top 10 reads of 2018

If you’ve known me for any period of time, you probably know I’m a book girl.  Reading has been my go-to down time activity since childhood. 

As a kid, I would read before bed, on car trips, in tree branches, at grandparents’ houses, and even on horseback.  I remember staying up on Christmas night each year pouring over whatever new literary acquisition had made its way into my stack of gifts earlier in the day. (I am particularly fond of all the Christmases spent romping through Hogwarts with Harry, Ron, and Hermione as a young teen… thank you from the bottom of my heart, Ms. Rowling.)

In recent years, graduate school has sucked most of my reading time into a theological vortex of textbooks and Biblical commentaries (which, admittedly, I still love).  Thankfully, though, a super awesome group of book club ladies has kept me connected to fun reading.  Given the many nights of wine and great discussions we’ve had, I thought I’d put together a list of my Top 10 Favorite Reads of this year (because why not, right?).

So, without further ado, here it is—absolutely not exhaustive, and in no particular order, but some fun recommendations and reflections nonetheless J

1.  The Nightingale, by Kristin Hannah  

“In love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are.”

Wade through the daily perils of German-occupied France in WWII through the eyes of two sisters—Vianne and Isabelle Rossignol—who have vastly different personalities and ways of coping with their present dangers.  One is practical, the other is impetuous; both demonstrate the power of ordinary women in extraordinary circumstances.

I am in love with this novel.  Kristin Hannah does a masterful job of developing what is clearly a well-researched, dramatic historical fiction.  All of her characters and story plot lines are well-rounded and complex, and fitted with moments that made me wonder if I would have the same type of courage were I in their shoes.  I don’t often read books a second time, but I will definitely come back to this one at some point down the road. 

2.  Beartown, by Fredrik Backman

“The very worst events in life have that effect on a family: we always remember, more sharply than anything else, the last happy moment before everything fell apart.”

Fredrik Backman might be one of my new favorite novelists of all time.  This is the second book of his that I’ve read (after A Man Called Ove), and it is phenomenally real and raw and especially timely in 2018. 

Beartown is set in Backman’s home country of Sweden, and is the name of a small town tucked into the woods, whose only real claim to fame is its boy’s hockey team.  However (*without giving too much away*), the town is shaken when events at a high school party turn into a ‘he-said-she-said’ and threaten the hopes and futures of its citizens.  This story explores community, loyalty, sexuality, shame, and relationships.  Every character has a story, and every choice has a cost.  No matter your background, I highly recommend it!

3.  What is the Bible? How an Ancient Library of Poems, Letters, and Stories Can Transform the Way You Think and Feel About Everything, by Rob Bell

“I kept repeating this truth that the Bible was written by humans because when you start there, and you go all the way into the humanity of this library of books, you just may find the divine.  And when you do, you will have gotten there honestly.”

I’ve already written an entire post inspired by this particular book (you can read it here).  But basically, this is a great place to start for anyone who wants a quick overview of all the craziness that happens in the Bible. 

The book is packed with more questions and answers—which is not a bad posture to take when you’re dealing with a text that spans thousands of years, hundreds of characters, and a multitude of theological claims.  Bell attempts to give a fresh look at the depth and breadth of the Bible; and I especially appreciated his take that one must inevitably go through what is human (whether that be stories in Scripture, the person of Jesus, or our own human experience) to encounter the One who is divine.

4.  Waking Up White, by Debby Irving

“…people are not born racist.  Racism is taught, and racism is learned.”

Race and racism are difficult, but incredibly important, topics in our culture today.  For those of us white people who have grown up with the privilege of never having to think about our own race, Debby Irving has written an impactful and very approachable memoir on the subject.  The book gives an overview of systemic racism and the history of dominant white culture in the U.S. and is packed with Irving’s honest personal experience.  Whether you’re actively allied against racism in America or you’ve hardly given thought to the subject, I absolutely recommend this book.  (Our church read it for Lent, and I’ve already touted it to many of our family members and peers.)  So good for anyone wanting to gain new insight or an honest perspective on race and loving one’s neighbors.

5.  Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott

“Here are the two best prayers I know:  ‘Help me, help me, help me,’ and ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’”

I had heard about this book for many years before I actually read it, and I’m so glad I finally did!  Anne Lamott is funny, thoughtful, and brutally honest about the challenges of life and the journey of faith.  She writes about her experiences of childhood, grief, her church community, and being a parent in ways that are simultaneously humorous and gut-wrenching.  Her writing is clever, and her relationship with God is relatable to anyone who has ever wrestled with the concepts of love and mercy.  Loved it and looking forward to reading more!

6.  Of Mess and Moxie: Wrangling Delight Out of This Wild and Glorious Life, by Jen Hatmaker

“”…the truth is, most of life is pretty ordinary, so it is precisely inside the ordinary elements, the same ones found the world over—career, parenting, change, marriage, community, suffering, the rhythms of faith, disappointment, being a good neighbor, being a good human—that an extraordinary life exists.”

Jen Hatmaker is every woman’s favorite sister.  I laughed so hard I cried while reading this book, and Matt started wondering what on earth was wrong with me.  It was a great beach read on our family vacation last summer, and I even took it a second time on a road trip with a girlfriend to read aloud… and we cracked up all over again. 

The book is a compilation of short chapters that highlight the struggles and successes of womanhood in all its glory—broken up by sections of “how-to” lists that satirize the everyday challenges of family life.  From exercising to parenting, and Texas football to the difficulty of forgiveness, her writing left me nodding my head and desiring to own my own intrinsic value in all its messy packaging.

7.  When Breath Becomes Air, by Paul Kalanithi

“…even if I’m dying, until I actually die, I am still living.”

Another memoir that grabbed me this year, this book comes from a writer-turned-neurosurgeon-turned-cancer-patient who struggled with life and death in a variety of ways before it became his own personal battle.  If you cry during books, you will cry by the end… but it’s still very much worth reading.  What happens when the doctor becomes the patient, and has to face his own mortality?  The book shows you how to face questions of meaning, and how to appreciate the life you get to live while you get to live it. 

8.  Bread and Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table (with Recipes), by Shauna Niequist

“It’s about the ways God teaches and nourishes us as we nourish the people around us, and about hunger, both physical and otherwise, and the connections between the two.”

This was the book this year that made me want to sit around my dining room table and enjoy real food and real conversation and real laughter with the people I love most.  Bruschetta and cheese and wine, or frozen pizza and tap water—it doesn’t matter.  The point is hospitality, and sustaining our souls with community while we sustain our bodies with the food that God provides. 

I was encouraged when reading this to slow down for a minute and give myself space and permission to be in the kitchen, learning how to do something new, and recognizing the art of feeding myself and other people as valuable in and of itself (and not this thing I have to do three times every freaking day in order to do all the other more important things.)  Bread and wine, bread and wine, bread and wine—a sacramental practice built into our everyday lives.  How great is that?  

9.  Here If You Need Me, by Kate Braestrup

“I’m not really here to keep you from freaking out.  I’m here to be with you while you freak out, or grieve or laugh or suffer or sing.  It is a ministry of presence.”

Kate Braestrup is a chaplain for the Maine Game Warden Service—the troopers responsible for search and rescue missions.  She tells the story of losing her husband and taking up his mantle to become a chaplain, and about the ways she ministers to terrified family members when a loved one is lost.  It was a fantastic read for me in my preparation for ministry, and I think it’d be a great one for anyone else interested in how to be with others in the midst of uncertainty or loss.

10.  Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott

“I’ve got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the door remains to be seen.” 

I fully realize the classics are not everyone’s cup of tea… but for my part, I enjoyed re-reading this book over Christmas break.  It had been so long I’d forgotten the story; and though the language and revelries and objectives of the characters show the book’s age, it was refreshing to be pulled back into a simpler time. 

The book follows the four March sisters and their closest family and friends as they grow up in the 1860’s and beyond.  Jo and Marmee were clear favorite characters, and the book had some good lessons on family bonds, working honestly, and pursuing virtue.  Not everyone will love it, but it is a classic and worth a read (especially with the new movie coming out soon!)

There you have it—a few of the favorites from this year.  Looking forward to reading more in 2019 and would love any wonderful recommendations!  Happy reading, everyone.

on running and marathons

It doesn’t make sense, this thing Matt and I keep doing.  We call it “running”—putting one foot in front of the other in relatively quick fashion for an extended period of time.  Honestly, in our case it’s more of a hopeful jog with a generous number of walk breaks and no small amount of swearing at hills.  But why do it? 

People ask me this all the time.  I ask myself even more often.  Why would a person do this bizarre, difficult thing?  It’s not as though I like to run.  (I run away from the crazy people who like to run… we do not understand each other.)  

Running is exhausting.

It’s sweaty. 

It’s time-consuming. 

It’s completely unnecessary given all other possible modes of modern transportation. 

I’ve gotten black toenails, underarm chafing (chafing is the worst!), hyponatremic dehydration, and Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome in my right knee.  I can think of just about every reason there is to NOT do this exact thing that we keep doing.  So why—why do we keep doing this bizarre, difficult thing? 

Honestly?  I think it’s contagious.

Matt’s dad started running in his twenties, and has completed nine marathons and numerous half marathons thus far.  One day in college, Matt started running with him.  And shortly after that, Matt talked me into running, too.  And then we ran-walked this 12K race called Bloomsday in Spokane, twice.  And all of a sudden, we started training for a half marathon the summer after graduation.  And here’s the thing—Matt finished his training and ran that half marathon with his dad, and I did not.  I got up to three miles in the summer heat and gave up.  It was awful and I couldn’t do it.  (I didn’t realize at the time that I had terrible shoes and that running in cotton tank tops was also a major no-no, but that’s beside the point.)  I felt completely defeated and out of shape and embarrassed. 

It took another two years and a wedding ring to convince me to try again.  Matt had already run his first marathon in that time, and the peer pressure (or “encouragement,” as he called it) finally got to me.  Go figure that this time we were running at five thousand feet in elevation, but still—we started training again for the same race I had quit on last time.  About a third of the way through our first four-mile run, Matt felt a sharp pain in his left knee (which we later found out was an IT Band injury that took quite a while to heal) and had to walk back home.  I finished that run on my own, and had to continue running on my own throughout the summer.  And I realized something:  I had spent a lot of mental time and energy comparing myself to my husband.  I thought I was never going to be as in shape and athletic as him, always just trying to “keep up.”  I believed running was “his thing,” and that I was slowing him down.  That summer I found out that I had it in me—I, of all people, could be a runner.  I could go distances I never expected.  I could push my body to do things it had never endured before.  I could own it.  I could look in the mirror and be proud of the person that I saw, because she was trying to stay healthy. 

I finished that half marathon—my first ever, the Other Half Marathon in Moab, Utah—on October 20^th, 2013.  A week later, on a whim, I ran another one in Salt Lake City.  Apparently, half marathons were a thing that I did now.  And we kept doing them.  I got six half marathons under my belt before Matt finally talked me into running a full. 

We registered in January 2017 to run the Kauai Marathon for our five-year anniversary in September (because if I was going to run 26.2 miles, I was definitely going to get an incredible trip out of it).  And just for the heck of it, we ran the Rock N’ Roll Seattle Half at our halfway training point, too.  (And, might I add, the contagion spread—this time, our friends Emily and Robert ran it with us.  They beat our time, in fact!)  And then we kept training.

Finishing that first marathon was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. 

We started before the sun rose, and the first half (which we ran with Matt’s dad) was beautiful and cool.  Even the section of steady uphill was bearable beneath the famous “Tunnel of Trees.”  The second half, though… now I know why one does not simply run a marathon in Hawaii at the end of summer.

We baked. 

It was humid, shade-less, and as my friend Amanda lovingly says, “hotter than the hubs of hell out there.”  We chugged Gatorade and water at every aid station.  I reapplied sunscreen and Body Glide multiple times and still ended up burnt and chafed.  We crested a hill at mile 24 only to see another in the distance—one that wouldn’t even register as a hill in your brain if you drove over it, but after running for hours looked like a freaking mountain—and I started crying.  Only, I had been sweating so profusely that I didn’t have any water on reserve in my body and no tears came out.  My knee was killing me.  The scenery was drop-dead gorgeous when I had the energy to notice it, but I was depleted beyond measure and may not have made it had it not been for Matt.  But then we finally crossed the finish line.  It took us five and a half hours from start to finish.  It was utterly unbelievable.  The finisher medal felt heavy around my neck as I sat on the grass, back to a rock wall and ice packs on my knees.  Who knew that it was possible?  Running a marathon was never even on my bucket list, but I finished one anyway.  I was elated; and I was simultaneously pretty certain I was never going to do another one.  I’ll take my victory and call it a day, thank you.

Lo and behold, as you might guess—another year, another marathon.  Two days ago, Matt and I ran the Bellingham Bay Marathon in northern Washington (as a six-year anniversary event), shaving half an hour off our Kauai time despite running the entire race in the rain.  We were soaked and tired, but the views of Puget Sound were beautiful.  Hearing Matt’s jokes get worse and worse over time as all the blood went from our brains to our legs was even better.  I’m again uncertain that I will ever run another full marathon, but it still reminded me why I do this bizarre, difficult thing.    

I run because it keeps me healthy—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

I run to break up the chaos of my “to-do” lists and get outside. 

I run so I can eat whole pizzas and not feel guilty; and for the peace of mind that comes from not caring how my body compares to other women’s bodies.  I’m taking care of mine as best I can.

Mostly, though, I run because Matt runs, and because his dad runs, and because this is a thing that we do together.  Even better than finishing the race—insanely good as that feels—are all the hours that I get to spend with Matt while we train.  Countless miles have nurtured numerous conversations about life, relationships, struggles, and hopes.  It’s become a good reminder for us to thank God for the healthy bodies we’ve been given and the time we get to spend together.  It has also been a way for us to encourage one another (and the other awesome people we love who have trained for events with us!) that we can do hard things, which is a lesson that carries way beyond the rubber meeting the road. 

Canyonlands Half Marathon in Moab, UT

At the start of the Phoenix Half Marathon

Finished the Rock N' Roll Seattle with Mike, Emily, & Robert!

Running with the fam in Bear Lake

Ready for the the start of the Kauai Marathon

Mile 25 of the Kauai Marathon - looking WAY more energetic than we felt

The Seattle Half with Tracey (her first half!)

Our second Rock N' Roll Seattle with Colin & Corey (their first half!)

Finished the Bellingham Bay Marathon for our 6-year anniversary

Finisher medals... more to come! 

“I dare you to train for a marathon and not have it change your life.” –Susan Sidoriak

when I grow up

Earlier today I was reading a book at the park, and I looked up to see a little girl running straight for the swingset.  She had on a pink skirt and a t-shirt with a rainbow on it, hobbling across the grass as fast as her two tiny legs could carry her. 

She was just marvelous—an innocent miniature human with curly brown hair that bounced in her pony tail, trying to keep up with the rest of her little body.  All wonder and no worry.  All curiosity and no cares.  Just her and the swing.  

I smiled as I watched, and decided that when I grow up I would like to be her.   

dialogue in the woods

Matt and I are spending the weekend up at my bosses’ cabin in the Cascades.  We woke up this morning with the sun peeking through the trees into our bedroom.  Matt pulled the covers up over his face while I got up to slip on my sweatshirt, reheat a cup of coffee, and take our tiny dog Lucy outside. 

I’ve spent the last couple of morning hours tucked into an old brown recliner.  Lucy is asleep on a blanket in my lap, which also happens to be right in the path of the sole streak of sunlight beaming into the living room—no matter how hot it is inside, she always wants the sun.  I’ve got my cup of coffee and my copy of Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies that I picked up at Powell’s bookstore last weekend in Portland.  I love flipping through used books… especially when I’m looking through timber beams at old, worn pine trees.  It’s grounding and slow, like time when you think about it. 

At the end of Lamott’s overture, she tells a story about a lost little girl saying to a police officer when she sees her church, “I can always find my way home from here.”  My eyes got teary when I read it.  I don’t even know why.  It’s just a lovely thought, I guess.  The kind of thought that squeezes my heart and reminds me why I love Jesus’ messy, broken church.  It’s like coming home. 

I don’t know why I felt compelled to write after that either.  I told Matt (who by this point is on the couch avidly working on his dissertation) that I was ready to take a break and do a workout, but then I changed my mind and said I needed to write instead.  Sometimes I get frustrated with myself for wanting so badly to have something to say, something to blog about—because it feels so good and fulfilling to collect meaningful thoughts and communicate them—but then coming up empty.  It’s like having wood, but no fire.  I start comparing myself to people who actually do have significant things to say, and I end up always wanting to write about someone else’s thoughts and ideas.  But today I’m realizing that that’s okay.  Brand new things can be shiny and beautiful, but so can old things—like aging trees or worn-in recliners or books that make you want to write as if you’re dialoguing with old friends.  I’m in the dance of human experience that draws each of us into something bigger than ourselves.  We’re meant to be mirrors of meaning to one another, and to reflect on that which makes life worth pondering in the first place.  So I don’t have to do it on my own.  I can sit in quiet spaces with authors and musicians and pastors I’ve never met and be welcomed into what a professor of mine would call the “Grand Conversation.” 

So thank you, Anne Lamott, for telling us about tide pools and alcoholism and feeling cracked and long walks on Belvedere Island and the gospel music that softened your soul.  And I’ll tell you in turn about sitting in a Snoqualmie cabin with my rescue puppy who’s finally sleepy and calm and how your stories remind me of my own home and Jesus and the Church that I love. 

when it comes to the bible, we might be asking the wrong questions

[Spoiler alert:  this post is basically a massive shout out to Rob Bell’s book, What is the Bible?: How an Ancient Library of Poems,Letters, and Stories Can Transform the Way You Think and Feel About Everything.  Just amazing.  That said…]

Photo credit: HarperCollins

How many times have I read through a Bible story—or, if I’m being honest, heard or talked about a Bible story, because how many of us actually read it as often as we think we should?—and asked the question, “Well, why did God… [fill in the blank]?”

“Why did God tell those people to kill those other people?

or

Why would God create people if God knew they would screw things up?

or

Why couldn’t God just have skipped the sacrificial system?

or

Why did Jesus have to die—couldn’t God have saved the world some other way?” (from p.293)

Yes, the answer is, many times.  All of these and more.

Perhaps some of us feel like we already have answers to these questions.  I’ve certainly tried giving a few of them before.  Sometimes they even sound legitimate.  But Bell’s response is:  it’s the wrong question.  A horrible question, in fact.  The WORST question. 

“Why is that?” we might ask (rather defensively, in my case).  Well, because the Bible was written by humans—humans who interpreted their intimate, yet evolving, relationship with the Creator of the Universe through very different lenses over a VERY long period of time.  The stories we have now were told by humans, passed down by humans, written, compiled, edited, and canonized by humans.  Jesus himself became human to teach, to clarify, to fulfill, and to save humanity. 

The biggest lesson I took from Bell’s book is that we can only get to the Divine by going through what is human. 

…

Let that rattle your cage for a minute. 

We have no choice but to understand divinity through the human lens.  This is true for us in our own bodies, and it’s true for the writers of Scripture.  While we’re trying to access what is real about God in the Bible, we also encounter what is real about humanity and, not insignificantly, how that informs what we know about God in the first place.    

Perhaps, then (according to Bell) a better question is:  Why on earth would someone write this down?

Why do we have the stories we have in the Bible?

What other pieces of information or nuance are we missing?

How do the revelations, songs, and instructions collected here reflect or challenge the predominant culture of the people writing them, or our cultures now? 

In seminary, we have called this process ‘looking at three different worlds’—

• The world of the text:  what does the story itself say, and not say?  (Here is the time to check your own assumptions about what you ‘already know,’ like that there were three wise men, for example…)
• The world behind the text:  what is the cultural, political, sociological context of what’s being written?
• The world in front of the text:  how does this speak about the human condition in a way that informs how we apply it today?

Asking these questions has opened up a whole new world of understanding for me!  (See what I did there..? ;)

Calling the “Why did God…?” question the worst question may be a bit hyperbolic.  I believe that there is a divine plan being worked out across history, that the Spirit was and is active in the communication of Scripture, and that the characters and writers had very real, very personal relationships with God.  But even their knowledge of who and what God is changed dramatically over time.  The point is:  there are many other valuable questions we can learn to ask about the Bible, even about the stories we may heard all our lives.  And wrestling with them only seems to bring what is real and true and beautiful into a deeper and deeper shalom. 

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” –Matthew 7:7

the day after las vegas

 At least 58 killed.  More than 500 wounded.  A lone shooter opened fire late last night and then took his own life.

This is not okay. 

That seems obvious, or even quaint.  People are suffering today in ways few of us will ever know.  But in a world where we're continually threatened by desensitization, when news of yet another mass shooting starts to carry a little less *shock* each time, I have to repeat:  this is not okay.

I cried alone in my kitchen when I read about Vegas this morning.  What are we supposed to do?  Jesus, what am I supposed to do?  There aren’t words for how heart-wrenching this is.   

After a few minutes the helplessness sank to the pit of my stomach.  What good are my tears from 1,000 miles away?  I am sending my prayers for the families and communities affected, and God help me if I don't trust that they matter more than anything.  But what else can I possibly do? 

I just kept repeating:  Jesus, have mercy.  This is not okay.

And (in some ways even more terrifying) I was forced to recognize that the same hate, fear, callousness—whatever it was that motivated this massacre—is also in me. I have the same capacity for good and evil as the shooter on the 32nd floor. It’s sickening, but it’s true.

Why do these horrifying tragedies keep happening? Why do humans sometimes feel the subtle sparks of hate, envy, and prejudice, and not say to themselves, "this is not okay"?  It doesn't matter which race or religion I am or what political party I vote for—what I nurture in the small things will come to fruition in the big things. I have both good and evil in me.  Which of them am I feeding?  How am I part of the bigger problem?

Attacks like those in Vegas, Sandy Hook, Charleston, Orlando, and so many others threaten to sink us further into anger, fear, and helplessness.  It’s so hard not to get sucked in.

But when I act, I want to choose instead to grieve and to pray.  I want to choose to participate in hard conversations about guns and violence in my country.  I want to choose to speak out against injustice and fear in my community.  I want to stand in solidarity with those who have lost their loved ones. 

And somehow I'd like to think that I can be humble enough to recognize my own culpability.  I'd like to hope that I can see the seeds of that same evil that crop up in my own small moments, and offer them up to the Cross where they belong.  I have to believe that choosing love, compassion, and empathy over pride, fear, and malice in my own life will be a small way to honor the men and women who lost theirs today.

We can't be fooled into thinking that what happened is the new "normal." It is not okay.

While I watched the death toll climb, I sent Matt a text that said, "It just feels so helpless. And so much bigger than us."  A minute later my phone buzzed with his response: "It is helpless.  It is bigger than us.  We need a savior."  He's right. 

Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the Kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever.  Amen.  

sustainability and stewardship

Buzzwords:  green, eco-, sustainable, organic, homemade, simple, healthy, local… you see where this is going.

                           

Matt and I live in Seattle, where there’s no shortage of this kind of language.  And though I have yet to literally hug a tree, we feel right at home in the ecocentric Northwest. 

I was not always on board with the “environmentalism” paradigm (not that I was “anti-” either… I just hadn’t truly given it much thought).  As a kid, my parents raised me to love Jesus and love other people as well as I could.  And as I’ve gotten older, I’m learning just how integral caring for the earth is to both of those things.  There are a mind-boggling number of scientists, documentaries, and even small island nations that will tell you how dangerous climate change and resource exploitation are to humanity.  I don’t need to rehash those details here (if you’re curious, I’ve added some links below).  If you disagree, that’s okay—I hope we can still have this conversation anyway. 

I’ve had some interesting discussions on faith and ecological responsibility since starting my grad program at Fuller, and this culminated most recently at the end of last quarter when I wrote my final exegetical paper on a section from Romans 8.  Starting in verse 18, Paul writes…

“I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing to the glory about to be revealed to us.  For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” (NRSV)

If you read through the entire text, you’ll find that there’s an “already-but-not-yet” element to Paul’s understanding of adoption and redemption.  Jesus inaugurated something great, but the Church he set up is bridging the gap between the Spirit that is already at work and the Kingdom that is yet to be fully realized.  I have heard the theory that the earth was given to humans to tame and to use; and that our rightful place is in heaven one day—so what difference does trying to save it make?  Paul (in my own humble understanding) seems to disagree.  There is a place for creation—all of creation—alongside the redemption of the children of God.  Might I even go so far as to suggest that we are called to be instrumental in breaking that “bondage to decay” that the world is experiencing?  John does say that God so loved “the world,” right?  Perhaps we should be doing more on its behalf. 

“God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31). 

What if God, in creating humans in His image, intended for our “dominion” over the earth (Gen 1:27) to look more like stewardship than conquest?  In Ancient Near Eastern traditions, bearing the ‘image’ of the king meant bearing the stamp of his authority to rule, and doing so in the same manner the king himself would.  The ‘image-bearer’ is a representative.  How are we, those of us who call ourselves Christians, representing the care and compassion of God to our natural environment and the other species sharing it?  Because we know now that what we do to creation, we do to ourselves.    

So here’s where I land on this:  global and national policies need to change.   I firmly believe that Christians should be the first advocates willing to speak up in our private and political spheres for the protection of the earth.  However, while my voice makes whatever impact it may, I need the ins-and-outs of my daily life to reflect those values and convictions as well.  There are other tangible things I can do.  Things that may both (a) make an impact on the shalom of creation (even if it’s a very small one), and (b) regularly remind me that God gave us good gifts to hold and care for, not to use and lose.  Enter #sustainabilitygoals. 

Some of these are practices Matt and I are currently trying to put in place, and some are challenges that we hope to tackle in the near future.  Either way, here is a start to some small things [I think] we can do to steward well:

·         Using re-usable over disposable products.  Water bottles, coffee mugs, shopping bags, produce bags, napkins and paper towels, straws… the list here can get pretty substantial.

·         Buying in bulk.  The bulk section that is:  grains, beans, baking supplies… bring your own containers and skip the excess packaging.

·         Cooking more at-home meals.  You’re more likely to spend less, waste less, and consume more real food products.  Plus, there’s always more to learn!

·         Considering a minimalist approach // learning to declutter. Decrease ‘stuff,’ decrease stress.  We generally have more than we need.

·         Thinking about our traveling ‘footprint.’  Do you walk, bike, take public transportation?

·         Eating less meat.  It takes a lot less land and water to produce veggies.

·         Recycling and composting.  Even biodegradable materials become toxic in landfills.

·         Unsubscribing.  Paper and internet junk mail?  Don’t need that.

·         Practicing consumer consciousness.  This includes clothing and household items—ethical and high quality products do exist.

·         Planting a garden.  Producing healthy food + connecting intimately with what we eat = overall win. 

·         Reducing household energy use.  Turning off lights, unplugging appliances and accessories, and turning off the water each take just a quick second. 

If you’re already doing some of these things, I’d love to hear how they’re going!  Or if you have new ideas, please share and we can add to the list.  I know it’s easy to feel like a small fish in a big pond when it comes to changing the system.  But as Bob Pierce (the founder of World Vision) once said, “Don’t fail to do something just because you can’t do everything.”

Christ has no body on earth but yours,

no hands but yours,

no feet but yours.

Yours are the eyes through which

Christ’s compassion for the world is to look out;

yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good;

and yours are the hands with which He is to bless us now.

-St. Teresa of Avila

Additional resources on climate change:

-          From NASA:  https://climate.nasa.gov/evidence/   

-          From the EPA:  https://www.epa.gov/climate-indicators   

-          Documentary on the islands of the Maldives:  http://theislandpresident.com/