeland of Syria under the president, how they fled to Egypt and lived there for four years before finding passage to America. With sadness, she mentioned family who were still there, though she was grateful things had gotten better. When she left the room, our friend who knew the family well, mentioned her father had just recently died.

These were flesh and blood people in front of me. People who had a different culture and faith from mine, but people presenting the Imago Dei nevertheless. We came to be in their home that evening through an interesting chain of events that started with a hurricane and with a church’s decision to adapt to their changing city.

When Hurricane Irma came barreling down upon Florida in 2017, many Syrian families who had settled previously in West Palm Beach temporarily fled north into Georgia. While there, they found Clarkston, Georgia, the most ethnically diverse square mile in the United States. This place was chosen by our government to be a great location for the resettling of refugees.

Refugees, once they have been placed in a home, have three months of financial assistance to find a job and become self-sufficient. This is a daunting task for many who have limited English skills and are overwhelmed with a different culture and way of life.

This was also a distinct cultural shift for the people of Clarkston, finding it filled with people so different from them. For the original church inhabitants of Clarkston, a choice had to be made– either run from the changing world of their city or embrace this change as an opportunity to do missions without even leaving home. Clarkston International Church (CIBC) chose to do the latter. Their church built ministries based on the needs of the people–ESOL, job skills–while creating space for the Christians within these communities to worship.

It is this church that reached out to our Syrian friends and provided a refuge during Irma. Once the danger passed, however, our Syrian friends headed back home to Florida.

Unfortunately, the trip back did not go so smoothly. In the aftermath of Irma, there were food, hotel, and gas shortages and a curfew in West Palm Beach. Around the Florida border, this Syrian family wasn’t sure if they would have enough gas or food to make it back to West Palm before the curfew.

Our friends from CIBC called my husband, who is the youth and missions pastor of our church in Cocoa, Florida. They asked if we could help over thirty people by providing a place for them to stay and food to eat. Though our resources were limited due to the hurricane, our church rallied and assembled air mattresses, blankets, and a meal of spaghetti.

These experiences motivated this Syrian family to move shortly after to Clarkston, Georgia where they had felt love and care. Less than a year later, they cared for us on our youth mission trip to Georgia by providing a meal and sharing a glimpse into their own lives before becoming refugees.

The father was tall, with a dark complexion and a giant smile. He spoke no English and used the older of his two sons to translate. They, along with his wife and youngest son, ate in another room, leaving us to feast alone. However, they would occasionally stop in to see if we had any needs.

When we expressed interest in his home country, he proudly turned on the TV to show us videos of Syria before the war. Beautifully lit streets with cafes tumbling out of doors, chefs cooking ridiculously large meals, a countryside of rolling hills and bright flowers. I observed his face as he watched these videos, clearly longing for a time that had passed. I imagined what it might feel like to live in a foreign country and know my own country was in ruins.

Jason, a pastor from CIBC, came in halfway through our meal, and though he could not speak their language, the father’s face lit up when he saw him. His son was dutifully brought before Jason to translate his father’s requests. He was still looking for a job and had someone he wanted Jason to contact for him.

Jason also helped our youth group understand the experiences of people like our Syrian friends. One of the activities he did with the youth was called The Refugee Loss Simulation. He asked the youth to place the names of four important people in their lives on four separate cards. Then they wrote two things that are part of their identity (sports, music, etc) and the possessions they value.

The leader read a story of a typical refugee. Along the way, he asked the youth to give cards up, though sometimes he took the cards and they didn’t know what was taken. Finally, they looked at their cards to see what was left. All the students wept at the end.

For some, the hard decision of deciding to give up a loved one to save the others filled them with guilt. For others, having a card ripped away without knowing which one was taken filled them with dread. At the end of it, they related, in a tiny part, to the difficult decisions and repercussions of losing what is valuable to you that many refugees experience.

The youth thought differently about refugees after that. The next day as they worked with refugees in kids camps, home visits, or service projects, they were aware of the trauma of loss. They viewed these refugees through the lens of compassion instead of political rights and wrongs. This perspective enabled our youth to serve well. They took joy in teaching them about God’s character, sang songs with them, and played sports.

I’m amazed at the circular nature of God. Serving and being served, hosting and being hosted, blessing and being blessed. Our two summers of working with refugees at CIBC reminded us that the small decisions we make stretch beyond us in blessings upon blessings. We always have a choice–we can open doors or close doors–but the choice to serve is one we never regret.

About Tatyana:
Tatyana Claytor is primarily a lover of story and truth. As an English teacher, she is surrounded by the stories of the ages, but as a lover of God, she is enveloped in the Story beyond all ages. Her desire is to know the Author of this story as clearly as possible that she might help others see God’s truth in their lives and His plan in their stories. She currently lives in Cocoa, Florida with her three story-loving children and her husband, a minister of Youth and Missions. She has a Master’s degree in Education from Nova Southeastern University and a Master’s degree in Professional Writing from Liberty University. You can find her at her website, www.tatyanastable.com, Facebook, and Twitter.

***

The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger.” Follow along on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest posts or sign up for the newsletter below for links to the most recent blog posts, thought-provoking articles from the web, and a few of the things I’m into these days.

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Photo credit: Photo by Fancycrave on Unsplash

Photo by Don Ross III on Unsplash

Posted on

Scenes from a Year of Refugee Co-Sponsorship {guest post}

By Katie Nordenson

By any traditional measure, I am a terrible candidate to lead a group dedicated to welcoming a refugee family to their new country—I’m a serious introvert, awkward in groups and new situations, a white Midwesterner with little to no real multicultural experience (I speak only English, just recently left the US for the first time, and was in college before I experienced many common ethnic foods, much less people.)

And yet, what I did have was determination and the fierce need to make something (anything) good happen in a world where good things felt increasingly scarce, and in particular the newly politicized plight of refugees spoke to me. By definition, refugees are innocents who have suffered and been forced from their homelands, and that’s before they face the agonizing wait to be admitted to a new country for resettlement (which may never come), at which point they must build a completely new life from scratch. To me, this is exactly who Jesus was talking about when he commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves.

And so began a year (and counting) of leading the small group at our church committed to befriending and helping a Karen family of 10 (two parents and eight children ranging from ages 2-17) resettled from Burma in the spring of 2017. Through highs, lows, and general awkwardness, here are just a few of the memorable moments:

Finding the Minnesota Council of Church refugee co-sponsorship program while googling furiously for possible ways to help, emailing it to my pastor, and receiving an immediate, unequivocal “Go for it.”

Leaning heavily on the advice from our MCC liaison that “we can do hard things” and to “lean into the awkwardness.” Those words became a lifeline many, many times.

Showing up to introduce myself to a family full of strangers from an unknown culture (only one of whom spoke any English) and trying to find the strength to go inside, much less to lead a bunch of other people inside with me.

Visiting the family’s new apartment to see how they were settling in and being treated to a delicious multi-course Karen meal. Beginning to understand that the hospitality in this arrangement would flow both ways, and feeling moved that this family, who had been through so much, could open their hearts to some strange (and potentially meddlesome) Americans just trying to help however they could.

Seeing people from church step up in amazing ways to support this work, despite its strangeness and our lack of a roadmap; showing up to visit, donating items, and taking up a special offering that covered almost half of the family’s significant travel loan.

Watching the youngest children play on a hiking trail near a beautiful waterfall, and hearing how the foliage reminded them of their home.

Being regularly told by the father that, since he had so many children and we had none, he would happily give my husband and I one or two to take home to care for us in our old age (Note: we are currently in our thirties.)

Celebrating their first 4th of July with picnic food and water balloons (a big hit, as you can imagine, with the little kids.)

Explaining to the teenage son that you can’t fish, shoot squirrels with pellet guns, and start fires in the park here without drawing the attention of the police, even if that otherwise makes perfect sense to you based on life in your village and the refugee camp.

Listening to the parents talk about their hopes of someday returning to visit Burma, and being surprised to be invited to come along as their friends—this time they would show us the ropes.

Crying in the car about how very, very hard life in America can be—so confusing and full of paperwork and rules and resumes and schedules. Feeling helpless to do more to make the transition easier, yet inspired by their resiliency and the way they took care of their family under such difficult circumstances.

Watching the children (and the parents) discover the magic of the internet, especially Facebook and YouTube videos. WWE wrestler Goldberg is a big favorite of the mother—the father once told us “When she has no friends, Goldberg is her friend.”

Eating together at a Chinese buffet the father was so excited to share with us—so very American, and his treat!

Realizing that our role was never really to make day-to-day life in America easier, but rather to make them feel welcome and connected and hopeful for their new lives. (And maybe sometimes to help make phone calls to Comcast.)

I’m not sure I have any real wisdom to impart—it’s been messy and complicated and unexpected and wonderful, and I’m still learning as I go. But I do have a plea to remember the refugees still waiting all over the world; pray for them and advocate for them in conversations when others don’t understand who they are or what they’ve been through. Most of all, remember they too are your neighbors, and don’t be afraid to step outside of your comfort zone to invite them in.

About Katie:

Katie Nordenson is a web editor and content manager living in the Twin Cities with her husband and rescue dog. She spends her time reading, exploring her adopted city, and slowly learning to love and serve her neighbor. You can find her at her website or on Facebook or Linkedin.

***

The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger,” so send me a post for if you have an idea. Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. You can find submission guidelines here. Be sure to include a headshot and bio.

Be sure to follow on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest posts or sign up for the newsletter below for links to thought-provoking articles, a digest of blog posts, and a few things I’m into these days. xo

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Photo credit: Photo by Fancycrave on Unsplash

Posted on

Dreamers, DACA and the Art of Godly Mourning {guest post}

By Dr. Michelle Reyes | Twitter: @dr_reyes2

I could see the frustration and heartache all over her face.

The woman standing before me had just heard that the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) Program was ending, and she was now terrified for her future in the only country she had known as home since being a young girl.

Tears flowed down both of our faces as I could only stand there and weep with her.

What was this woman to do?

Her story is a tragic one and, sadly, not so uncommon. Born in Guatemala, she had been kidnapped from her own home at age seven by human traffickers, and the stories she recounts from that time in her life are truly horrific. It was only by God’s grace that she was able to escape. During a chaotic moment, while her kidnappers were stationed near the Mexican-American border, she made a run for it. This woman ran so hard for so long that she eventually passed out, and when she awoke she found herself on the side of a Texas highway. She didn’t even realize she had crossed into the U.S. She had just been trying to run back home! A kind, old woman took her in, brought her back to health and raised her as an adopted daughter.

As the pastor’s wife of an urban, multicultural church in Austin, TX, this was not the first story of its kind that I had heard. Our church is a minority church, and it is comprised of immigrants, refugees and asylum seekers among others. These are the people that my husband and I have a desire to serve, to care for and to live life with. This includes everything from sharing meals together on a weekly basis to helping them become documented, find jobs and making sure they can pay rent each month. In fact, the more we live life with men and women like the gal from Guatemala, the more we understand their plight and the more we want to do to help them!

Our church prioritizes a variety of social justice initiatives in our community to care for the vulnerable, the poor and the needy. Just recently, we hosted an event in Austin to raise awareness to the current plight of Dreamers in our city, and we talked about ways to support them, both on an individual and federal level. For example, Dreamers are not just from Mexico and Latin American countries. They come from countries all around the world, including Cambodia. One of our own church members is a Dreamer from Cambodia, and his status in the U.S. is now in jeopardy by the current DACA situation.

Perhaps we were naïve to think our community would immediately rally around our cause. But sadly, we found that not everyone was as sympathetic as we were to these men and women.

While my husband and I hear the stories of Dreamers and our hearts break with their plight, others can only see them as nothing more than lawbreakers, who have entered our country illegally and need to be deported immediately.

I know that the complexity of certain issues like immigration cause many people to first turn to a political stance for guidance. But I’m not here to make one statement or another, regarding party ideals.

I simply believe that we, as Christians, forget to care for the individual, to see the humanity of the immigrant, the Imago Dei in them, and to mourn for their pains, regardless of what the laws and systems in our country dictate.

If anyone is a model for how we should view the hurting minority it is God himself.

If anyone is a model for how we should view the hurting minority it is God himself. @dr_reyes2

Click To Tweet
Consider Psalm 146:9, which states, “The Lord watches over the sojourners; he upholds the widow and the fatherless, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.” The psalmist here paints a picture of a protective, loving God, who watches over the foreigner in the midst of His own people, caring for them and “upholding” them.

Should we not do the same? Should we not also mourn the evils that our fellow, hurting minority brothers and sisters are experiencing?

Immigration laws aside, no matter who you are or what your circumstance is, there is always pain when a family is torn apart. Being judged because of your skin color causes pain. Being thought less of because you are poor causes pain. Being ostracized because you can’t speak the majority language well causes pain. Being told that your only usefulness in a foreign country is as a manual laborer, despite the familial and professional dreams you have, causes pain.

I am happy to say that people from our community did attend our Standing For Dreamers event, and the discussions and ideas for activism were positively received. Among some of the main things that we shared that night was this: When we stand before God on the Day of Judgment, do you think He will praise us for being stingy and judgmental toward those less powerful than ourselves? It’s easy to form strong opinions against someone. It’s not as easy to sympathize for the other.

I am passionate about our commitment, as Christians, to doing mourning well. My prayer for all of us is to always strive to better emulate God Himself in his love for the sojourner, to be better at mourning with those who mourn, and to care for those who are hurting, no matter what their ethnicity, nationality or skin color is.

About Michelle:

Michelle Reyes, PhD. is pastor’s wife, literary scholar, and momma of two littles. She is a regular contributor for Think Christian, (in)courage and Austin Moms Blog, where she writes on faith, family, and diversity. Michelle helped plant Church of the Violet Crown in Austin, Texas in 2014—an urban, multicultural church where her husband, Aaron Reyes serves as lead pastor. Follow Michelle on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.

***

The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger,” so send me a post for if you have an idea. Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. You can find submission guidelines here. Be sure to include a headshot and bio.

Be sure to follow on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest posts or sign up for the newsletter below for links to thought-provoking articles, a digest of blog posts, and a few things I’m into these days. xo

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Posted on

Planning for Spontaneous Hospitality

 

By Mrs. Serviette | Instagram: @theserviette

We’ve all heard stories of the spontaneous hospitality practiced many in non-Western countries. Some of us have experienced it when travelling far from home and being welcomed into strangers’ homes. But when those warm people who’ve always opened their doors spontaneously come to the West, they too often don’t return home with stories of spontaneous hospitality. In fact, in our Western world they often experience a “hospitality culture shock” of sorts.

This difference in our hospitality styles can be attributed to our cultural differences — relationship-orientation verses task-orientation. I live in Germany, a very task-oriented nation…which is filling with immigrants from relationship-oriented nations. A North African student recently talked about his experiences in Germany with me. “Most of my friends here are also North African. We can drop in on each other at almost any time. But Germans, no. The Germans are busy and protective of their time.”

“Busy.” “Protective of their time.” Would our neighbours, coworkers and friends describe us in this way?

When I hear comments like these, I wonder: how can we mix more spontaneity into our well-planned Western lives? We appreciate it when someone offers it to us, but it’s hard to make time for it in our own busy lives. As I look at our African, Middle Eastern, or Asian friends here in Germany, I realize: spontaneity is their language of friendship. A true friend will be available to you when you need them. A true friend will let you drop in on or call without making an appointment ahead of time. How can we be true friends to our warm, relationally-oriented friends?

My husband and I are learning a few ways that we can plan to be spontaneous — is that an oxymoron? In our experience…

Spontaneity in cross-cultural hospitality means keeping our evenings relatively unscheduled. We don’t lock ourselves into a Monday night jogging group — we can jog on our own if Monday night is free. We have only one night and one morning a week that are virtually always booked, and a few days a month where we usually attend certain events. But otherwise, we keep a lot of our weeknights relatively open, which allows us to be free on short notice…because nothing says “I’m too busy” like having to book a simple dinner date six weeks ahead of time! In the past year, keeping our evenings relatively open has allowed us to be more spontaneous — to invite a friend who passed an important German exam out for dinner on the same night to celebrate, or to quickly find time for coffee with a friend going through a divorce.

Spontaneity in cross-cultural hospitality means limiting certain friendships. We could hang out with our Christian friends or church groups almost every night of the week if we wanted to. But in order to build deep relationships with people of other religions and cultures, we have had to decide carefully how many church commitments or relationships to take on. We sometimes have to also limit the number of new relationships with cross-cultural friends we pursue, so we can be true, spontaneously-available friends to the foreign friends we already have. When we can, we try to plan events where friends of a variety of backgrounds can spend time with us together.

Spontaneity in cross-cultural hospitality often means setting counter-cultural priorities. One of the main reasons that spontaneous hospitality doesn’t happen much in the West is because we are so busy with our “paid work” that we don’t have time for “unpaid work” like hospitality. It is good to regularly evaluate our standard of living and priorities, or to be willing to be counter-cultural in some of our decisions in regard to money, time and work. I am a freelancer, and sometimes people ask me why I don’t get a regular 9 to 5 job. “Wouldn’t you get extra benefits by working for an established company?” they ask. It’s hard to explain to them all the benefits we gain because my work-from-home schedule keeps me much more flexible.

You can foster spontaneity in hospitality by learning to:

1. hold your plans and schedule loosely,
2. keep a relatively organized, clean-ish home,
3. let people see your home even when it’s not organized and clean-ish,
4. always have something simple on hand that you can feed to drop-in guests,
5. offer guests simple fare or accommodations and not have to put on a show,
6. say “no” to some good things so you can say “yes” to the best things…
7. and much, much more….

Hospitality Tips. #hospitality #tips #crossculturalhospitality

The North African student I mentioned at the beginning of this post mentioned that one German student and his family have given him the gift he cherishes most: their time. That German student keeps in contact with him virtually daily. He invited the North African student to spend time with his family in their home. The North African student, who is a self-described “moderate Muslim” mused, “I don’t know if it’s because of their Christian faith that this German guy and his family take time for me. But they are the only Germans who have been so friendly and generous with their time.”

“Friendly.” “Generous with their time.” Could our foreign neighbours, coworkers and friends describe us in this way? Or are we busy running from task to task? Do they make the connection between our openness and generosity and our faith? Know that spontaneity doesn’t have to be as spontaneous as it looks. You can intentionally plan cross-cultural hospitality into your life by making some counter-cultural decisions. Let’s be known for our love — not our schedules.

Let’s be known for our love — not our schedules. ~Mrs. Serviette

Click To Tweet

About Mrs. Serviette:

Mrs. Serviette and her husband, Mr. Serviette, are North Americans living in Germany. They enjoy opening their home to people of all different cultures, backgrounds and religions. Their adventures in hospitality inspired Mrs. Serviette to to start her blog, The Serviette, which encourages people to share their tables in a way that bridges cultural and religious gaps, shows creativity, and serves others. Follow her at her website, Instagram, or Facebook.

 

***

The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger,” so send me a post for that, too, if you have a good idea! Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. You can find submission guidelines here. Guest posts should be between 500 and 900 words. Be sure to include a headshot and bio.

And if you’re not a writer, be sure to follow me on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest blog post or sign up for my newsletter below for links to thought-provoking articles, a digest of blog posts, and a few things I’m into these days! xo

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

*Photo by Kira auf der Heide on Unsplash.

Posted on

Hot Pooris and an Open Door {guest post}

By Mary Grace Otis | Instagram: @theglobalmomshow

Piping hot pooris, puffed up perfectly—waiting for us. Crisp masala dosa, coconut chutney, sambar, idly. South Indian breakfast was fresh, hot, and free at Aunty’s house. We would hop in a rickshaw some mornings at 7 a.m. and head to her house in order to eat breakfast there and be back in time for work at 8:30. We usually didn’t call ahead. We just showed up—two single girls in their twenties, hungry for hot food and a home.

Robin and I had been college roomates, then spent several years working various jobs, she in China and North Carolina, me in Germany and Alabama. Both of us were ready for a new adventure, so when I called her up and asked her to go to India with me for a year, she immediately said yes. Now that we were here, we were grateful for every glimpse of kindness and welcome shown to us by new acquaintances who would soon become friends.

India was wrapping us up in its cacophony of sounds, scents, and symbols, and we were loving it. But all the unfamiliarity would often lead to sensory overload, and we found refuge in the home of Aunty and Uncle Sundararajan. The two had an arranged marriage—he a Christian, she a Hindu. His evangelicalism led him to leave his caste and convert –something that lost him dear family relationships and reputation. She married him anyway, finding him kind and trustworthy. As he traveled, sharing his faith, he asked his wife, a multi-linguist, to work with a Bible translation society translating scriptures. When she translated the book of John, she came to believe in the man called Jesus. Since then, the two had lived a dedicated life of ministry together.

Their home was always open—a steady stream of guests coming from all over India to record gospel messages and readings in different tongues to reach those who did not have scripture yet in their language. With two boys in their twenties also living at home, their house was a natural gathering spot for young people working at Google, Dell, and Seimens who were far away from their own families.

On Sunday afternoons, we would often show up at lunch time, knowing that if we did, we would be naturally included at the table. In India, the guest is never turned away. Guests are sacred. Guests are honored. Guests are always welcomed.

Guests are sacred. Guests are honored. Guests are always welcomed.

Click To Tweet
What a blessing it was to be received with a seat pulled up to the table and the table filled with people willing to share their portions so that we could partake.

I didn’t realize until I became a wife and a mom just how much work this constant meal-making was. How Aunty rose early every day to roll the chapati, stir the sambar, boil the dahl, puree the chutneys, and fry the vegetables. She cooked for hours, preparing food to be available for whoever might arrive. She was willing to cook more when more people came.

Aunty and Uncle’s house was better than any restaurant. Not only was the food fantastic, but the company was as well. Sometimes I just sat in the kitchen on a stool and talked to Aunty while she worked. Other days I chopped the carrots and bell peppers or flipped the breaded eggplant sizzling in a cast iron pan. Some days I walked with Uncle to the Richmond Town market to pick out the best tomatoes or curry leaves.

Several nights I slept there in a simple guest room, with mismatched batik bed covers and a foam pillow. But in that bed was the sweetest sleep. There were no matching sheets, no fluffed pillows, no flowers on the end table—no end table. But for me and Robin, the welcome was not in fancy things or perfectly decorated rooms, the welcome was found in the food, the fellowship, and the simple feeling of belonging. The attitude was: “There’s always a place for you at our table. No matter when you come, you are always welcome.” For two girls alone in India, that was the best hospitality we could have asked for.

Living in the U.S., my hospitality muscles have atrophied. I’ve been exhausted from work and child rearing, and my home seems to be an ever-evolving mess. I’m reticent to invite people over because my life often feels chaotic. Then there’s the space issue–our dining room table doesn’t fit more than six easily, and the rest of the house is crowded with five bodies living in a “small” (by American standards) home. And I don’t have the cooking chops of Aunty–my meals are often assembled from pre-cooked ingredients or are simple staples like spaghetti, stir fry, or tacos.

But these are all excuses. Excuses that my Indian friends did not make. They had people over anyway. Even if everything was not perfect. I was invited into homes where newspaper was the tablecloth and the “sofa” was a hard wooden board on legs. I’ve been squeezed into a kitchen the size of a closet (and not an American walk-in closet!), and I’ve sat on plastic stools pulled up to a coffee table for dinner. And all of it was wonderful because the hosts made me feel welcome. The expectations were different. The food was important, yes, but more than that, the joy of welcoming someone into a home was the most important part. Of course, there are perfectly large banquet halls in India that are filled with absolute elegance and luxury. There are homes that are magically decorated and opulent in their beauty. But the ones I felt the most welcome in were those where the host simply said “pull up a chair, you are most welcome.”

About Mary Grace:

Mary Grace Otis is a writer, editor, and podcaster who lives with her husband and three boys in northern Michigan. You can find her podcast and posts at theglobalmom.com, join the Global Moms Network on FB, or follow her on IG @theglobalmomshow.

 

BOOK GIVEAWAY–ENDS JULY 31st!

We are giving away a copy of All the Colors We Will See: Reflections on Barriers, Brokenness, and Finding Our Way, so visit my Instagram or Facebook post and tag up to four friends and you’ll be entered one time per friend that you tag! Giveaway ends Tuesday, July 31st, at midnight (MT). Only U.S. residents, please! (and no bots….)

 

 

 

***

 

The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger,” so send me a post if you have a good idea!

Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. Guest posts should be between 500 and 900 words. Be sure to include a headshot and bio. You can find all the guidelines here.

And if you’re not a writer, be sure to follow me on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest blog post or sign up for my newsletter below for links to thought-provoking articles, a digest of blog posts, and a few things I’m into these days! xo

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Proudly powered by WordPress

Subscribe to my monthly-ish newsletter and I’ll send you the first chapter of my book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness for FREE!

Welcome to Scraping Raisins!