It is perhaps fitting that this final blog prompt asks us to reflect on both where we are from and where we are going. So, here goes:

I am from the 30-year old keyboard that sits in the corner of my living room, that my dad bought for me when my parents divorced so that I could still play the piano no matter which parent’s house I was at.  It made me feel a little less torn apart.  I used it to figure out how to play church hymns and video game music from memory. And still do.

I am from the picture of Jesus by my bedside, old and wrinkled and torn in places, that my grandma gave me when she was alive, when I was about 5 years old and having nightmares, as a reminder that Jesus is always with me.  I’ve taken this picture everywhere with me—from my bedroom in Pittsburgh to my college dorm in DC to my three years living in Japan to my current apartment in Arlington.  He has gone with me everywhere.

I am from the pile of smiling stuffed animals in my bedroom that I’ve been collecting since I was three.  In particular, I love the smiling stuffed food—smiling pineapples, smiling French fries, smiling sushi.  It makes so me so happy to imagine that there’s a smile and a bit of love in everything around us, human or not. J

I am from the one-bedroom apartment where I live in the DC area—the first place I’ve ever lived without chronic insects, which finally has both a working heater and a working AC (at the same time!!) I am from the objects all over the walls from all my different overseas travels and the Nintendo/Star Wars shrine in the corner.

I am from the sky, that I’d lie in the grass staring up at when I was younger, watching the clouds, wanting to fly.  Still do.

I am from the trees in the courtyard I can see from my balcony, a bit of nature even in the city.

I’m from the Italian Christmas Eve feast of my father and the Native American mandala made by my mother.  I’m from my mom and dad—people sooooo different that I’m surprised they stayed married as long as they did, but somehow I have so many traits of both of them.  I’m from praying before a meal on holidays in Japanese, Arabic, Spanish, or English—whichever my dad asks me that day—and playing the old eight-bit video game Streets of Rage 2 with my dad and from watching sappy Hallmark Christmas movies with my mom whenever I visit home in Pittsburgh.

I’m from my mom saying, when I was so young we spent Mass in the cry room at the back of church, coloring and not understanding much of what was going on, “It’s almost time to go up and see Jesus”, when it was time to walk down the aisle for Communion; and from my dad telling me, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love” when I called a classmate a name in fifth-grade; and from the lullaby “Tender Shepherd” that my mom would sing me as I went to sleep.

I’m from visiting our grandparents in Florida every summer.  I’m from Pittsburgh, the country’s friendliest city according to some studyJ, and from the Pequot tribe in the northeast as well as a bunch of other places—a proud Native American and a proud multi-immigrant-ancestry American, and from homemade Italian meatballs and gnocchi passed down from grandparents and great-grandparents.

From my mom who had a rock band that rehearsed in our basement three times a week when I was growing up and who would greet me coming off the school bus dressed as a mermaid or a princess as she would go off to do children’s birthday parties.  From the picture of my college graduation on my wall by my bedside—one of the few pictures I have of both my parents together, with my brother and me, and from the crucifix my mother gave me and engraved for me after I lost the beloved one I’d worn for 16 years.

I’m from so much love that I’ve been blessed to have been given—through good times and bad, from family and friends, and most of all from our dear Lord who has never failed to be right beside me.

Well, I’ve already gone over the word limitJ, so will keep the rest short, but the question remains—what does it mean to be a brave and resilient Reconciling Leader?  To me, it means above all, to do everything with love—love for God and love for other people.  To approach those who have hurt us with love. To listen to those we disagree with with love, and with openness to learning and receiving wisdom even in the midst of disagreement. To love others enough to recognize the dignity of their nuances and complexity, to understand that ways they may frustrate me needn’t define them and are not the only part of their story, and that even those who perpetrate great evil and injustice are still beloved children created by a good God who longs to welcome them back like the Prodigal Son. To be a loving bridge between people or groups who are in conflict, to try to help them reach a reconciliation of peace and justice for all, not only for those someone has deemed more worthy. To approach each encounter and process with loving patience, without beating myself up if I can’t accomplish everything I want to in the way and the time I want to. To be loving and compassionate with myself, understanding that I don’t need to be perfect to be enough—more than enough—for God, and that He created me for a purpose that is uniquely mine, and that, as my granddad used to say, ‘The Lord don’t make mistakes.’