Rethinking "pastor"

Luba and I have been church hunting here in St. Louis. One aspect of the church is a healthy pastor relationship with his congregation. It’s led me to really think of what I appreciate in a pastor. I no longer need a groundbreaking Sunday sermon. I used to, but I realized I went in to Sunday with the wrong expectations.

I’ve thought about how my perspective of pastors or preachers have changed over the years as I have grown in my faith and that perspective also changed as I got out during the week and USED that Sunday message. In those experiences, the message solidified and were personalized.

I grew up in the Southern Baptist Church. Jesus, to me, was "White" with long silky brown hair. He was so fair and soft-skinned. He probably didn’t even need lotion. Pastors were men (35+ which was old at the time, right?) and Caucasian. They wore suits. They never drank or seemed to have or be a lot of fun. They couldn’t make jokes lest they be offensive or misconstrued. They were addressed as “Brother so-and-so.” They were married to a lovely woman who kept the house, tended the kids and served tirelessly at church. She could also make a mean casserole. No one taught me this and this certainly wasn't the way it was behind closed doors, but this is what I saw so it was what I knew to be true. I knew there were Black pastors but I had never been to a Black church so it didn’t really impact my perspective.

This was my perspective for the duration of my childhood and early adulthood.

I then started at NewSong Church in Irvine, which was predominantly Asian. I met the lead pastor, Dave Gibbons. He was half Korean (I initially questioned the “half” part). Everyone called him Dave. I mean, to his face! Noone had warned him that he needed his Sunday suit. When I met him, he introduced himself as “Dave.” Over the course of the years, I became comfortable with saying “Hi Dave” to which he would respond “Hi Danielle.” He wore jeans. He was hip. He was like a normal person standing on stage. My brain that was filled with expectations and perspectives and experiences melted. He admitted mistakes and fault. He looked at his job as a shepherd, a coach. He challenged the church to even rid themselves of “Sunday” and have church any time outside our building. He cried on stage. I was not used to men showing emotions, much less the “pastor.” I gasped to myself as I began to rebuild my thoughts on “pastor” from the shattered pieces. Which ones fit? Which ones were to be thrown away?

I became close with other pastors on the NewSong team. I had a glass of wine with one and a beer with another. They joked. They laughed. They argued politely. For the first time, a pastor talked with me, not at me. For the first time, pastors encouraged me to ask the hard questions and for the first time, I heard pastors answer with “I don’t know either.” I took off the armor of behaviors and expectations that I wore at church and relaxed. I watched them lead by encouraging and not doing the actual work. They left me room to explore my own gifts, and they appreciated them.

I mean, look at this precious pastor who performed my wedding ceremony:

How much cooler can a “pastor” get? I’ve learned so much through her and much of it has been when she didn’t know anyone was looking. She has phenomenal messages on stage but she also speaks volumes in her actions.

I went to South Africa and visited churches representing different cultures there. I served in multiple ministries and watched young teens provide messages of hope to men and women several years or decades their senior. “Pastor” fit them too. Look at this dear couple -I'm biased because it's my parents-in-law. They pastor a church in Mbekweni, the church I attend when I'm in South Africa. 

Through these interactions with various pastors on staff at my church and in South Africa– both men and women, my image in my mind completely dissolved and did not develop into anything else. The perspective shift in pastors gave me a perspective shift on who God was. I had limited his vastness, his wholeness. God had so many layers and parts to him that I couldn’t even picture it anymore. He was white. He was Korean (I mean, he created that heavenly gift of Korean BBQ and bi bim bap). He was Black. He was SHE. He was feminine. He was fierce. He was kind. He was strong. He was old and he was young. He made jokes and he laughed with delight. He was a kaleidoscope of cultures and faces.

God got bigger and bigger and better and better! How had I missed all this? No one had intentionally set out to limit my perspective. It was just the single story that I knew. He was the character that I knew, and my cast of characters was limited.

During my years at NewSong, I feel like the life I had been leading as a follower was flipped. It was a rebirth. Sometimes the leader is the last line. Sometimes you speak the loudest when you are quiet or say nothing at all. When you find yourself last in line for the wrong reasons, sometimes you just turn around and become the leader.

It was through all of these experiences that I discovered this other precious member of the priesthood:

ME!

The priesthood that dwells in me had been awakened. I could also shepherd. I could lead. I could be the one that makes the difference in one’s life – I didn’t have to bring someone to church, I was the church. I play a crucial role in the Kingdom. I began to see church as my filling place and the work was done outside of the Sunday service. Oh and Sunday service? It is not an absolute. Maybe one gains a better closeness in nature sometimes. What works for one may not work for another – what is important is the relationship and what yield closeness and spiritual growth.

Now as I search for a pastor, I look for an encourager, a coach. I appreciate a good lesson on Sunday but I know the rest of the message comes when I activate it. The pastor is not there to carry my weight, tell me everything to do (the Bible already tells me), pray for every single problem that I have of which I’m not doing anything about, or conform to my perspective of scripture. He is support staff. He is a catalyst to set off a reaction that WE carry out. Sunday is our time to fuel up before our missions throughout the week.

I hope as I grow a family, my children have multiple images and experiences of who God is. It is up to me to provide multiple experiences, a diverse cast of characters, and an acceptance of a unique experience.

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. 1 Peter 2:9

Why don’t you thank your pastor today? What can YOU do for him? Here are a few ideas:

• Cook a meal for his family and DROP IT OFF – don’t stay and ruin the peace
• Send a card telling them what they mean to you - one to EACH if for the couple
• Babysit their kids so they can go out alone to a non-church function
• Give a gift certificate to a restaurant or something fun
• Give the wife or (woman) pastor a candle, bracelet or something she can enjoy that doesn’t have bible verses. It’s like being a educator….we like things without apples or children sometimes 
• Tithe- if you don't, you are taking from the church. We leave filled every Sunday. We appreciate the pastor and other support staff that cares for our children. we'll pay the daycare providers during the week, why not Sundays? We often go to counseling or other support groups but we don't think about the fact that we are abusing a system. If you benefit, give back. If you don't benefit, still give so others who don't have financial resources can receive. Tithing pays salaries. For some churches, funding from resources are coming out of the pastor's empty pockets. 
• Change your perspective and expectations.
• Pray for THEM - they have the same struggles, hopes, temptations, worries as all of us

 Also, please don’t forget the wife (or husband). SHE may not have signed up for this job initially and she should not have to live in a glass house. I think women especially have a difficult time due to gender (and other) expectations that WE place. She carries the weight with and of her husband (or HE carries the weight of his pastor WIFE).

Go love your pastor,

Danielle

PS:

This lovely pastor April wrote a book about working with youth. Maybe gift that to your local youth pastor or read it if you work with youth. Click here for her website.

Dave has a few books out. The Monkey and the Fish really changed my outlook on the Church and he has now released his latest book. Find out more by clicking here.

Follow up to an old post

In May, I posted THIS blog so pop back there and read it for an overview and then come back.....

Back?

A lot of this idea birthed after one single experience one Sunday evening. I went for a walk around the neighborhood. Pain and loneliness crept up as I walked down the street smelling dinner cooking, hearing the clanking of dishes and tables being set, and chatter from groups of people congregated within the walls. Those are such sounds of joy to be celebrated. But, as joyous as they are, they come with another side of the coin. Sunday night seems to be the slow time of the week. Families are spending time together. People are preparing for Monday. It seems to me to be one of the most painful nights of the week as a single person. Less is going on that invites you in like a Friday or Saturday. You are anticipating the busy-ness of the work week that catapults you through to the next Friday/Saturday. I began to hurt for others who don't know anyone to share a Sunday night with. I even ached for those who don't know the pain that is out there and that are unaware of the key to happiness they hold.  I knew that WE need to create a space to allow both to come together to see what they have to offer. Each can make a change and create a chain reaction.

So after much prayer, preparation and numerous divine confirmations, this group launched September 7! Seven women committed to 5 months of meeting to "do" community at the table. I knew some of the seven, and some I had never met. The group is so mixed with each woman so fabulous in her own way bringing something so unique to the table.

I dare not give much detail regarding the introduction or the upcoming nights for fear of spoiling the surprise for future participants and being able to change as the Spirit leads. I'll give an overview of the introduction. If you are ever interested in doing this and are not local, please email me and I'll share what I have so far and what has worked!

We plan to meet 5 times: introduction & for each part of the book, Bread and Wine by Shauna Niequist

table for 8 ready to go....

each person carefully & prayerfully chosen 

special home made plates for special people for special occasions: I believe in birthdays. I believe each person should be celebrated. We never get tired of being set apart, right? Why stop traditions at adulthood?

recipe & ingredients basket for South African Smoors

recipe & ingredients for South African yellow rice

 recipe & ingredients for dessert (Malva Pudding, a South African dish)

busy at work: 

measuring, mixing, simmering serving as a platform for organic conversation & laughter

As of now, this is something that we are planning to do twice a year, each time with a different group of women. The hope is that by learning and doing, women will feel comfortable launching off to do a variation of this on their own. Love will spread, one kitchen at a time. One table at a time.

We all left with full hearts and full bellies.

Invite a friend over for dinner this week. It doesn't have to perfect. They may not accept but I promise he or she will not forget the gesture.

Love,

Danielle

The Church as a Mother

Recently, I was flipping through my journal and came across this picture....

Today, I came to mind so I flipped back to look at it. I'm not sure when I wrote this or why, or if a post was in the works in my soul, but it's there from maybe 6 months ago. As I thought of mothers today, both my own and those who have served as a mother to me in some capacity, I thought of NewSong as a mother.

The sentence is true: I LOVE this church, and by church, I mean the people, my community.

Like a mother, it has pushed me to be more than I thought I could be. I remember the first day I walked in to this church. I was timid. I barely spoke. I stuck out like a sore thumb (less white people circa 2003). I sat on the back row. I felt shame having been out of church and deep in sin for a long time. I loved my first time and have hardly missed a Sunday since. It was exactly what I had dreamed of when I was younger but had given up in finding. This church embraced me. It wiped away the fear, tears, shame and other emotions that had been bottled up inside and comforted me, just like my mother would have done. While it hoped for more from me, it met me where I was. With encouragement and resources, it has shaped me to be who I am today and prepared me to be more that I have yet to realize or see unfold. It recognized me as a leader before I did and gave me opportunities to lead when I did not believe I had the tools or was the right fit. I've been gently reminded here of what I need to "do" or "change" to be more in tune with God without feeling condemnation. I've felt that no matter how much I screw up within or outside of the building, I'll be accepted and loved. And just like my real mama, I can say something about her but if YOU do, "them's fightin' words." 

Sometimes, I look around and am immediately teary-eyed seeing the extraordinary people that are part of this community--many I know personally and some whose stories I only know. I see my personal heroes in families that have adopted or fostered. I see the mother with children with disabilities who provides hope and encouragement for others. I see the physician who built an agency to help pregnant women with alternatives to abortions. I see pastors who are tangible and believe in the congregation as being priests. I see the group that visits Mexico monthly despite warnings to love and bring joy to the children in the orphanage. Everywhere, you can't move without bumping into Heaven on earth. You can't slip through the hallways without brushing up against one or many of God's hands and feet.

I'm surrounded by people who have walked hard roads, roads that are often avoided for an easier path, but they are transparent and vulnerable along their journeys. They share not only the ending, but the details of their struggles. People have bid farewell to that facade that is too often worn in churches. When I've had a dream that sometimes felt farfetched and out of my realm of ability, I've not heard "Let me know if you need help" but instead I have heard "You can do this! How can I help you?" For those that have said this, thank you. Your words have given me life.

If you are out there and looking for a church with an authentic community who isn't afraid to get messy with you in life's ups & downs, check us out. It doesn't matter how long you've been out of church, how many Saturday nights that you cap off with regret or shame, how deep in sin or despair you are, there is a place for you here. I know this, because there was a place for me. You can find more info here and here.

PS. My seat on the back row is available. I'm in the front.

Love, 

Danielle

Silence IS golden

Several of you have asked about my recent Silence & Solitude retreat so I thought I’d just answer here.

Last weekend (Thurs/Fri), 15 of us traveled to Valyermo to St. Andrew’s Abbey which is a Benedictine monastery. 

I know, I know. The first word that comes to your mind right after “WHY?!?!?” is “AWKWARD.”

I jumped at the idea of going on this retreat. It was a close one. There was a max of 15, and after some deliberation about the timing and use of vacation hours, I signed up as number 15! The pace at which I “do life,” along with the fact that I run on autopilot often not remembering the night before or driving to /from work, drove my desire to embark upon a forced halt in speed. I wanted to go somewhere slightly uncomfortable and less familiar so that I was dependent. I knew I had to get away from my resources so that I did not “cheat” [mind you, the phone had NO service here so cheating was taken out of the equation]. I had no idea CA even had towns like Valyermo. My soul craved what it needed: simplicity and a slow pace.

After a brief introduction by the monk who is the guest master, we bid farewell to “words” for almost 24 hours. We each had our own room and plenty of acreage to roam. The monks had services around 5 times per day, all in which we could participate if we chose. I went to the conventional mass and vespers.

The monks' day generally looks something like this:

  

6:00 a.m. VIGILS, the first communal prayer of the day 

           6:30-7:30 lectio divina

           7:30 LAUDS, (Morning Prayer) 

           8:00 Silent breakfast 

           8:30-11:30 Class and study for the formation group; assigned work for others 

           12:00 CONVENTUAL MASS 

           1:00 p.m. Lunch with the guests 

           1:30-4:00 Assigned work

           4:00-5:30 Study, rest, or exercise 

           5:30 lectio divina 

           6:00 VESPERS, (Evening Prayer)

           6:30 Dinner in silence

           8:00-8:30 Community recreation 

           8:30 COMPLINE, (Night Prayer) 

Meals were spent in silence. Literally, no one spoke to each other although we passed each other often. For me, this was not hard at all. I love spending time in my thoughts, listening to my inner voice and rhythm, but I love having others around me. I don’t believe that people should always be polluting the air with words simply because they feel awkward. I think my time of singleness has well prepared me for this. I find comfort in solitude.  The monk made a point of how we panic with silence. I see that as true. Have you noticed that people say random S#$& when there’s more than 4 seconds of silence? Things they may never normally say? People even repeat something that they have already said though they didn’t even need to say it. Silence is awkward for a lot of people.

What did I do the whole time?

After checking in to the room and putting my things away, I dove right in and went to the conventional noon mass followed by lunch. 

To be honest, priority #1 was rest. Rest is essential for good listening. After I awoke from a 2-hour drool-fest nap, I walked around and then went to the evening service and meal. I started to get really worried that I may not sleep after that coma. 

When I returned to my room after the meal, I attempted to take advantage of a “quiet time.” I retreated to my room and sat in a rocking chair (proof that God loves me, oh how I love rockers). 

Because I was at a retreat through church, I felt like I should do something “holy.” I opened my bible but found myself at a loss of where to begin. Nothing came to mind. I had no structure of anything I should be reading. Suddenly, I just felt a reminder that it is acceptable, appropriate even, to be directionless. I put aside the bible and I opened my journal to catch any thoughts and donned my iPod. One minute faded into another and soon I had watched night envelope day. I had spent 3 solid hours just rocking and listening to some of my favorite worship music.  I just felt the word “beloved” come to mind, over and over and over for hours. I was reminded that I could have been born at any time in history, but I was chosen for THIS time. As a Christian, I am reminded that I am a daughter of a King. I am chosen to take my place in a royal lineage that spans years before my birth. I am created for Kingdom work.  I was reminded of one of my favorite heroines Esther when she was appointed at such a critical time in Esther 4:14, “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” My place and my importance was palpable. 

After night fell, I opted to go to a quick service by one of our pastors at 9:15. Others had opted to go to the night service. I fell asleep AGAIN on the couch sitting straight up while waiting in the dark room for the message to begin. What?!?! Maybe I wouldn’t have trouble sleeping after all that night…Exactly, I returned to my room and immediately slept. All night. Longer than usual. Longer than my ridiculous body clock typically allows.

I went to breakfast and then what? Went back to my room for ANOTHER nap before check out! [By the way, the first thing I did when I got home about 2PM, was NAP!]

Thoughts that emerged from the silence? Here are a few things that had come to my mind by the conclusion of the 24-ish hours:

It’s amazing how your other senses fill in the gap when you are silent. I heard so many sounds and so many “quiet” unnoticed sounds seemed loud such as the wind rustling through the trees, the sound of dried leaves scraping past on the ground, ripples of water moving as the ducks paddle by, footsteps, and bird chirps and caws. 

I also noticed the sound of my own hunger as my stomach began to growl. I allowed it to go on for a short while before getting a snack. I was thankful that this is a feeling I do not have often. It’s a reminder of dependence and gratitude. It’s a reminder for my brothers and sisters out there (including in this country) who feel this daily, sometimes most of the day, with no certainty of an upcoming meal or snack.

The food at meal time was some of the best food we have eaten. When you are not talking, you really do taste each bite. We all chewed more slowly. With each bite, we tasted our food. We were thankful for each bite. We were present for the process.

There was a kindness and understanding that felt tangible as we shared a meal. We didn’t speak, ever, but we made more eye contact. There was an unexplainable connectedness, which is something that most people mentioned during a “debrief.” I noticed more about each person, and I was thankful for each one. We communicated so much nonverbally. I felt smiles and expressions of understanding and encouragement. 

When we so break silence if and when we are silent, there is a deeper respect for “words” and we tend to make better choices regarding how to best use them.

I would highly recommend going to a monastery for a retreat such as this one or even leaving all technology behind and checking in to a hotel by the beach or in the mountains for 24 hours [but no cheating!]. I know it sounds weird to some people, but we should invest in ourselves more. Many on this trip stated that they wished it had been longer. For married women and mothers, I think you need this to invest in yourselves and your families. It’ll also give you time to feed your soul and to both reclaim and celebrate your identity as touched upon here in my last post. 

Be Silent. Enjoy. You won't regret it. [No, you won't giggle either] 

Ssssssh!
Danielle

 The rooms had twin beds for sharing but each of us stayed one per room to maximize the opportunity.

 simple

Orphan Sunday

I write this post with a heavy heart yet completely overwhelmed with gratitude. Today was Orphan Sunday at church, perhaps my favorite day of the year aside from Easter Sunday. We had the most beautiful service that destroyed me in a good way. It was the perfect "last Sunday" before traveling to South Africa.

The statistics can be overwhelming. What I love is as I'm looking at the speaker that is giving statistics and scriptures, I see past him to familiar faces that I know from the Village or elsewhere that have stood in the gap for the faces that represent the easy-to-forget statistics. They've sacrificed so much to have adopted, fostered, or advocated for these children. They have been my heroes who have made themselves available and transparent to answer my questions for my own journey. 

I thought about my own journey and how I do not know the steps, but I know that I am obedient and am walking with purpose. It makes me wonder if my heart is heavier today because "Shorty" is out there already and our stories are being written but have not yet merged. Sometimes I feel crazy but at times, I pray that if "Shorty" IS out there, then he/she is protected and safe as possible at this time and that he/she feels hope that circumstances will change.

As service ended, I checked my phone to see that a family I love dearly had donated to South Africa with the EXACT message I needed to hear at that moment: We love and support you.

After service, I wanted to hide in my car in fear of the "ugly cry" erupting as thoughts from service swirled and emotions stirred. Instead, my cup overflowed more and I had people to see. I met up with a friend who passed on her PECS book for me to share and donate in South Africa. I collected a trunk full of recycling from another friend (and South Africa alum). I grabbed 7-8 requested items to purchase for a child in foster care for Christmas on behalf of my friends who choose to love children in need. As soon as I got in the car, huge tears of joy flooded.

Today, love was tangible. It was heavy. It's not Monday yet but I already have a love hangover.

Thank you for a cup that continually overflows,

Danielle

Project: Redemption

I sit here on Easter, my favorite holiday, in awe of the people that have built a community around me on the pre-adoption journey. I posted a few blogs ago about my village that is living intentionally with me. It continues to grow. I continue to be blessed. People continue to use their gifts to contribute in a variety of ways. God continues to whisper messages of encouragement and has become my biggest cheerleader [with my mother being 2nd].

I'm more humbled because I realize: this is just the beginning.

As I've mentioned before, my first priority is to kick my debt's ass this year. I'm focused. My job is to put every penny I can into that direction. In the meantime, God fills my adoption fund little by little. We're double teaming--as long as I do mine, He does His.

I'm a paycheck to paycheck person sticking everything left over toward debt repayment, most of which is from graduate school. Who knew it'd cost so much to be this smart?!?! I am enrolled in the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace University and have been working on a budget, etc. as part of the class. I noticed that last month, I somehow, paid an extra $800 toward my debt in addition to my usual $1200 payment. How'd that happen?!?! I do remember saying a VERY lengthy prayer begging that my money be stretched in a way that is unfathomable to me. Maybe God answered that one before the short one begging to win the lottery. Everything seemed to be going along in line with my financial "norm." Anyway, noticing that error felt good ,and I was accidentally one step closer.

How is recycling going, you ask? So far, it has added $166.99 to the fund since the end of January. Along with gifts and my own monthly contribution, the "Get Shorty" fund has $704.49 in it. All the while, I've been blessed and confirmed in random ways.

One incident (that I know isn't merely coincidence) that stuck out was a friend's contribution of two LARGE bags of plastic bottles and aluminum cans. One was so big that it wouldn't even fit in the trunk. After I left recycling and went to brunch on Friday, I saw and thanked this friend again for the two bags. She said that her husband brought one of the bags home. At work, someone was loading his truck and could not fit everything in and asked her husband if he could leave the bag of recycling there for him to deal with. That bag, along with another bag she brought, were the two that put me over the edge for money earned that day.





I've loved this project for so many reasons. It has been humorous as I've made my way to the recycling center in Santa Ana weekly during the morning commute traffic on the 55S on Friday mornings. I can feel the stares of the people in the cars beside me as I dare not look anywhere but straight ahead. This past Friday was the best. I had my back seat full, my trunk so full that I had to sit on it to close it, and my passenger seat full with 3 bags. My purse had to sit in my lap between my person and the steering wheel because there was no room....anywhere! I drove through Chick-fil-A for a burrito and ate it en route to the recycling center. I'm sure the man in the truck next to me on the on-ramp thought I was a pig AND a hoarder.

the backseat


the front seat

Again, thank you everyone for your contributions whether it be recycling, donations, words of encouragement, advice, or connections with another person.

Love, Danielle

Redemption

First of all, thank you for your continued efforts in recycling!! To date, you have put $111.31 in the adoption fund in just 5 quick trips! Not bad for not even shelling out any coins or cash, right?

As I’ve mentioned before, each trip to the recycling center evokes a different thought or emotion. Something new hits me every time I’m there. It’s as if this is another one of those totally random places God chooses to speak to me the loudest (remember the treadmill in Austin? Yeah, we got a funky-cool relationship going on). For practical purposes, I’m conscious of separating items with “CRV” into specific containers as they yield a higher refund than others. Items must have CA CRV printed on the label which means “California Redemption Value,” meaning the price the recycling center will pay to consumers.

For a couple of trips, that word “redemption” has persisted in my mind as I’ve filled containers and turned in items that can be made into something new—things that won’t be discarded and left as waste, unused for years. Each item has a “value.” A few weeks ago, another friend mentioned this theme as well so that was my validation to continue soaking in it.

Dictionary.com defines “redemption” as the following:

• act of paying off a debt
• deliverance; rescue
• deliverance from sin
• atonement for guilt
• repurchase, as of something sold
• paying off, as of a mortgage, bond, or note
• recovery by payment, as of something pledged

Similarly, this word has specific meaning in the Christian world. Basically, Jesus was sent to the cross to “buy us out” so that we, as believers, are no longer enslaved to sins or Old Testament laws. 

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.” Romans 3:23-24

“Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: “Cursed is everyone who is hung on a pole.” Galatians 3:13

When I think of the redemption of these items, I am reminded that we are made new. Despite anything we’ve done or do, we are made new through that relationship. 

2 Corinthians 5:17 comes to mind: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!”

I pray and think through what will be redeemed in the timing unknown to me but inevitably part of my journey and “our story.” Possibly years of waiting for a family [on both parts of this equation]…redeemed. Pain through the years and process…redeemed. A child’s suffering from past experiences…redeemed. Sacrifice and efforts to pursue financial goals in order to complete this process…redeemed.

I thank you so immensely for coming along on this wild and crazy [and many times, nonsensical] journey!

Love,

Danielle

P.S. I thought I'd list a few recycling facts that I found on the CA.Gov Recycling website:

• In California, nearly 22 billion California Refund Value (CRV)-eligible containers were sold in 2009.
• Of those, more than 17 billion were recycled!
• And the nearly 4 billion that ended up in landfills? You could use them to fill every lane of the entire 770-mile length of Interstate 5...almost a foot deep.
• Since more than 4 billion bottles and cans ended up in the landfill, nobody claimed the CRV on them. How much CRV? More than $100 million worth!
• CRV is 5¢ for bottles and cans less than 24 ounces, and 10¢ for larger ones.
• CRV refunds are available to anyone--consumers, companies, or nonprofits--who returns bottles and cans to a recycling center.
• By eliminating the need to manufacture new products from raw materials, recycling reduces energy use, in turn reducing carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gasses in the air.
• For every 10 pounds of aluminum you recycle, you eliminate 37 pounds of carbon emissions from the air.
• For every 10 pounds of clear plastic water or soda bottles, 3.3 pounds of carbon emissions disappear.
• And although glass bottles are a lot heavier, each 10 pounds recycled still reduces carbon by nearly a pound.
• In a landfill, aluminum cans take 80-100 years to break down.
• Plastic bottles hang around as long as 700 years.
• Glass bottles spend 1 million years waiting around to decompose.

ONE

As I’m sitting on my bed in the midst of a horrific round of the flu choosing between golf or basketball on the TV because we have no cable, my brain starts going at an astronomical speed, hitting me all of a sudden, processing the power and theme of ONE in my journey.

The thoughts starting coming this week mid-week and began over recycling. Yes, recycling is turning my world upside down in the most intangible and tangible ways. I’ve loved growing my recycling community (for background on that: visit here or why I’m even doing this: visit here) and I love love love being presented with "treasures," other people’s trash! Did I just write that?! I love it because it means they thought of me, they thought of the less fortunate—the orphaned, and they thought of my journey and they showed me in a tangible way. It also gives them a way to help ONE child—my future daughter. Because statistics are gripping but overwhelming, it is easy to brush them off because its just too hard to do something about it. This week, the word /image of ONE keeps popping in my head as I choose how to spend money, pick up and save an extra bottle, or take a bag of recyclables from a co-worker or friend. I love how this recycling project is giving everyone a chance to be involved, and I know it is going to show my entire village how when we work together we move mountains.I also firmly believe that when a dream is placed in your heart, God sees it to fruition. Once a leap of faith is taken, things start to fall into place.

I was reminded of this mid-week in the midst of my own negligence. I was leaving work and saw 2 small bags of shredded paper. Normally, I snatch this up on my way out and happily throw it in the trunk. On this day however, I was just tired. I could feel sickness coming on in my lungs. It had been a long day. My arms were full. That extra trip to the car, I felt, would just do me in and be the straw that broke the camel’s back. So, I left it. I hesitated, but I left it. On my way home, as I often do while driving, I felt a dialogue with God brewing:

God: You should have taken the paper.

Me: I know but it was just 2 small bags. I won’t miss it. I’ll make up for it next time. It won’t happen again. That was stupid, I know, because it broke my diligence. I've been saving everything in sight.

God: It’s not about the paper. Remember my 2 mantras I planted in your thick skull? Be expectant. Be intentional. You doubted. I’m in the small stuff, and I grow the small stuff into large stuff. Everything is a gift in this village. When you overlook one can or one bottle because it doesn’t seem significant or enough, you overlook one person who wants to be part of your village or prevent me from doing my job. What if I looked at your offerings the same way? 

I felt bad over the paper. I could feel the words “Be intentional” as I walked by the paper, leaving it. I know that you may be thinking "Its just paper," but it's not.

I realized that it is the people behind this project—not the actual number of recyclables, type, etc. that matter. I’m asking to build a village and people are coming forward. I remind myself: Honor it. Be supported. Appreciate it. The cans and bottles and “things” are tangible ways I’m being shown love and support. 

When I went in to work the next morning and flipped on my light, tears started to spring. Those two little bags of trash were sitting under my desk. A co-worker had seen them and put them in my room so that they wouldn't be discarded. She had no idea that I had left them there purposefully (and with later regret). My heart overflowed at that moment. The tiniest act of love can mean the most. [Muchas gracias, Alicia, te amo!] It was yet another reminder that there will be times on this journey that I’m just tired, but I have a community walking alongside me. 

I wanted to give you a little update. So far, with recycling alone, I’ve added $75 to my “adoption” savings account in less than a month! I'm working on babysitting rates so I haven't sent that out yet--many of you have asked.

Want to join my village of recyclers and supporters? I take the following "gifts of love" for recycling:

• Aluminum cans
• Beer and wine bottles
• Glass bottles of drinks or spaghetti sauce
• Tin cans (soup) – I wash mine out then send them through a ride in the dishwasher
• Newspapers
• Plastic water / Gatorade bottles / large water bottles (lids/tops can be on them)
• Plastic juice jugs (if it’s not CA CRV, they take them at a reduced rate)
• Shredded office paper (not loose office paper)

I keep it in the garage or in my trunk so you can give it to me along the way as you get it or save up and give me a larger bag. I am going to the recycling center once every other week or so. I’ll take it when it’s easy for you!

So, go ahead and drink that bottle of beer or finish off that bottle of wine because you deserve it. Give a thought or send a prayer out for the orphaned, and toss the bottle/can into a bag for me.

Also, feel free to pass along my blog to someone you know or collect recycling at your work and allow others to be part of this project. I have a bin right outside my door to make it easy for co-workers to participate. You can even get free containers at this website.

What else am I doing? 

Filling my piggy bank! All that loose change goes into the pig. I’ve emptied it once and deposited $42.

Oh, and the last thing I’m doing?

Being expectant. Being intentional. Every cent counts. Every can has worth. Every person bearing a bag of “stuff” makes up my village. We will change the life for ONE.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Danielle