Tonight, people are gathering in communities all across our world for “Lights of Liberty.” Perhaps the one thing giving me any hope in recent weeks has been witnessing the Spirit of God alive and at work through active people – people who will not tolerate this kind of treatment of migrants and refugees. Children of God who are our neighbors. Our collective family in life. 

Alongside the Lights of Liberty gatherings, I wanted to offer an option. Going to one of these collective events is not doable for everyone tonight, including my family. Yet we can all – no matter where we are – give powerful, whole-hearted witness and join the communion of saints. I know it is not the same as being together in person, but we believe and know there is more that binds us than physical presence.

Most gatherings will be around 7:00 or 8:00 p.m. tonight (relatively, depending on time zone). Join in this communal light by creating some in your own home, or wherever you may be. 

Light a candle. 

Breathe and bless. Focus your mind and your heart’s attention on the world’s children detained in places lacking dignity, compassion, and basic needs. 

Here is a prayer I wrote some time ago called, “When I cry for the world,” and it is what my family will read tonight. 

When I cry for the world 

Merciful Jesus,

I cry for our world. 

I cry over broken bodies 

and broken homes 

and broken hearts.

I cry over violence 

and exclusion 

and indifference. 

I cry most of all over the children! 

Through my body and breath,

I pray for your kin-dom…

For allto have 

nourishing food and nurturing homes, 

edifying work and safe, skilled schools,

compassionate healthcare and dignified wages, 

soft beds to fall into at the day’s close…

For the children to be protected,

the elderly honored, 

and both hugged every single day…

For reparative justice,

cherished diversity,

and peaceful purity in what’s

breathed, eaten, drunk. 

I cry and I pray, 

confessing the many times 

I’ve declared what I deserve

rather than asked what I could give.

I cry and I pray, 

knowing I’m complicit in the pain 

and essential to the healing. 

I cry and I pray, 

trusting my tears mingle with your own, 

hoping this tearful river softens and shapes

the hardest canyons of injustice – 

or at least lays the groundwork.

I pray and I act, 

moving my body and resources 

toward your kin-dom vision,

trusting my skills and gifts 

carry forward the new, just world you imagine

and are always bringing.  

I remember this work is mine to do. 

“Christ has no body but yours,

No hands, no feet on earth but yours,

Yours are the eyes with which he looks 

Compassion on this world,

Yours are the feet with which 

he walks to do good,

Yours are the hands, with which

he blesses all the world…”* 

O Jesus, have mercy 

and help me. 

Amen. 

You may choose to take a picture of your candle and text to other friends and family, or share on social media with #lightsforliberty (an instance when I actually think social media can do some great good!). 

My husband recently wrote a letter about the border crisis that will be going out to our congregation with some places to give, ways to learn, and advocacy opportunities. Near the end of his letter, he says, “our first and last job as followers of Jesus is to pray. There is power in prayer, in listening to God, in interceding for those who are suffering. And yet we must remember “thoughts and prayers” are not something we just blithely tweet after a crisis. Authentic prayer always changes us and impels us to action. As 1 John says, we are called to love not just “in word or speech, but in truth and action.” We encourage you to pray for the migrant families, for the political leaders and government agents on both sides of the border, for non-profit and religious leaders. We invite you to find ways to talk to your children about this crisis and include their voices in your prayers.”

I believe with every fiber of my being in prayer’s power. And I deeply thank you for holding hands in the circle tonight. As Glennon Doyle so often says, “we belong to each other.”  

O Lord, hear our prayer.

*Quote in my prayer is widely attributed to St. Teresa of Avila (1515–82), but not found in any of her writings according to numerous sources, so maybe written by someone else. Still, it’s beautiful. 

Normally I write to you at the close of a week but here we are at the threshold instead. A week ago (after turning in the book manuscript to my publisher – finally!), I attended the Ezer Collective, a dynamic conference dreamed up by Jo Saxton. She and Steph Williams O’Brien saw a great need for women to live fully into their leadership capacities and God-given gifts. They created a space in which many women were empowered for exactly that. I loved their definition of a leader – a person who is intentional with her influence.

The name of the gathering – Ezer – references the Hebrew in the Genesis account of creation. After God created man/Adam, God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a “helper”(ezer) as his partner” (Gen. 2:18). The word so often translated “helper” appears numerous times throughout the Old Testament, but most of those times, ezer is describing God. It’s used when God is delivering and rescuing people. As Jo Saxton writes, “it’s a word conveying power and strength…To be named ezer is not some afterthought…not for someone deemed unable to do more than assist because of their weakness, but one who can help because they have the passion, power, and purpose to do so.” Ezer is dynamite.

For some time now, I’ve been in a season of yearning and have sought God’s wise guidance for some important discernment. I entered the Ezer weekend hoping God would bring answers to some of my questions. That God would speak some direction over my wrestling.

But on the last morning of the conference, a new, wise friend I made said, “I have a strong sense that God has already spoken, Arianne. That God is telling you to remember. And remember way back….”

And what I started to remember were times I’d felt most alive or moments I’d lept into something with God-given-courage or opportunities God had empowered me to embrace. I remembered the confidence I’d misplaced a long time ago and the voice that went quiet. I remembered all of these gifts God had given me, and in doing that, remembered the most important truth of all – the abiding love and steadiness and mercy of God, running like an undercurrent, nourishing the soil of my every step.

So one of my greatest take-aways from the Ezer Collective was God reminding me who I am. God bringing to mind a stream of memories – some from childhood, some just days before – illuming for me the light that’s been quietly and eternally burning. Isn’t it interesting that when we ask God again and again what we are supposed to do, God answers with remembrance of who we are? Of who God is?

So I leave you with some questions Ezer stirred up for me, hoping God will wash over your heart what you might need to remember. There are seven questions – maybe reflect on one each day. Grace, peace, and mercy to you, friends. And remember, remember, remember….

• What memories of yourself do you need to sit with? 
•  What parts of yourself do you need to say “yes” to? Maybe again? Maybe for the first time? 
• What is one area of your life that needs fresh intentionality?
• What is one area of insecurity you want to let go of today? 
• Are you living out your voice, or thinking you must be an echo? 
• What would it look like today to claim with new authority and fresh resolve the freedom that you have (and have had all along)? 
• What do you need to remember about God? 

#ezercollective, #ezercollective2018, #josaxton

 

 

The home stretch is here, dear friends! In less than two weeks, my book manuscript is due with Chalice Press! I’ve sorely missed my prayers here in this space – and my correspondence with you. But I hope to return soon.

Here is a photo of my mess desk where I’m surrounded by books, journals, and beauty out the window. I don’t always work here, but it’s a good place to squirrel away when I can.

The book writing process has not been what I envisioned  years ago when I dreamt of writing one. I don’t have hours strung together to sit down and find inspiration. Most of this book has come together in thirty-minute increments. Times when both the kids are asleep or pacified (which is becoming more and more rare). I am learning to simply keep my journal open on the counter to jot down a thought here or there when I’m in the flurry of other things. I am seeing that small scraps of time can equal enough.

I remember Tsh Oxenreider lifting up the power of “partial solutions” – this truth that we don’t (and many times can’t) get our ideal, but we can work with what we have. And many times, what we creatively compose through compromise ends up being not only enough, but beautiful.

I didn’t anticipate that the season in which I’d have a book contract, I’d have two young children, another house move, and a lot of personal upheaval, but this is where God calls and moves, my friends – in the midst of life happening in all the unexpected ways it always does.

So we learn how to grab onto the grace of what we have and to be faithful with it. We learn to be content with knowing and having what we do right now. A mantra I have been repeating to myself many months now is, “Faithfulness here…faithfulness here…”

I will be back in touch, and Ash and Starlight: Prayers for the Pilgrimage will hopefully be to you next summer. I will keep you posted in the editing and publishing process. Thank you for all of your encouragement and support – a form of holy manna that’s kept me fed.

And for now, faithfulness here.