Thursday, April 30, 2020

God Knew



My camera roll is a study of contrasts.  Google reminded me recently of five years of memories.  I studied the layers pealed back to see who appeared in the shots, where I was and why it seemed important to document for the lady who clicked the button.

Five years ago today I was journaling my every day Moscow life.  This was my second full school year in Moscow.  My neighborhood was familiar, comfortable.  I recognized people and knew my way around enough to not be lost.  One photo is the landmark church that guarded the street where home could be found.  But the photo was not a creative “shot,” just the view through the fence.  It was the view that you see when walking home from the grocery store.  I feel the bags pulling on my hands, my feet are sore, the wind has blown my hair into my face.  No glamour, just common. 

The next photo is a tired, solid apartment building.  The brown wood of the balcony has seen better days.  Weary lilac bushes are seen trying to push out leaves to welcome spring.  The sidewalk is littered with leaves and small bits of trash.   Another common view of my Moscow home. 

Four years ago today I see a myriad of shots from a long Moscow walk.  Instantly I am transported to that day.   The sun shone cooly and teased us with its brightness.  Thankful for a warm jacket and hot coffee, we walked.  I was accompanied by a young historian full of knowledge who practiced his English while I absorbed the culture of this grand city.  The photos are full of contrast.  A sleek, modern mirror building reflecting an ancient church.  An Easter Village sprung up in the court of the Bolshoi Theater. 


At the end of our walk, outside of a metro station named for the Revolution of 1905, beneath a statue honoring Communism, we happened upon a parade of Russian military tanks and soldiers walking with guns drawn.

My friend took a sip of his coffee and said with a smile, “So, when you were  in your 20s like I am now, did you ever imagine you would be standing here?” 


When I was 25, the Berlin Wall still stood staunchly in place.  I was someone who hardly left the South Side of Milwaukee, let alone would stand calmly watching a Russian military parade in the middle of Moscow. 

But God knew.


Three years ago I was in Thorp, Wisconsin, at a picnic table in a little park surrounded by my grandbabies.  Hardly able to keep them in the frame, they are running, playing, laughing at the day.  Such a contrast of the last year’s location!  American freedom exemplified.  Had you asked me at 16 would I be so richly blessed with my family, I could not have imagined it.

But God knew.

Two years ago my worlds collided.  Friends in Moscow took a picture which was tweaked and printed by friends in Eau Claire who brought it to me in Milwaukee.  I see my reflection in the photo of the photo.  I am reminded how small the world is.  Had you asked me if I expected my love of history to bond two artists across the continents, I would not have expected it.

But God knew.

One year ago the photos are filled with ministry at church and work.  It’s funny, in a way, that my work would become more ministry than profession and my volunteer time would be the same.  I see the people that I work with at church in the photo and the kids that we get to bless together.  I’m a facilitator that makes sure the teachers have the tools and training they need to be successful.  I love it.  I get to enjoy the students, but also enjoy helping brilliant young teachers thrive.  My profession is a teacher, but it’s more ministry than teaching.  My students come from almost the same starting place that I did.  I see myself in them so often.  It’s my privilege to help them academically in a place where their spiritual growth is just as important. 



The church photo shows a room full of listening hearts lifted up to hear an encouragement, a puppet speaking from a tree, several teachers filling the air with their love and compassion.  I can feel the joy of the place. 

In the second photo there is a line of young artists, fresh faced, innocent smiles, best and brightest. They are together enjoying a taste of victory.  They have well represented our school by their excellent work and character. 


I remember being the age they are.  When the world was full of possibilities and I began to stretch my creative wings.  I dreamed of being a writer at a famous magazine or newspaper.  I would travel the world and write, write, write!  Or maybe I would be a teacher. I would go to a foreign country and teach impoverished children how to read and write.  Or maybe I would be a social worker and help foster kids and kids in jail get out of the life of drugs and alcohol and hurt. I would have a big family with lots of kids and extra rooms for more kids so they would never feel left out.  

Then life happened and all those dreams lay beneath the will to survive.  Hard years happened.  If I were smarter I may have avoided some of those hardships.  If I had more direction I may have not become so scarred and calloused.  Had you told me there would be a time when my life would become enveloped in helping kids in various ways, I would not have believed you.

But God knew. 

Now I see in these pictures the reflection younger me couldn’t imagine.  I see healing, confidence, strength, love, compassion and strength.  I did go and do all those things I dreamed of.  I have filled my life with people in every place who occupy spaces in my heart and, I hope, I in theirs.  

I love to look through my camera roll.  It reminds me where I’ve been and where I’m going.



Sunday, February 9, 2020

This Thing About Families


This thing about families.  It’s not about a name or a place to live or a status to have.

It’s about belonging.

It’s about walking into a crowded room and knowing where to sit and who to talk to.  It’s about not ever knocking on a door, but always just walking in.  It’s about being sick and knowing someone will go to the store for you, make soup for you, pray for you.  It’s about reaching out and finding a welcome hand.  It’s about being inclusive, never excluded.

It’s a hard thing for me to understand.

It’s not about time spent or even calls made.  Although those are nice and welcome.  But family doesn’t count the days between, only the hours with.  Family thinks about you when you’re not there and talks about you like you’re just around the corner.  “My sister always loves….,” “My brother always says ….”

Family knows you – really – and accepts you anyway.

Your fears are their opportunities to be a hero.  Your joy is a reason for them to laugh.  Your tears are a reason for the to problem solve or share or fight.


It’s holiday times and create a memory times and everyday times when you just need to be alone with people who know you.  Take the mask off, lay down the shield.  It’s refreshing and resting and sometimes even arguing, but knowing once you blow your stack and spill the beans and all the volcanic ash is everywhere but in, you still have someone to grab a cup of coffee with and a smile to share.  Family helps you find the boundaries.

I have seen it often – but not always – at church.  I have known it with certain friends, but not all.  I’ve even felt it in some workplaces.  Not all, but some.  It’s like you’re covered, held, welcomed.

Most people silently push away, exclude, separate from others.  


Family pulls you in.  


It’s not culture, color, religion, location, time that builds family.  I have family in Africa, Asia, America.  I’ve known some for all my life, some share my DNA.  They represent many religions, many socio-economic levels.  Some are very wealthy.  Some are very far below the poverty line.

Some share pages and pages of history with me.  Some only a few paragraphs.

I’m mostly afraid of the family thing.  Afraid I am over-assuming my place. Afraid I am over-assuming their acceptance of me.  I stay back a little just in case.  So, if they reject me, no one will see.  I am cautious until I know for sure that if  I walk into a crowded room and I see family, I know where I belong.