proclaimtheexcellencies - Tumblr blog

[proclaimtheexcellencies]

birthday wish.

It was my birthday yesterday. I spent all of it being spoiled and feeling very cherished by those around me. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude throughout the day for the people in my life—from my roommates, serendipitously perfect companions to make a COVID shutdown bearable, to my church friends who have become family by now.

Please know that if you wished me a happy birthday, I received it with extra love and appreciation this year, when friends and family feel especially dear since I can’t see you easily.

I’ve always found birthdays a bit funny, though. I didn’t celebrate them growing up—my family wasn’t big on holidays or hullaballoos. I also didn’t feel like I did much to deserve it? If anything, my mom did all of the hard work, and she should be the one who received applause and attention each year for not letting us die off despite our best attempts otherwise. She also delivered a whopping 9lb 2oz baby Grace in a matter of hours and managed to turn her hurricane of a daughter into a somewhat productive member of society, so I raise a glass to her, indeed.

It got me to thinking about what deserves to be celebrated when I’ve made it another year around the sun.

This is what I want to celebrate tonight:

My childhood friends from church, who have supported and sustained me throughout every ebb and flow of my spiritual life—who have sat with me through the deepest valleys and prayed quietly for me in the darkest times. I have held out the ugliest, most stained, enraged parts of my soul to you with open hands, and you have wrapped your fingers back around mine and accepted me, whole. I have never had sisters, but in a sense, I have always had sisters. I would not be who I am today without you all.

My college friends, who somehow let me stumble my way into their hearts and taught me how to live to my fullest. Sometimes when I wonder if a God exists, I think about the fact that all of us found each other, awkward, strange, and bumbling freshmen at Hill College House and in Venus Ultimate Frisbee, and my faith is reaffirmed.  

My teaching friends who saw me through the hardest job I have ever had. I think of nights spent waking up throwing up from fear and anxiety that I was failing my kids, no matter how hard I tried. I think of the Taco Tuesdays happy hour tradition that eased that panic--where you taught me to laugh at my failures instead of beat myself up over them. I don’t think I would’ve had the energy to get up and teach every morning if you all had not given me the humor and the strength to try again each week.

My students and their families. You changed my life, and I love you dearly. I don’t have words to explain to you how deeply you are imprinted on my heart.

My grad school friends. You taught me how to speak my truth without my voice trembling. For so long, I feel like I’ve been bursting and spilling over with things I’ve wanted to say, anger and outrage at things that I’ve seen, like there have been worlds I want to share inside me, but the words got stuck in my throat somehow. You all, you brave and beautiful and brilliant women, you taught me to sing. I’ve always felt a pervasive shame around some part of my identity: whether it be growing up poor, or being too thoughtless and careless, or my commitment to my faith and my career simultaneously, because I believed them mutually exclusive. You all loved me so wholly that I could not help but love myself—my full, brimming, bright colored humanity.

My Boston community--my OEL coworkers, my roommates, my friends, my church kids and companions. You saw me through one of the hardest years of my life. You comforted me at the loss of my grandmother; you sat with me in the Emergency Room and waited for my surgeries to finish; you listened and sympathized over glasses of wine on my porch. You were my single standing sanity through the COVID-19 shutdown, the best companions throughout professional setbacks, good and completely atrocious Netflix shows, long summer evenings when there was nothing to do. You set me free on the shores of Cape Cod to see and feel and breathe again. I am indebted to you for your love and support at my weakest.

Last but not least, my family. I could wax poetic about them for pages, but instead I will say this: I owe every piece of who I am and what I could become to you. I am never as safe as I am when my mom hugs me close and I breathe in her warmth, her scent, her softness and her acceptance. I want to memorize that feeling, that moment of softening in her arms, and hold onto it forever. I am never as proud as when my father reaches out to squeeze my hand or ruffle my hair and tells me I remind him of himself. I am never as happy as I am around you, my dear little brother with your sweet dimples and happy-go-lucky goodness, your easy humor and gentle compassion and pureness of heart. I am never as challenged or pushed to grow as in conversation with you, my older brother, with your vigilance and discipline, your great strength of character and constant striving to improve. You are my greatest and dearest loves. Thank you for loving me back.

I think that’s enough sentiment for tonight. If you’re reading this, if you wished me a happy birthday, if you thought of me at all--just know, please, that I care about and appreciate you all dearly. It’s you who should be celebrated for shaping me tonight.

[proclaimtheexcellencies]

a collection, part 2: sisterhood.

it was D’s birthday on June __th, 2019, and i wanted to take a moment to remember that night, the four  of us, D and J and R and me, crammed into a silver Corolla. we were-- escaping from our christian conference in the middle of ashvillenowehere, ohio,  speeding down empty country roads to pull into a parking lot. we ordered mcdonalds and parked and talked-- our limbs folded and contorted, air conditioning blasting (twisting in our seats to face each other, two in the front, two in the back). a bag of celebratory mcdonald’s splayed between us,  stale fries and chicken nuggets and a half opened bottle of liquid to split. it was, after all, a birthday. 

we have been-- sisters for over a decade, born and raised in the same christian church to christian families that knew each other, parents nodding polite hellos and exchanging greetings like christmas cards for years, while we participated in the same christian conferences since my earliest schoolhood memories. J, in particular, shouldered my excruciating teenage years-- bore the brute force of my adolescent angst and annoyingness-- (R and D have just dealt with it this year, delayed gratification). ((sorry, all.)) but we have also been-- together for the past ten months.  fighting and praying and sometimes crying, growing up side by side together more this year than all others combined.  this was the first year we were all in the same city (ish), comfortable, constant companions, dodging each other in the kitchen with ease, meeting over breakfast and picking at the shells of hard boiled eggs as we chatted,  mundane.  over the past ten months, sometimes  i forgot our proximity was monumental. but this year is coming to an end. i am remembering how special and precious they are (D and J and R and me) ((because don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got, til it’s gone-- i sing to myself as i’m sitting in a mcdonald’s parking lot)).  anyway. we sit, and we dip chicken nuggets into bbq sauce and we talk  and it is  easy and smooth and grateful.  there is a thunderstorm going on outside, summer rain tapping a staccato against the silver tin roof of our car. we are all on service teams for the next day.  we all know this is stolen time that we will repay with future exhaustion.  but we sit anyway, and we talk.  and it is  easy and smooth and grateful.  then we drive back on dark winding country roads,  midnight streets slicked tar black by the water, tufts of smoke rising in clouds from the roads, steaming hot from summer days. i roll down my window for a moment-- thrust my forearms out to catch the sudden rush of 60 mph wind threading through my fingers, outstretched-- June raindrops stinging against my skin as we speed back.  life passes too quickly. ten months sped by.  Jesse McCartney plays on the radio, “Beautiful Soul.” we sing along to middle school nostalgia,  and D says in the space between verses:  “guys. i’m really glad we all know this song-- and that we all did this year together.” that is the equivalent of a profession of love, for D. i catch that split second of D’s rare sentiment, and let it fill my lungs,  like clear ohio country air.  we pull back into the driveway of our conference house, say goodnight and goodbye to the last of midnight rain, quiet late night talks-- easy and smooth and grateful.

[proclaimtheexcellencies]

a collection, part 1: june 7, 2019.

my Christian fellowship ends this week. 

i meant to update this blog throughout the year and never got around to it. if i were to be honest, i think maybe i didn’t have enough in me to write during the year? enough time, enough energy, enough emotion--whatever soul fountain it is that simmers simmers simmers in me until suddenly it bursts and i can’t take it anymore and i have to write. anyway. that didn’t happen throughout the year, but it sure as heck is happening now. 

so i guess this is part of a collection, part 1 of 7, of memories that i want to hold onto as the year comes to an end. just snippets of moments that surge with meaning for me--little bits that i cling to, desperate, as my world shifts again. maybe it won’t mean anything for you, friend, but i can’t help but write it anyway (because i want to remember, because i am storing this quietly in my heart to thumb through on future days when my soul is sad). 

june 7th was the last day of our local metrocleveland team Bible study, which we’ve participated in every morning that we’ve been in town from 8am-12pm. the same 20ish people have gathered around these tables; the same strong coffee bubbled and seared in the background, the same biblical Greek and Hebrew dictionaries sat in the middle for our perusal, same chalkboard or whiteboard in the background for notetaking. i can still hear Mark’s voice calling a countdown in between our breaks: “five minutes! one minute! okay, everybody back,” can hear james’ chortle-laugh, can hear brad’s indignant “what?!? come on!” we’ve spent a lot of time in these team Bible studies. 

june 7th was our last day. we opened just as we always do, with singing of hymns and some corporate prayers, and then we closed just as we always do, with a bible study.

we sang hymn #258 in our hymnal. it’s this beautiful song titled “captivated by His beauty.” here are a few of my favorite lyrics: “hast thou heard Him, seen Him, known Him? is not thine a captured heart?” and, ”what has stripped the seeming beauty from the idols of the earth? not a sense of right or duty, but the sight of peerless worth.” and the chorus, “captivated by His beauty, worthy tribute haste to bring; let His peerless worth constrain thee, crown Him now unrivaled King.” we sang it as a group. 

i just--i sunk into it. 

i sunk into that room full of people who i love and care about and who i have fought beside for the whole year, who have struggled and ached and labored and prayed and grown and faltered and picked themselves right back up beside me for ten months. i lost myself in their voices--tim and lilly and elisha can harmonize, julian and tim and james studied music so they can do four part harmony, many others are just gifted singers and musically talented. i closed my eyes and i let myself slip. i drowned for a moment, just breathing in the synthesis of it all--everyone singing together, losing themselves in worship, all together in praise. one common goal. one year together. one Body. one God and Father of all, who is in all over over all and through all. however that verse goes. i lost myself in oneness, and it was beautiful. 

afterwards, lilly had this prayer that will stick with me now until forever, i hope. i want to hold it forever. “Lord, we have heard You. we have seen You. we have known You. oh Lord, our hearts are captured.”  and then we ended the morning with a Bible study on the verses after Jesus’ resurrection. we read through the book of John, the story of how He found peter at the lake--peter, who was a fisherman by nature, peter who left behind his fishing career after Jesus called him, peter who was told he’d be a fisher of men, peter who somehow went back to it after Jesus died. 

julian made this observation. in Jesus’ last recorded interaction with peter, which happens after peter’s return to fishing is an utter failure and a complete catastrophe, Jesus tells peter to cast his nets on the other side. 

julian said this. “it’s like previously, Peter was doing things for himself. Jesus told him to leave those things and follow Him. but after all of this, Jesus tells Peter to cast his nets on the other side. it’s like...go back to what you were doing. but do it for Me, now.”

and i had a moment--it hit me like a truck. i had this sudden striking realization that this is my life, that this is my Lord, that He does not work according to how i think He should work, to some stupid pattern that i’ve created, to how He has been in the past. sometimes He tells us to go back to where we were. but this time, for Him.

it was a sunny summer day out, early june. the windows stretched from floor to ceiling, flooding the whole room with light. we ended a few minutes past 12pm, but not too much--because we had a busy schedule, a few more conference days ahead of us, to prepare for, and we all scarfed down our lunch with urgency. our last bible study was over just like that. 

[proclaimtheexcellencies]

11.18.18

To anyone who reads this:

I have spent the last three months being purposefully vague about what I’m doing this year.

In fact, I’ve had maybe ten different people on various social media platforms/in text message/in person ask me where I am, or what is going on in my life--an admittedly complicated question, as I’ve spent time in Taiwan, Boston, Ashland, and Cleveland, in October alone (more on that in a later post).

As baldly as I can put it:

I quit my job in late August, moved away from my successful life and career in Boston, transitioned back to Cleveland, and committed to an unpaid fellowship with my church. I went from making quite a lot of money to absolutely no money at all; from a stereotypically exciting life of a twenty-something in a big city to a quieter, simpler existence in the Midwest.

This was entirely self-selected. I was not fired, forced, or coerced. On the contrary, my boss and my company would’ve loved for me to stay. This decision was made with absolute certainty after months and months of careful consideration--and then one shining, brilliant, terrifying night that changed my life and tipped my world upside down.

I chose to do this because I believe in the all surpassing worth of Jesus Christ and His church. I left everything because I heard God clearly calling me to give this year to Him. I love my God and my Savior, and I want to follow Him fully for ten months. Even those words are hard for me to write. Even though they ring truer than true, even though they declare something so intrinsic to my identity, even though something in myheartormysoulormyspirit, I can’t quite tell which, but something deep inside of me cries yesyesyes, say it, you’ve been smothering it for too long--speak your truth--it is still hard for me to write.

(It’s because I’m a coward. I care so, so much what people think of me. I don’t want to offend you, whoever you are. I don’t want you to think less of me or think I’m trying to shove my faith down your throat. I hide my beliefs because I know they are unpalatable. I am fully conscious of what Christianity is associated with--both historically and in current day America. My cover up is purposeful, cowardly, and ugly.)

But tonight, I was sick of hiding.

Tonight, I wanted to proclaim to you all--if you are willing to listen, if you are willing to read what I have to say, if you can stomach my truth, if you can please keep trying--the excellencies of Him who called me out of darkness into His marvelous light.

He is worth my whole life, and I cannot stay silent about it anymore.

I think there’s more to it. I have a bunch of reasons--some of the major ones having to do with my students from my three years of teaching in Cleveland public schools. But the main one is just Him. Just Him and His all surpassing worth. And tonight, I at least wanted to say it clearly. For tonight, I am so sick of my own cowardice. For tonight, I wanted to declare-- “Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible--the only wise God--be honor and glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

If you’re willing to keep reading, I’ll keep writing. Thank you for your open heart.