The primary emotion I felt while watching the session recording was hope. Honestly, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately—as I’m sure many of us are. My team is down two people at work, so I’m juggling multiple roles while trying to hire, barely staying afloat. On top of that, the news cycle feels disorienting and confusing. I struggle to find spaces where deeper, more nuanced, and informed discussions happen. To be honest, I probably just need to read less news.

This morning, watching the session and writing this response were on my to-do list, but I was tempted to dive straight into my overwhelming workload. That’s the lane I’ve been in lately, and it’s where my momentum naturally pulls me. But I felt the Lord gently encourage me to set that aside for a bit and start with this—perhaps as an exercise in trust. So I did, and I’m so glad!

Watching this week’s session was a breath of fresh air on many levels. I was deeply grateful for Ruth’s perspective and wisdom, which fostered a much more thoughtful and nuanced discussion. I also appreciated the opportunity to step away from the urgency of my tasks and gain some much-needed perspective. It makes me excited for what’s to come! I know it won’t always be comfortable, but I trust it will be good.

But this phrase; “we lament and resist”, offered by Dr. Padilla DeBorst, served to heighten my hope.  These words in tandem, working together, seem to me, an actionable plan for my participation in those spaces and conversations.  I can come to these conversations lamenting that often there is no awareness by others that they may be holding onto a misinterpretation of Jesus.  I can come to these conversations with the hope that humbly resisting the misinterpretation can be useful for God’s ongoing work in their hearts and minds.  I can be hopeful that this journey of learning, insight and understanding that I am on, is also meant to be shared with those God brings across my path!

What happens when you lose sight?

It gets dark real quick! 

Yesterday evening I was sitting outside in my backyard. My husband and I were in different places but on a conference call with our business manager. He was delivering bad financial news. My mind started racing. The tug of war began. The war between worry and centeredness, between resting in easeful, trusting belovedness and walking with anxiety over to shame. Shame was calling.

I noticed what was happening in my body. I noticed the stark contrast between feeling safely pampered in Paris just a few days ago on this gift of a trip from my mother. And the financial concerns I returned home to in real life. A primary concern being, how will this affect the kids? Then…

BAM! The sound of the bird’s body came crashing into the window near me like a torpedo. Swooshing down to follow was another bird. This one  just missed  the  window and landed on the first.  The sharp  reverberation snapped me out of my worry spiral.  I was suddenly mesmerized by the  cloud of feathers fluttering around the birds.

Then, stillness.

As my mind took in what had happened I stood up and saw, directly in my line of sight, standing Triumphant on the dove, a hawklike bird of prey. Staring back at me. And just like that, the hawk spread its wings and lifted off with the dove clenched in its talons. 

WOW. Ok what just happened? This is so bizarre and jarring. I left the conference call and walked over to the feathers on the ground and looked around. All was back to normal.

I looked over to the phone and immediately took in the placement of this shocking event. What does this mean? What a shocking display of animal spirit tearing into my experience and interrupting my Darth Vader meeting of darkness that was coming for my soul. Or at least my peace. What synchronicity this was. It felt like a sign. 

So, I looked it up. “What does it mean, spiritually, when you see a hawk take its prey?” Not in my topical  Bible index of course but in the slightly less holy writ of Google. And not to disappoint, one  tradition, with highly ranked first page search engine optimization on Google, believes what I saw,  “… represents abundance, and that you’ll always be able to care for yourself and your family.” 

Okaaaaaaayyyy. Maybe it IS a sign. And  you know what? At this crossroads of cynicism verses belovedness – I’ll take it. Today the Lord speaks in mysterious ways. Today I still have the power to choose Belovedness. Today God reached through the fabric of my normal and used nature to get my attention. “Hey, hey you. I’m still here. You’re still mine. All this is mine. Keep your eyes on me”.

Also, weirder things have happened. So why shouldn’t they happen to me?

But I also know that even without this bird-sign interruption, I would get to remembrance of resting eventually. Yet this sign helped me get there sooner as it felt personal, caring. And maybe there’s a reason for my needing to get there sooner. Maybe my steadiness is needed now. I determine to remember, “I have the power to set the tone. I can show my children we remain Beloved, come what may.”

So many times the pattern in my life has been God sending me signs – reminders of my belovedness. Reminders of whose I am and of what really matters. I choose to take in those synchronicities, signs and wonders. 

I am reminded that, be it little or big problems, short or prolonged, I do not suffer without hope. Hope of the Spirit’s presence with me here and now, within me, even going before me, “Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit says the Lord of hosts”. What a gift! 

Now most of my life my guidance has been found primarily in Scripture or “special revelation”. But sometimes, general revelation speaks a word of truth. Today I am going to let nature, or “general revelation” speak to me. Reveal to me. Shake me out of my doubts and back into Beloved’s Presence. 

PS – Since our larger conversation is also about race and injustice, I want to include that when I hear white people say, “God always takes care of me” that it has given my body a reaction and I think “That might also be because you have historically had many safety nets available to you that minorities have not. So it’s easy for you to say that you magically always come out on top”. And I am aware of how it may sound naive when white people say “God always takes care of me materially”. So I write about my hope and trust while also acknowledging how white people have designed a whole system of safety nets to keep us materially and financially stable more easily. And that feels unfair and unfair to attribute it only to God. So I want to acknowledge the unfairness and realness. And the discomfort I have writing something that could sound or even BE ignorant and unfair. I’m here to hold this up to the light and explore that discomfort with you. 

Staying centered for me is greatly helped by a trifecta of things that combat the anxiety of caring. The tension that can sometimes creep up on me when I want to see changes sooner than they want to come. When people or situations aren’t changing soon enough I feel the tension. Especially if I believe what needs to change is causing pain, harm or the perpetuation of injustice.

PHYSICAL:SPIRITUAL:SOCIAL

PHYSICAL: I find that putting my body through a morning routine gives me the best chance at sustaining my mental energy, clarity, peace and probably a cocktail of calming hormones to boot. Meditation, exercise, cold plunge, vitamins and coffee. If this drops off during a time of stress, then other things begin to de-optimize as well. The world suddenly becomes a more difficult place to maintain optimism in.

SOCIAL: You know those activist friends who just ‘get’ you? It is indescribably life-giving for me to connect with these precious ones over the issue that is troubling me. They ‘get’ me or at least they hear me out with a deep listen and offer of support. And this makes a noticeable difference to my nervous system right away. We do this for each other and over time it becomes like a safety net of support. We hold each other up.

SPIRITUAL: For me, this intellectual-spiritual part is huge. It begins more heady than feely. But it deeply effects the feely parts. Thinking on these larger issues like “Who am I? Why am I here? And why now? What is the world for? Who, what and where is God/Source/Spirit in all this?” matters. Really contemplating these and allowing myself to come to new conclusions over time helps me reconnect with myself and feel connected to the Divine as well. 

When I remember what I believe about who I am and why I came here this helps me stay centered. When I think of how much I’ve changed, this gives me hope that we live in an ever-changing and ever-evolving world where others can change too. In fact, we can’t not change, eventually. 

I’ll briefly summarize what has been calming to me recently. It begins with considering that perhaps before I was born here in this lifetime I was some form of soul-energy with God in God’s place or dimension of heavenly life forces. And at some point we decided that I would come to this place at this time for a purpose that would unfold as my life. The key is that I came not only for the easy parts, but for the whole range of feelings within this experience. 

In short, I have felt both better within the tension and more confidently propelled to act as I have accepted that in this world I will have, see and experience troubles. That trouble and tension are inevitably part of it. And it doesn’t even need to mean I have done something wrong. It just is. Yet I live here in physical form as a learner knowing that I came to experience both joy and pain, both flow and tension. So also, I bear witness to both justice and injustice. It is all here and I came to interact with all of it. Where I choose to focus my energy this time around is my choice. And I will feel better if I focus it on my Main Purpose. Recalibrating to this makes me feel calmed almost immediately. Then I trust that opportunities will come for me to do the next right inspired action toward positive change. 

I also come humbly acknowledging that it is possible that there may have been another time here where I was the oppressor, not yet ready to work on behalf of the oppressed. Considering this likelihood shakes me out of my smug slumber like a cold plunge and helps me seek to understand those around me with both humility and empathy. It does not mean that I excuse injustice. No, it gives me pause enough to be curious about what is going on in ‘the other’ to try and understand it. In understanding, I feel more empowered to help promote shalom more effectively in the situation.  

In my considering my choicefulness in coming here at this time, I have hope. I hope because I have a sense of power over who I become and the spirit in which I choose to live here. I believe that the world does not have to be perfect for me to be able to achieve peace within it. And I try to remember that I am a more effective leader as one centered and in peace. Though I cannot always maintain a peaceful escape from the tensions, I can lean on my practices and trust that rebalance will happen. So I hope as I move forward and rediscover my purpose and my place at this time. It helps me to feel both small in light of time and big in this place at this time. Both ok with being insignificant and yet significantly empowered within to do what is right now.   

My hope returns when I get enough energy going to determine not to give my power away to overwhelm or any condition. I get centered again and feel hope in the knowing of peace unconditionally now. In imagining what I can do about it all now, beginning in me. Of knowing that I can effect changes both within and around me now that will continue to unfold in good ways, laying tracks of positivity into my future.

Hearing the respective stories of Jer and Jesse quickly made me feel inadequate for the work ahead. But I had to remind myself that my journey and my story is uniquely my own. Where I find my place, where I’m rooted, how I see my identity, provide the framework in where I’m called to action. I can’t appropriate the ache and call of others as it wouldn’t be genuine work that I may be called towards. I’m still not sure how to narrow my ache to then provide a clear call. However, I’m learning to sit in this unknown, having hope that as I listen and learn it will one day soon be evident, and I’m quite okay with this.

Perhaps this odd sense of calm in the face of uncertainty comes from my Ash Wednesday self-reflection. Although I may be dust, and one day I will return to dust, following in the way of Jesus still reminds me that my life is not without meaning, but in partnering with Christ and others, something good and life-giving can come if I’m willing to submit. Submit my sense of inadequacy. Submit the idea of not belonging. And submit to whatever else may hinder me from believing that I can do the work of peacemaking in a world that desperately needs it. This leads to a sense of hope. I’m hopeful because of this opportunity.

My friend is 6’4” and has a stride that is twice mine. As we hit the trail together she remarked that she will start slow but almost as soon as she said that, the pace unapologetically quickened. My friend casually mentioned that if we need to slow down, I should just let her know. I internally responded with a “not a chance” even as I was unsure I would be able to keep up both physically with her pace and emotionally with what she needed to process.

At the end of the time I had broken a sweat, been present for my friend and relieved that I had been able to lean into all the at the walk involved.

Heading into this time with Journey of Hope I have had a sense of apprehension. Not sure what is ahead; not sure I can keep up with the pace; not sure I can bring all of who I am to the journey.

Our first season on zoom brought several moments of reassurance and encouraging hope.

In his teaching, Jer said the statement: “Jesus immerses Himself with us at the pace of a walk.”  That phrase: “at the pace of walk” has really stuck with me. In this season of Lent and holding the Ash Wednesday invitation to remember we are dust, the idea of Jesus joining me at my pace, in my brokenness, in my experience, has been comforting.

I hold this comfort while I also mull over the aspect of leadership that involves vulnerability and trust. I can be encouraged in thinking that Jesus won’t out-walk me and leave me in the dust. I can also expect and trust that Jesus will push the pace, increase my heart-rate, and take me to places on the journey that I couldn’t imagine.

The closing breath prayer that Osheta led us in was so fitting: “Prince of Peace, we will follow you.” We get to go on this journey. We get to travel together. We get to follow the Prince of Peace. What a gift.

I am from cots, beds 

And starchy white aprons

I am from ward 8 

Thermometers, bedpans 

And the wireless in the corner 

I am from silent looks 

And pass-it-on clothes

I’m from the Lord is my shepherd

And Amazing Grace,

The Sacred Heart statue

And the Angelus at noon.

I am from the larks

And the pond 

Where Mr Pastry fell. 

I am from Charlie and Maisie 

 From my father’s tin whistle

And my mother’s Irish songs

I am from eggs and black pudding

I am from old, faded photographs

Of family I heard about, but never knew

Of stories I listened to, but never heard

Of dreams that were dreamed, and some lived. 

I am from hope rising. 

Like many, I sit in the morning’s quiet to be reminded of my Belovedness in God.  Fortified with that love and strength, I listen for the ways God invites me to see what is happening RIGHT HERE, and then, to act with compassion.  I listen to hear how God will spark my compassion that I might be moved by what I see and respond with love.

This morning I heard the story of the Good Samaritan at church.  The story is one that has become so familiar that I can fade off in my consciousness.  Almost. Today I was halted by the way it ends: Jesus says, “Go and do Likewise.”  He didn’t say, “After you get your education…” or “After you retire from this job…” or “When you get the chance…”  He said, “Go and do Likewise.”

What if I did?  What if I recognized that I already have everything I need to  “Go and do Likewise”?  I had been searching for the ‘how’ and the ‘where’ and for the ‘new thing’.  Then at Corrymeela, I came to know that my reconciling work has been happening throughout my lifetime.  I credit it to my invitation to sit each morning in the Presence.  Through those morning rendezvous God gave me the gift of healing and reconciliation.  God met me in the silence and reminded me of God’s love and my Belovedness.   I trust it won’t stop.  Because I sit in that space I see it in my life and in my work.  It is manifested within me when I meet people, pray with them, or connect with them–primarily because I am connected to myself and God first. 

When I forget my Belovedness my work becomes a checklist, and my heart is living in a space of scarcity and separation rather than abundance and love. When I remain in an inner space of ‘Oozing Belovedness’ I have what I need to “Go and do Likewise.”

I believe my identity as a reconciling peacemaker encircles entirely around belovedness–in me, and in recognizing it in others with whom I connect.  I must be open to another’s sacred journey by receiving it within me and in my prayer. 

Because God loves me first, I give space for mistakes and own them.

I am grateful for and claim my God-given power, and use it for another’s benefit.

I use affirming language–about myself, others, and my situation.

I ‘make it my business’ to listen with heartfelt compassion to pain, fear, and suffering–however it manifests–and allow it first to inform me, and then lead me through uncharted, scary situations.  I SEE suffering, and respond in quiet ways to acknowledge its depth so hope can birth something new.

I dance unexpectedly, because silliness is good.

And, after considering this question, I realize that what gives me courage to be a Reconciling Leader is knowing that I have done it before and others are doing it also.  Through my experiences I have had the support I need to find strength in the middle of trials, to be vulnerable in the sharing of the story, and to be open to how hope arises from trusting that I am never alone on the Reconciling Journey of Hope.

For a long time before this park existed, a vacant lot sat in its place. It was both an eye sore and a safety hazard, but our neighbors wanted something more. They wanted a safe space for their kids to play. Through the years, different groups of people organized and put in the work in hopes of bringing this park to fruition. Often times, people came in with big visions and a strong belief that this would finally be the time for breakthrough, only to be disappointed by barriers and red tape.

Finally, last year, after all the effort that has been put in and some leverage from a couple City Council members who caught sight of the vision, this long held dream became a reality. This little piece of paradise now sits hidden away in a neighborhood that is often forgotten. The children of those first neighbors to cast the vision are now grown. People have come and gone, never getting to see their dreams realized. The park, one year in, is no longer shiny and new. It holds the scars of our neighborhood, but it also holds the beauty of hope embodied.

This park came to mind as I listened to Ben McBride talk about having a 100-year vision. He challenged us to think not just about the goals that we are seeking to accomplish in the present or near future but to think in terms of what we would hope to see in 100 years. He implored us to think about what it would take to show up to work each day knowing that we’ll probably never see the fulfillment of our vision. As Resmaa Menakem puts it, we’ll see the world we want to live in in three to five generations. This sobering reality brings with it an awareness that true, lasting transformation takes time.

Often times, when we start a new venture, our hope takes the form of rose-colored glasses. We might come in with grand visions and action plans to help us get there. Though we might acknowledge the challenges that lie ahead, we move forward in confidence that our vision will be realized in our lifetime. Maybe this type of hope is necessary in those early stages. We need something to grasp onto and to motivate us. We need a compelling vision to inspire others to join in the work. But if our hope is only centered on the immediate outcomes, those rose-colored glasses will lead to disillusionment as we face the barriers that are sure to arise.

As a peacemaker, the vision of building bridges appeals to me. I desire to be someone who is making connections when the world is pulling us apart. I want to help people see a path forward when they’re stuck focusing on the waters raging before them. It’s a beautiful vision, but bell hooks reminds us that “bridges are made to be walked on.” When we seek to create some sacred space in the middle, people on both sides are going to be skeptical. We have to be prepared to be misunderstood, rejected, and even betrayed.

Jesus warned his disciples before his arrest and crucifixion that because they followed him, the world was going to hate them just as it hated him (John 15:18-16:4). That’s not the type of vision that’s going to draw in the masses. Yet, just as Peter had expressed in John 6:68, after traveling around with Jesus for some time, he and the other disciples were convinced that he had the words of eternal life and that there was nowhere better to turn. They had experienced the beauty and goodness of following in Jesus’ footsteps even when they didn’t understand where they were heading, even when they were bruised and broken along the way.

In order to keep moving forward through the trials and setbacks, our hope must evolve. At some point, we have to take off the rose-colored glasses and choose to take up our cross. We have to die to the illusions we’ve had of ourselves. We have to release our timelines and expectations. We have to trust that the twists and turns and stones that cause us to stumble are leading us to something more beautiful than we could have imagined. And though we might never lay eyes on the fully realized fruit of our labor, each step of the journey matters as we are being made new in the process and paving a path for future generations to walk on.

That’s the hope that I walked away with as we ended Module 3. It’s not a shiny or idealistic hope. It’s raw and honest and becomes more beautiful as it’s embodied.