Today I fell while I was running. Correction, I ATE IT while I was running. *Disclaimer: I am totally fine*. Imagine blissfully gliding along, gazing at the beautiful sight of the Institute for Advanced Study (where Einstein did his work), soaking up the late September sun. Then all of a sudden your right knee no longer supports weight and you fall with all of your weight (which may or may not be higher than it used to be) on to your entire right side, slammed against the concrete. Once you realize you’re not on the ground and no longer running, you turn over to find bloody knees, hips, and clothes in addition to the entirety of your right arm from your fingers to your shoulder.

I remind you that I am totally okay; I simply will look like a fool with bandages all over and will be wearing sleeveless shirts until I can pull myself together in the next few days. I tell you this story not for sympathy or comedic relief, but for a point. And no my point is not “when you fall down, you must get back up”. Yes that is true. I did get up; I did ask for help; I am moving forward with my life.

However, my point is that when we fall, Jesus is probably at work. Probably meaning definitely. The theme of the last few weeks has been me on the ground. I’ve been in way over my head with theology classes, Hebrew exegesis, denominational search processes, and field education debates on top of being a human and still being in a relatively new place. Many days I have just felt low. It’s not that I do not have A LOT to be thankful for, but rather A LOT to process.

A dear friend reminded me this weekend that Jesus works in paradox. That means when we are low, HE is lifted high. In our brokenness, HE brings healing. In our nothing, HE delivers everything. In our death, HE creates life. So as I sat on the ground today bleeding from my own silly mistakes (one of them being running in the first place), I couldn’t help but smile. Jesus has reminded me time and time again over the past weeks that I am not at Princeton to make myself considered “higher”. I am not here to gain all of the answers (partially because I don’t know that there are any). I am not here for me at all. “He must become greater and I must become less” John 3:30.

When I fall, Jesus is glorified. And that is worth all of the scrapes and bruises.

(Pictured: some of my bandages and proof I’m alive. Shoutout to Kelsey for using her lifeguard skills to patch me up)

When you finish summer Hebrew, there’s something that changes in your brain. All of a sudden you appreciate the ability to read books front to back and left to right in a way you never knew you needed to appreciate. All of a sudden you appreciate having learned English as your first language because you realize it’s also a stupidly hard language to learn. All of a sudden you appreciate the time for your vocab flashcard paper cuts to heal. Needless to say, I’m excited for this week off before the next round of seminary class comes to hit me in the face.

But there is another aspect of finishing summer Hebrew I didn’t expect. I leave this last 8 weeks with a greater appreciation for the depth of words. I’ve always believed words are powerful. But reading the Old Testament in its original language just blows my mind. Hebrew words break down into 3 letter roots, which means there are only so many combinations of the letters before you run out. Therefore, some words in Hebrew mean a shocking variety of things. And as the translator, you have to choose. You have the power to drastically change the meaning of a text, and yet there’s a chance it could still be accurate. On top of that, your Sunday School Bible lessons may have altered the text even more. Isaac may not have come back down from the mountain with Abraham after God saved him. The sailors on the boat with Jonah were actually very kind, and it was Jonah who offered for himself to be thrown into the sea (and he had to offer 2 times before they would actually throw him into the sea). Even Genesis 1 does not start out how we all thought.

Saving you from more rambling about interesting Hebrew facts, I approach words differently now that I’ve finished summer Hebrew. I take more time to answer when in conversation because I don’t want to rush. I write longer responses when people ask me for advice because I don’t want to limit the work God is doing through me. I listen even more intently to the words of others so that I may have a chance to better learn of who they are through the words they choose. Words are so powerful.

Bottom line: we should all express wonder and caution and joy with the words we’re given, no matter our language of choice. Our day was not just “good”; and our summer was not just “lazy”; and our life is not just “okay”. Words give us the power and the responsibility to connect with other people and with our Creator. Therefore, I propose that we use words more carefully and much more fully.

As typical for me during times of crisis, I struggle to find words today. While I know and believe that words are powerful, I feel as if they are not enough. Somehow nothing feels like enough to bring justice and peace and love to this world. Yet in the midst of the storm, I am reminded that I am not called to save the entire world. That has already been done for us. I am asked to give my best, give my everything. So for now, I promise to give my best, for one and for all.

Dear neighbor,

I promise to see you. Always as another human. A human with rights and struggles and scars. A human who lacks certainty and unity and full understanding. Though your life may be different from mine, I will not forget the importance of your presence. Even when we disagree.

I promise to listen. All of the events of your life add up to make you who you are; and who you are matters. I will listen when no one else will. I will listen to as much as you want to tell me. Insomuch, I will gain even the slightest bit more of perspective and respect, and I will be grateful. You have a voice, and don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

I promise to act. When words are too quiet or unfulfilling or more painful than good, I promise to not give up. I may not always know when or where or how, but nevertheless I will give you 110% of bona fide movement, exertion,vitality. Imagine what the world could be if we simply promised to act in service to our neighbor. So that is my promise to you.

I promise to love. Love overcomes misunderstanding. Love drives out darkness. Love opens hearts and minds. Love is power. Love breaks borders. Love wins. Even when I don’t have energy or ability or access or flexibility or heart, I will love you anyway.

And most of all, I promise to remind you. I will remind you that the Savior of the world came for all, which includes me and you and the people we don’t get along with or understand or know. I will remind you that we are all promised love and peace and grace and unity because the God that created us wants nothing more than love and peace and grace and unity for us all. I will preach this message to remind myself and anyone who listens for as long as there is breath in my lungs. I believe there is nothing more important to bring us together and provide us with the life and the connection and the world which was designed for us.

In the spirit of the One who keeps all promises,

Kelly

There’s something about Thursday night basketball this summer that has fascinated me. Picture about 10 men roughly 30-60 years old playing pick up basketball every Thursday. They know each other. They know who likes to draw fouls. They know who can make a 3 pointer. They know just how physical they can get before things get out of hand. Now add in 2 females with moderate basketball ability. I should mention that not all men at our Thursday night gatherings deliberately avoid passing the ball to females. But there are those who will not pass me or my friend the ball – even if we’re at the other end of the court by ourselves wide open. Nonetheless, my friend and I don’t get the ball very much. We normally guard each other, and we just have a good time making things happen with little recognition. This is my Thursday night scene.

However, this week was different. My friend was caught up in the study grind. So I packed my water bottle and my courage, and went by myself, the sole female player of the night. The normal tension of doubt-in-female-basketball-ability was even more heightened. So much so that there were a number of times they didn’t feel the need to guard me right down low on the block, where I could easily (and did easily) score a number of layups. One guy thought he could take me in the paint, but I shut that down real quick – my defense is unstoppable 😉

As I walked home, drenched in sweat from the un-airconditioned gym, I tried to figure out why it is that we seem to thrive in situations of adversity. There’s something about someone telling you that you can’t that somehow gives you the strength to accomplish that very thing. People of authority in our lives try to use that to their advantage. Coaches that yell and curse at you to get you to do what they want. Parents that think it’s okay to crush their kids’ dreams of being an astronaut or a spy or a recording studio owner. Teachers that judge a child’s success, putting some students behind that should be ahead while others are put ahead and should be behind. The problem is that sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn’t. There has to be a more effective way. I believe there’s a problem with the lack of recognition of the vitality of responsibility and intentionality in leadership roles. As a result, we have to learn to override authority figures before we can learn to overcome adversity.  Talk about lessons that can take a lifetime to figure out. No wonder we live in a world that struggles with confidence and self-image. I’m curious to see what would happen if we tried bona fide encouragement and genuine relationship to teach and inspire our youth (and really people of all ages).

Through a variety of circumstances in my life, I was lucky enough to learn the necessity of confidence early on. Yet every day is still an exercise of listening to determine where I’m supposed to be and a choice to continue in the fight, no matter the level of my energy or assurance. Right when you think you’re strong enough to handle whatever comes your way, the problems get bigger. That’s right where Jesus meets us. (Thanks Matt for that reminder this morning). It’s not about our ability to solve the problems of the world; that’s been covered for us. It’s not about discouraging leaders and role models in our life; we have a Leader of love and grace and hope who will never leave us or hurt us. It’s not about proving all the haters wrong; our identity is in something so much greater.

So go ahead. Doubt me. Put me in a box. Try to tell me what I can’t do. Because when it all comes down to it, I’m not fighting on my own. God is on my side, and the battle is already won. With that truth, we can overcome any adversity, basketball or otherwise.

Today it hit me when my college roommate facetimed me. For a solid 45 seconds, neither of us had to say anything. Neither of us could say anything. I immediately knew by the tears welling up in both of our eyes that we’re both overwhelmed and we just needed to feel the comfort a dear friend’s face. In those 45 seconds (and the following hour of our conversation), I felt fully known and fully validated and fully loved. I knew that once again I could be 100% myself and it would be 100% okay. And yet, when our free time was over and we both had to return to our separate new lives, I was left questioning. What do you call that familiarity/that comfort? How do you build that? How do you extend that to others? Is there a way to establish it without significant risk or loss? For now, I’ve settled on calling this genuine and inviting welcome. Welcome to join; welcome to share; welcome to accept and contribute love and grace and just plain human connection. Whether we want to admit it or not, welcome is a vital part of our earthly lives and deserves more attention than I believe we typically give it.

I ask these questions about welcome on various levels. Level 1: I am still adjusting to a new place and trying to find my bearings. I’m looking for ways to discover welcome for myself. I don’t plan on being the new, quiet kid that no one really knows for all 3 years of seminary. Level 2: I am interested in being a source of welcome for others (an inclusive, ALL others) while not being overbearing, overwhelming, or flat out creepy. It’s a lot easier said than done. And most importantly, Level 3: I believe the Church is called to extend welcome. This welcome belongs to any member, visitor, leader, or person on the street too afraid to come in.

While I know better than to claim that I have answers for any of my questions on any of my levels, I have come to one conclusion. Welcome deserves, if not demands, attention. We find welcome for ourselves when we seek it (though it may take some time and some vulnerability). We extend welcome to others when we recognize and initiate the effort it requires. And we establish a culture of welcome in the church by building it into the core of the church structure. I might even go as far to say that the church has the potential to spark welcome in the other 2 levels, which adds to the responsibility of the welcome in the church. As I have been visiting churches in my new home, there have actually been a few times where I felt as if I was not fully welcomed. Not in that anyone ignored me or deliberately avoided giving me a bulletin. Rather, the liturgy left me feeling isolated or uneasy, or the disorganization distracted so greatly from the message that I couldn’t focus (and I’m sure that wasn’t reserved just for those of us with OCD), or because I don’t attend that specific church regularly I couldn’t keep up with the melody of the words on the screen, even as a music major. All of these moments of unfulfilled welcome could leave even the most confident person feeling hesitant. We are made for more than that.

I say all of that to prove that we must pay attention to welcome, for the sake of ourselves and the people around us. We are called to love God and love people. Welcome is the spark which ignites the fire of that love. Therefore, we should be overflowing with welcome for all because of the grace and acceptance and love we receive from the Lord our God to begin with. Once again, I preach to myself more than anything else. But think of the good we could do if we paid just a little more attention welcome. Amen.

Turns out starting over requires investment and vulnerability. I’m not shocked by that fact this week, but I am fairly consistently reminded of that fact this week. I didn’t realize how comfortable I’d gotten at Furman, surrounded by hundreds of people who knew enough about me and my story to be able to care for me well. So in leaving all that I know behind, I discovered this week I have to be willing to let other people in on some of those fundamental facts about myself in order for this new place to truly open up and feel like home. Unfortunately for someone like me, that also means I have to reach out and offer that information (which is still not a strong suit of mine). Let me tell you, seminary is a great place for finding folks to reach out to – the hard part for me is the concept of reaching out. I have to invest just as much as those around me in order to get the best return (also known as the return God planned for me). Some days I’m excited about that truth and I’m ready to spill everything about my life to my new friends. And other days I’d rather retreat and hold on to my solitude. But nevertheless (whether I’m willing or not), God still creates spaces for me to be cared for and for me to be open. And each day I am getting better at choosing to share.

And as always, the other half of experiencing meaningful and substantial growth is the investment in self. With my summer schedule, my only requirement is to be in class 9-12:15 Monday through Friday (with seminary soccer and basketball as self-proclaimed commitments on Tuesday and Thursday nights). That means every day I have a choice in how to spend the 20+ hours of the remainder of my day. Only so much of that can be spent studying Biblical Hebrew (thank goodness). There’s a lot of responsibility in that choice. I have to deliberately choose every day to stop studying and do something for me. I have to choose every day to get out of my own head and allow myself to relax in whatever activity I’ve elected that day. Talk about challenging. Over the last 3 weeks, I have re-learned how to read for pleasure, how to exercise appropriately, and how to practice music simply for the joy of playing music. In the midst of being in a new place with new people and learning a new language (or trying to), my God is still the same. His truth and His love prevails. And through it all, I am being reminded of the value and the necessity of my investment in becoming who He calls me to be and building His kingdom into that which He designed.

In the midst of many new challenges, I have decided to challenge myself to write again. This afternoon I read through all of my old blogs, reliving the work that God has been doing in my heart the last 2 years. It’s comical to read back and see the things I thought I knew, the things I wanted to learn, and the things I’m still trying to figure out. And as I read, I was moved. Deeply. I knew instantly that I needed to open that line of communication again, for my benefit and potentially the benefit of others. So I begin my weekly updates for the summer with a prayer.

God of grace and love and learning,

I come before you today humbled. I am humbled by the things of earth, like friends and new places and yes even Biblical Hebrew. And I am humbled by the things beyond earth, like the love you extend to those who try so hard to reject it and the power you have to make all things for good.

Lord, you have this tremendously impressive way of reminding us of the beauty within the things that humble us. Through new things and overwhelming things and stimulating things and confusing things and thrilling things and hurtful things and all things in between, you are there. It’s your heart and your hands and your plan present right there in our life. It’s there whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. That is beautiful.

For the beauty in the things seen, unseen, and not yet seen, I am left thankful. All I can be sure of is that you are working and you are working to make all things good. I may question; I may fight; I may stand aside in shock; I may sit back in pride; I may doubt. However, I may also pursue; I may also listen; I may also extend grace; I may also speak your truth; I may also love. Be present in my action and my inaction, my outspokenness and my silence, my belief and my unbelief. Be present in my social awkwardness, my scars from rec league seminary sports, and my constant questions in hopes of understanding Hebrew. Use all things in my life for your good, even if I forget to surrender them to you. Humble me each and every day with the beauty you are creating in my life, just as you illustrated to me today through old writing. And help my friends, acquaintances, and strangers along the way to experience the same.

In the name of the one who accepts us as we are, amen.

I would say I’m a person who thrives in the middle. In arguments, in relationships, in decisions, and in just about everything else, I fall safely in the middle. I don’t position myself far left or far right. I frequently see multiple sides to every argument. Sometimes that works to my advantage, as I can make a good mediator and I don’t take the risk of putting all my eggs in one basket. Other times it can be isolating and feel like I get judged harder because I’m not as easy to figure out. Either way, I am a middler.

But after a delightful conversation at a sketchy Thai restaurant in Orangeburg with a dear friend tonight, I’ve come to believe that Jesus, too, was a middler. He didn’t have to take sides because his platform covers all sides. Love. Love is what connects us to each other. Love is what allows us to learn from mistakes. Love is what opens our hearts. Love is what gives us the emotion of joy. Even when we don’t know, we still know love. He was made fun of, talked about, even persecuted, imprisoned, and crucified for his platform of love. Yet, love still wins. Every time.

So just as I found encouragement and strength and life in my conversation tonight, I pray that you find inspiration and clarity and hope that our Savior is a middler. He unabashedly and whole-heartedly pursues love over all other causes for the true goodness, redemption, and grace it brings to our lives until we’re reconciled to our ultimate Father of love. That’s a side I’m willing to take, friends. Cheers to the middlers!

I know it may seem strange to write a blog about not having words. It’s challenging  for me to wrap my head around. However, the last few weeks have consistently left me with one particular emotion/feeling/state: speechless. Start with a college graduation. If that doesn’t make you feel old, confused, sad, and a little lost, you didn’t actually go to college. Quickly follow that with time at home. For some, that is a comfortable, sought-after space. For me, it’s a strange collection of a room, clothes, and memories from a younger version of myself, with whom I’m not well acquainted anymore. This stretch at home is my longest period of time in this place since before I went to college…4 years ago. Add on to all of this officiating and playing music for friends’ weddings plus a current 2 week vacation adventure in Oregon. Turns out, busy or unwillingly not busy, I learn a lot more when I listen, look, and reflect than when I speak. Sometimes God just has to remind me to shut my mouth.

Part of this journey also includes a lot of reading. My summer began with reading for pleasure, and quickly turned to reading the 7 books Princeton kindly asked for me to read before I start classes full time in September. In this process of getting carried away with the words of others, I have discovered so much. About myself, about others, and most importantly about my Heavenly Father (Who has actually been here this whole time, I just sometimes conveniently forget to find/acknowledge Him). So while I’m reading the inspirational words of others, I’ve realized that everyone actually goes through this process…or at least they should. Every one of the books I’ve read so far this summer has quoted at least a handful of other authors. It’s like we were meant to do all of this together in community. And thank goodness, because I really have no clue what I’m doing.

As I gaze out of my hotel window to see the rough waves crashing along the rocky Western United States coast, I have to name that even the beauty that has struck me for the first 4 days of my trip to Oregon has taught or maybe more accurately reminded me of the Lord, and all of His power, might, and grace. These are truths that I’ve let slip from me because I’ve been too busy speaking. Therefore, this is my declaration that I intend to invest in more time being speechless because it turns out that’s just what I need in order to have something worth saying.

Some advice upon reflection on my graduation from college and other major life events:

1. Do NOT watch The Office finale the same week you graduated from college. It is a terrible idea that will end in tears.
2. Do NOT think you are invincible or that you can keep at the same pace right after you graduate from college. You are more tired, more emotional, and more confused about where you are in life than you are willing to admit. Give yourself a break.
3. Give yourself a break.
4. Keep a list of important/meaningful/fun memories. Write it down because you’ll be thankful to go back and read it. Then next time you start a new chapter, start a new list. You will be thankful.
5. Remind yourself again to give yourself a break.

Many people have asked me what my favorite memory is from Furman or who my favorite person was at work or what was the biggest lesson I learned in the last 4 years. I suppose I tried to evade the question because it still doesn’t seem real that it’s all over. However after some time to process, I’ve decided to stick by my original answer. I can’t choose. And I believe I can’t choose because it’s impossible to separate all that I’ve learned and experienced in the last 4 years. When you ask about one Furman memory, I automatically get hundreds that come into my mind at once. When you ask about Pelham Road folks, I get this beautiful collection of pictures in my head, similar to the collage of the body of Christ in the front lobby. And gosh, when you ask me what I’ve learned, I can’t even begin to find words to describe how I’ve changed and grown and grown up in the last 4 years. I think that is the most rewarding graduation gift of all (although I appreciate all of the other gifts I’ve received). Who I am today cannot be separated from my last 4 years. Everything I saw, heard, felt, and loved in the last 1362 days is now and forever a part of me. It’s a gift that does not have to be opened, a gift that cannot be returned, a gift that is far too great and wide to respond to with a thank you card.

And now that I’ve received this gift of 4 years of conversation and experience and support and failure and learning, I’ve been given a second gift. Time off. 6 weeks to rest and travel and reflect and repack and rest (did I say that before?). I will not waste it. And I will not abuse it by overshadowing this time with to do lists or meetings or projects. This break is a gift, one that I may not know how to use yet. No matter what you’re doing next, graduating or finishing up or moving on or waiting to hear or staying the same, take the time to be thankful for where you are and where you’ve been. Make lists of the memories. Stop and breathe every once and a while. Only watch The Office finale when you’re ready for it. Utilize the gifts we’ve been given, for they make us who we are. Just as Pam tells us in season 9 episode 23, “there’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn’t that kind of the point?”