It's pretty amazing for me to look back at this last year of blog posts. One year ago, I was posting about my application for the Reconciliation conference at Duke Divinity School, the dinners we hosted for the legal clinic team, and plans for CLCP's first Pro Deo Conference.

Today, Ted is typing away to promote our second annual Pro Deo Conference, I am trying to decide on drinks and appetizers for our clinic team "debrief" this Thursday, and the themes from the Duke Reconciliation conference still weave their way into my reflections on my life and faith - many of which will be picked up at this weekend's much talked about Justice Conference in downtown Philadelphia.

In between these markers, it's been quite a year. One month after registering for the Reconciliation conference, I witnessed a shooting on our block, while nannying for my neighbor's baby. That sent me on a several month journey that included seeing a counselor and going away more regularly for a day or two at a time to help handle the trauma (Wayne, Glenside, California, Maryland and even a long weekend in Orlando in December.) The Duke conference was thought-provoking and allowed me to hear some key messages from God. It was also great for getting away to a beautiful space, but on the deepest level I found myself wondering, "what does this all mean for me?"

The day I returned from the conference, God blessed us with a housemate, Janira, who is still living with us. Two months later, I decided to quit my nanny job and started to dig into my new part-time job as director of development at CLCP. I continued working Wednesday and Thursday morning's at Oxford Circle Mennonite Church. As a part of my processing journey, I've been asking for awhile what God is shaping me for and what plans He has for me. I am excited for the women's retreat coming up at my church in April, which will center on the theme: "finding our identity in Christ." This syncs with another layer of what God has been teaching me, that who I am is founded in Him; it will never be defined by my work, by others, or outside circumstances.

"Because I live, you also will live." - John 14:19

On that note, I'll close ;)

(Is there something you'd like to hear more about? Say it in the "comments" section below, and I'll write more about it.)

A few key messages from God

A time for lament. The time leading up to my week at Duke's Center for Reconciliation was difficult for me, as I was still reeling from a shooting that happened on our block just a few weeks before. As a witness to the shooting (in which no one was, thankfully, hurt), I experienced shock, numbness, and confusion for some time. As I boarded the plane for Durham, I felt worn and tired from trying to process the hard questions that I needed to ask, like: what am I doing here? What does God want to show me through this? I felt deeply burdened by the hardships faced by residents on my block.

When I applied for the conference two months prior, I had thought that the time would be one of vision-casting and receiving direction for my life, as it pertained to the pursuit of God's heart for reconciliation. I was excited and expectant at the connections and plans God would lay. Instead, I found myself acknowledging after the first day's sessions that I felt completely burnt out.  Oh no!

Has that ever happened to you? You enter something new with expectations that sparks will fly and that God will speak something so clearly and directly, that all of a sudden the different pieces that He has been moving in your heart and mind will click into one, clear Word from Him, but then, nothing tangible seems to materialize?

In hindsight, I can see that what did happen at Duke far outweighed my expectations. God did speak clearly to me, but in my cloud of mixed desires and expectations, it was difficult to discern.

Of all the themes explored at the conference, the dominant message for me came from day two, where we explored the meaning of Lament. Rev. Sarah Jobe, a prison chaplain, shared how her daily experiences of overwhelming sorrow and darkness threaten to make her heart hard. Lament is the antidote to a hardened, calloused heart, but it requires an intentional choice to keep our hearts soft toward God. It requires space to weep, mourn, and pray. At the other end of lament, we do experience hope, and resurrection.


This statue on Duke's campus called "Reconciliation: The Parable of the Prodigal Son" demonstrates both the hardened and the softened heart before God. The prodigal son, though he spurned his Father's name and ran off in disobedience, came back weeping and asking for forgiveness (pictured here). I spent a lot of time studying this statue one morning.

But the older son, despite the Father's pleading, stands with his arms crossed, remaining hardhearted towards them both. He, like his Father, had been hurt by the younger brother, but he held onto that hurt instead of opening himself to grace and compassion which come from above. As I gazed upon the statue, I didn't label myself as one son over the one, but I could see both of them in myself, and I knew that the message that morning about having a "soft heart" was for me.

God invited me into His presence that week, through quiet time, and through the compassionate ears of a few key people. As I look back at it now, I think I was being called to just kneel and lament in His presence, much like the younger brother in this statue, and to receive grace for myself. I didn't need to "figure out" what God was doing or where He was taking me in terms of my spiritual direction. I just needed to be.

Gorgeous spaces for reflection at Duke