Feeding People

I love hospitality. The process of welcoming in and providing for others – both stranger and friend – nourishes my soul and reminds me of the way I have been welcomed in and provided for. What God has done for me, I now get to do for others.

When my family and I formed our first missional community, we were pretty sure our mission would involve feeding people. We also believed it would probably center around our neighborhood. Where we lived wasn’t random or accidental. We believed God had been purposeful in placing us in that house, on that corner, in that neighborhood, in that suburb of Seattle. And, if that was true, then God was just as purposeful with those who lived in our neighborhood. We believed He was already at work in the lives of our neighbors and just maybe He would draw them to Himself through us. We didn’t know exactly what that might look like, but that’s where we started.

So we gathered some people and learned together about what it meant to live life-on-life, life-in-community, and life-on-mission. We prayed. And, waited expectantly for God to show us what was next. And, then it happened. On a snowy trip to Portland the week between Christmas and New Year’s, we stopped at one last restaurant trying to squeeze all the must-eats into our short trip. It was a little hole in the wall (literally) called The Waffle Window which operated out of the back of another restaurant called Bread and Ink (oh Portland!). Waffles and coffee were the only menu items … but, oh what waffles they were! Liege-style waffles made from decadent brioche dough studded with pearl sugar and baked one at a time on heavy cast iron waffle irons. And, the toppings! Bacon, Brie & Basil with Peach preserves, Banana Nutella, Lemon pannacotta with blueberry compote. Our mission was born in those first bites; Weekly Waffles.

Door-to-door

We invited our neighbors into our home every Saturday morning for Liege-style waffles, good coffee, and conversation. Together our MC went door-to-door in our neighborhood inviting them to breakfast. “No, we aren’t selling anything. No, we’re not going to try to convert you. (Well, that one was always tricky. ; ) ) . Yes, you can bring your kids, your grandma, your dog. No, it doesn’t cost anything. Yes, we know it sounds weird, but I promise, we’re not scary. Just come once and see what you think.” We invited folks from our kids’ schools, the family who answered our “free gravel” ad on Craig’s List, folks who came to our garage sale. If you were breathing, and in the vicinity, you got invited.

And, so our rhythm was established. Our MC met during the week for a family meal, Bible study, teaching and training, and prayer. Then on Saturdays a few from our MC (sometimes all), would come to help us with waffles; feasting around the table, opening their lives, and loving on our neighbors. We did it together. Eventually, other members of our MC were inviting our neighbors to their parties and school functions and the neighbors started inviting us to their house for dinner, celebrations, and different opportunities to serve the community. It became bigger than just what was happening during a few hours in our home on Saturday mornings. People found community and connection, a listening ear in times of need, and care in times of pain. Things were borrowed, shared, learned, lost. Babies were born, kid’s graduated, families moved away, and new families joined us.

All-of-self Hospitality

In this season, I serve my church family as an MC coach and I often find myself encouraging people to open their home by saying, “It’s so easy!” But, in reality, hospitality is not so easy. It is a big commitment involving all-of-self – your doing and your being. Sacrifice and dying-to-self is a daily, sometimes hourly battle, but it does become “easier” when you live into who and what God has called you to be and do. Romans 12:13 says, “Contribute to the needs of the saints, pursue hospitality.” And 1 Peter 4:8–9 says, “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.” I like how John Piper sums it up:

“When we practice hospitality, here’s what happens: we experience the refreshing joy of becoming conduits of God’s hospitality rather than being self-decaying cul-de-sacs. The joy of receiving God’s hospitality decays and dies if it doesn’t flourish in our own hospitality to others.

Or here is another way to put it: when we practice hospitality, we experience the thrill of feeling God’s power conquer our fears and our stinginess and our self-centeredness. And there are few joys, if any, greater than the joy of experiencing the liberating power of God’s hospitality making us a new and radically different kind of people, who love to reflect the glory of his grace as we extend it to others in all kinds of hospitality.”

As I enter in and entwine my life with others through the practice of hospitality I get to experience both the sweet and hard of following Jesus. I get a taste of the Kingdom and get to show what it’s like to others who don’t yet know.

(First published in 2018 at Saturate.)

Flourishing At Table || Humanity and Grace Colliding

Hospitality.

I must have started this post at least ten times. Is there really anything left to be said about hospitality (both Biblical and non) that hasn’t already been said in numerous ways by boatloads of people more clever and more hospitable than me? (Case in point, my current read, The Gospel Comes With a House Key by Rosario Butterfield. Wow. Check it out.) I thought to myself maybe I should just keep this short and simply say, “my goodness, we all must eat, let’s obey our Bibles (Romans 12:13b) and do it with others; family, neighbor, stranger.” And, send you on your merry way. But, then I felt that familiar nudge, but wait … what about your story? Right. Maybe the only thing new I have to add to this conversation is my own perspective.

Much of my life has been lived around the table in one way or another. Family dinners as a child; my papa presiding over meat, potatoes and a stack of white bread. My brother and I sitting across the kitchen table from one another, our bowls of cereal between us, laughing while milk sprayed from our mouths. Gathered around my parents’ table set with enough food to feed three times as many people. Meals cooked for friends in high school, then college, and later as a wife and mom for my own family. Waitress, prep cook, caterer. Hundreds of shared meals with friends, neighbors, and strangers. Often my first thought when meeting someone new is, “how soon can I have them to dinner?” my mind already flipping through my mental cookbook contemplating what meal they might like.

As a former professional caterer, what’s on the table always reigned supreme. Vast quantities of food precisely prepared (albeit sometimes on a wing and a prayer) and laid out for luncheons, parties, and events. Buffets that fed bodies, minds, and hearts as guests gathered in groups around all manner of tables to share a meal, catch up or make a new friend. In those days, I had a habit of finding an unnoticed corner of the room during the meal so I could observe the crowd. The breaking of bread, the pursuit of the stranger, the fellowship of the saints. The food, no matter how good, always takes a back seat to the goodness, the fullness and even at times, tensions and awkwardness of meals shared. Humanity and grace colliding.

Now, whether it’s gathering neighbors for Saturday waffles or family and friends for a celebration or a just-because dinner around my kitchen table, I know the most important thing isn’t the food. Rather it’s what each person brings to the meal. Ourselves. My friend Donald Zimmerman often says that the most life-giving thing we have to offer other people is our transformed and transforming presence. That the ways Jesus has changed our hearts and lives to more closely reflect who God has made us to be, is what offers that same kind of transformative power to others. Other than hope in Jesus, that’s the most important thing we bring to the table.

I want my table to create space for others. Space for people to rest up, catch their breath, hear some Good News, and be known. Jesus modeled this for us; much of his ministry happened “at table.” (Matthew 9:10; 26:7,20, Mark 14,  Luke 24:30, John 12:2) Do I want to feed and nourish bodies too? Yes! I want the food prepared by myself and others to be a taste of God’s lavish and kind provision. But, even more than that, I want guests and strangers to come to know Jesus. To see Him in the person they’re bumping elbows with or in the conversation from across the table they can just barely hear over the laughter and kids complaining; “I don’t like that red stuff.”

Hospitality is a practice to be cultivated for God’s glory, our good and the flourishing of others. It’s an invitation to worship the One who invites us in, feeds us, listens to us, knows us, and provides for our needs. It is an opportunity to receive the Kingdom and then to pass a taste of it along to those bellied up to our tables.

(Originally published in 2018 at Doxa-church.com.)

Welcome 2015

The first Saturday of 2015. 

I spent the last few days of 2014 taking stock of the past year and sorting through what to carry forward into the coming months. Reflecting on my year of hard, I stand in awe of the many ways Jesus has reassured, provided for, and protected me. I have flourished in His love.

I am purposing in 2015 to live out of the gracious abundance I’ve been given. So, this Saturday I find myself sinking softly into the new year, “resting” in the work of Jesus on my behalf, in whom I’ve been created to be, and in the role God hand-picked for me in His over-arching story of redemption. I am excited to step into the next chapter of my story. I know His goodness, greatness, graciousness, and glory will be revealed as the pages continue to flip past.

WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT ARE YOU PURPOSING TO DO THIS YEAR?

Waiting ...

A pastor friend of mine recently sent out this note in preparation for his Sunday sermon. It so hits me where I'm at right now. This season and the place and time of life I seem to have arrived at. Waiting. Longing. Anticipating.

Enjoy and happy advent to you.

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For those of you fairly new to Grace, you may wonder why we haven’t sung any Christmas carols yet. We are three Sundays into Advent and have yet to sing a single Christmas song. You need to know that this is not an oversight. We do this on purpose.

At Grace, we are worshiping according to the ancient pattern of Advent first, Christmas second. Notice that Advent and Christmas are not the same thing. They are two distinct seasons. Advent is the four-week period immediately preceding Christmas Day. Christmas begins on Christmas Day and lasts until January 6 (Epiphany).

Advent is all about waiting and yearning. It's a time to recognize areas of our lives where we are not presently experiencing fullness. So, during Advent, we sing songs of longing like "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" and "Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus". These are all sung from the context of our present lack. Advent is a time where we sit, at times uncomfortably, in the midst of our unfulfilled longings and unmet expectations.

In our Advent worship, we are trying to learn the very important skill of learning to wait on God. Of course, this can seem very strange and out of step. By and large, our culture doesn't know how to wait. During Advent, we seek to grow each year in our ability to faithfully wait on the Lord.

So, what about those Christmas carols? The good news is they’re coming. In fact, we will begin to enter into the joy of the Christmas season at our Lessons & Carols Service at 5pm on Christmas Eve. That is when our worship transitions from Advent to Christmastide. 

Beginning on Christmas Eve and continuing for two weeks, we will enter into a season of worship where we celebrate God’s goodness in sending his son. We will sing “Joy to the World” and “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” During the Christmas season, we focus our attention on thanking and praising God for what he has done for us in Christ.

So, if during Advent we learn how to wait, during Christmastide we learn how to celebrate. Both are vital parts of a faithful Christian life.

Wrecked to heal.

This fall my company had the privilege of working on a book project for Kara Tippetts. The subtitle to her book, The Hardest Peace, is "expecting grace in the midst of life's hard." Life's hard. Not a whiney kind of life is hard (And don't get me wrong, it is—very hard sometimes.), but grace in the midst of the hard. The tough moments, the broken moments, the no-going-back moments.

If you don't know Kara's story, she has cancer and a husband and a family and a life. What I loved about her book was the way it touches on each of our stories. Each of our circumstances vary, we are all at different stages of life, but we are all in need of grace. Grace for the hard stuff and the everyday stuff. Grace to love and live and be.

This has been a year of hard for me. Big changes, disappointments, sorrows, and endings. Heartbreak.

But, too, in the middle of that breaking, I have known grace, mercy, goodness, and freedom. I have seen it face-to-face.

At this time last year I was facing a monumental decision that seemed impossible to make. I was stuck in fear and condemnation, burdened with a multitude of responsibilities that were not mine to carry. I picked them up one-by-one throughout the years, adding each to my ever-expanding pack. I got this, God. I can do it. Jesus, you just come along with me and see what I can do. I can save. Heal. Fix.

The more I picked up, the heavier I felt. More numb. Isolated. Afraid. Then began the unexplained shortness of breath and tightness in my chest. It would happen while driving to the grocery store, laying down to sleep, eating dinner with my family, or folding clothes. The panic would seize me unannounced and pass. In those moments I breathed as deep as I could, trying to regain alright-ness. I needed to be alright because everything else was wrong. I tried to connect the dots, but there wasn't any connection between what I was doing in the moment and those feelings of panic.

My body was trying to get my attention, to tell me I was drowning in my isolation, my stick-to-itiveness. That my life had become more than I could handle on my own. And it had been that way for a long time—too long. For the first time in my life I could not be an overcomer. I could not strap on my Jesus boots and wade out of the sinkhole. Hope, long-deferred, had caused a crack to spider through my soul and I knew I had lost my way. I needed to finally stop and let Jesus come to me.

And I did. I just stopped. Stopped trying to be better, do more, try harder, fix the unfixable. I began to unfurl. To unclench my fists, to breathe deeper, and most importantly to let God's people speak into my life. I needed community. Disconnected, disjointed, but united in their love for Jesus and in their love for me. I needed the Church. I needed to begin to share my story and to let myself be known. I needed to move out of isolation in order to become visible.

At the beginning I didn't know that was what I needed. I just reached out to the one person who seemed the safest: a stranger. A Christian therapist, who encouraged me to reach out to a friend. And I did. Someone barely known, but in a similar situation. Next, to an older couple who'd already been walking by my side for years, then my pastor, and then others. Many others. I needed people to reflect an un-warped version of me to myself.

Oh, sweet Jesus. I finally learned to let myself be the loved, instead of being the constant lover. To let myself be known and seen. To come out of hiding and be visible. To let others help me, instead of always being the helper. Slowly my defenses fell, my justifications, my self-salvation began to drop away. In doing so I faced my "hard," and through it I found peace (something akin to wholeness). I heard the Spirit whisper of freedom, and I felt grace in midst of all my wrong.

In the year-long process of making an impossible decision and giving in to all that unfolded, I began to expect God to break things, wreck them, so he could rebuild and heal. I know this is His grace to us, that He does not leave us where we're not supposed to be, He always comes to find us. He never stops pursuing us. He exposes, not to shame, but to heal. And in that there is a blessed safety. Rest.

Wrecked to heal. I think of Paul on the road to Damascus - he had no idea what was coming for him. No idea that Jesus was waiting for him with the sole purpose of wrecking the life Paul had worked so carefully and proudly to build. Though the wrecking feels anything but, it is good. Jesus wrecked and then mended Paul in a matter of moments. Jesus would do this kindness for Paul but also for the multitude who would hear his teaching and read his words. People like me and you.

In surrendering to the "wrecking" of what I had held so long and dearly, I've begun to see myself in relation to my story, my God, and His people. As I stopped beholding my idea of where my life was headed, and began to behold Jesus, I am being conformed to his image of holiness and obedience. I am breathing deep in freedom and beginning to embrace who God has created me to be. Amy. (Even my name means beloved, fit to be loved.)

In the wreckage, I saw God's goodness. Like Kara, I have learned to live in that space where both heartache and sweetness exist. I have heard and finally believed what He's been whispering all-along -- that when I am visible, I am stunning. Letting ourselves be known is the only way we can image His light to one another and to the world. It is there that we experience the freedom to be who God created us to be. Where we can bless and be blessed.

What about you? Where have you seen evidences of God's grace in the midst of your HARD? Are you letting yourself been seen and known? Are you letting your self-made constructs be "wrecked"? Are you being mended in community? Do you struggle allowing yourself to be stunning and/or rest in who God's created you to be?