Their Lives Matter

Hello, my friends ~

If you're anything like me, lately you've experienced strong feelings of anger, sadness, frustration, and just plain helplessness. I’ve spent the last few weeks listening, learning, and searching for something – ANYTHING – I could possibly do to offer some measure of support to those who are particularly vulnerable and heartbroken.

Many of you already know that I have a deep passion for serving my community through prison fellowship. At Christmastime in 2018, I told you about the women at Atlanta’s Metro Transitional Center who were in desperate need of basic personal care items. I asked for your help in gathering those items so that we could present them to the women as Christmas gifts, and WOW did you ever come through!! For about a week or so, I came home from work each day to mounds of Amazon boxes at my door. It was so overwhelming (in the best possible way) that I felt the need to put a sign on my door so that the Amazon delivery personnel would know the part they were playing in serving the MTC women. That whole experience was such a joy, and there’s no way it would have or could have happened without YOU.

Once again, I am coming to you today to ask for your help in serving the women of Metro Transitional Center. Living at MTC is a privilege that these women have earned. They work so hard in preparing for their release by participating in personal and professional development as well as a work release program. COVID-19 hit this community of women especially hard. Not only did they have an outbreak of the virus within the facility, but the work release program was suspended to help minimize the spread. Like many others across the US and the world, the only source of income for these women was abruptly cut off through no fault of their own, and the progress they were making toward their release came to a screeching halt.

In addition to the devastating impact of COVID-19, a disproportionate number of the residents at MTC are women of color. They are hurting and scared by what is happening in the communities that they will soon rejoin. Chaplain Sandra Anderson is doing everything she can to serve their personal, emotional, and spiritual needs with the very limited resources available to her. Along with a list of very modest and basic items that she is collecting, Chaplain Anderson expressed a desire to provide journals to each of the women. She wants to give them an outlet to express their thoughts, feelings, fears, and plans for how they will make their own communities a better place when they are allowed to return to them.

This is where you come in!

I have set up an Amazon wish list to collect journals for the women of MTC. If you feel led to do so, just click on the link below to purchase a basic black notebook (or several!) which can then be shipped directly to me. As I receive your donations, I will personally deliver them to Metro Transitional Center myself.

If you have been asking yourself, “What can I do?...How can I help?” – here is your answer. You can do THIS. You can show these women that…

They have not been forgotten.

They are loved.

THEIR. LIVES. MATTER.

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Take Heart

Back in the summer, I got an email from the Associate Pastor at my home church, Peachtree Road United Methodist, asking if I would be willing to write an entry for this year's Advent Devotional. 

Willing?! Are you kidding?

No one has ever asked me to write something for a specific purpose. I was thrilled and humbled by this request and immediately knew the story I wanted to share. 

My entry was slotted for today, so here it is. I hope it might warm your heart a bit...

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Angels

The SECOND thing I do each day is take Beasley out to take care of his morning business. I really do mean this is the 2nd thing I do. I literally just throw on some shoes and a jacket, and out we go – in all my Medusa quaffed glory. Apologies to my neighbors for the atrocities that I greet you with each day. Anyway, when Beasley and I go to his potty area the sunrise is behind us. Today when we turned around for the short walk back home THIS is what greeted us:

But let me back up a little...

Orange Starburst

Poor orange Starburst. Undesired. Unloved. Unwanted. REJECTED. Just like the unathletic kid in PE, they are the last ones left in the bowl.

Who hasn't felt like the orange Starburst on occasion? I know I have.

Be the Bridge

Dear, my people -

I no more believe that you - my family and friends - are deplorable, racist, sexist, immigrant-hating, gay-bashing, gun-slinging rednecks than I believe that you - my family and friends - are nasty, abominable, God-hating, terrorist-enabling, baby-killing, freeloaders.

Can we PLEASE stop painting each other with these GINORMOUS strokes??

I (incurable optimist that I may be) believe that every single one of us on all sides of this circus, love this country and hopefully expressed that love through our votes. Maybe we can ALL just agree that we want what's best for America, even if we disagree on what (NOT who) exactly that is.

Let's stop assuming the worst about each other and try to understand different points of view. I am so so very thankful for every single person that can read this post, and the diverse perspectives that you teach me about all the time (YAY for social media!). In this age of social media, we have an unprecedented opportunity to share our thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and experiences with each other. We can use this vehicle to separate ourselves even further or we can use it to LEARN...learn about the things that we weren't exposed to growing up and/or learn about what other people are experiencing in communities outside of our own. What a gift!

I'm not going to unfriend/unfollow/un-like anyone. You all have a lot to teach me, and that is way too valuable in my limited view of my immediate surroundings. You are my people, and I love you!

"In a world so torn apart by rivalry, anger, and hatred, we have the privileged vocation to be living signs of a love that can bridge all divisions and heal all wounds."

- Henri J. M. Nouwen in Bread for the Journey

Compassion

I had an experience in church yesterday that rocked me to my core, and I want to tell you about it.
A little background first...

I LOVE my church for lots of reasons. It is very traditional which reminds me of the little church that I grew up in in Columbiana. I love singing hymns that are a hundred years old led by a big choir. I love reciting the Lord's Prayer and the Apostle's Creed. Over the last two years, I've become more involved in the church, beginning with Disciple I Bible Study last year and continuing with Covenant Bible Study currently. Through both of these experiences, I've met people that have supported and nurtured my faith and have helped me in ways I can't even number to grow in my personal relationship with Christ.

A little bit about my church...It is HUGE and is in the heart of the Buckhead neighborhood of Atlanta. If you're not familiar with the area, it is very much an upper-middle to upper class part of town, so the congregation is full of beautiful families and beautiful people dressed in beautiful clothes. Our sanctuary is equally beautiful as is the music from our choir and the message that our pastor delivers every Sunday. All of this was consistently true yesterday, but someone stood out to me in a way that I don't think I will ever forget.

Above All Else

Here’s the thing.

I am a Christian, and I consider myself to be a person of deep faith. I come from a VERY conservative background, and I still live by the values and morals that were instilled in me by my amazing parents and family. I know who my Savior is, and I pray to Him every single day. I seek His guidance and counsel to lead me along the right path. God…well…HE knows I am a hopelessly flawed sinner, but by the power of His amazing grace, I know He still loves me. Powerful stuff.

Given all of the above, you might make assumptions about where I stand on marriage equality…and you would probably be wrong.

Easter in Small Town Alabama looks like...

THIS.
.

To frame this up properly, I have to tell you. One of the things I love most about me is that I come from a tiny - and I mean TINY - small town in Alabama. You can count the number of traffic lights on one hand. Everybody knows everybody. When I was a mischievous teenager, my parents knew about the trouble I had gotten into, before I got home. Time stands absolutely still in places like this. It is virtually the same place that I left when I went away to college. But anyway...