Watch Out for Cyclists

Recently I was talking to some friends about the idea of Limits and Losses. In our discussion about limits, we were sharing about limits we feel in our lives - some good and others not so good. As human beings, we are finite creatures with limits built into our DNA; our limits are not liabilities but are part of simply being human. Some of our limits are God-giving blessings and other limits are imposed on us by others. One of the challenges of life is to recognize this difference.

When it was my turn to share I explained that being a woman is one of the things that have limited me.

Confused, a lady asked me to explain what I meant; she (somehow) had never felt like she had been limited due to her femininity. 

I tried to explain myself, but couldn't find adequate words, only example after example of ways I have experienced this limit.

The next day, I noticed a woman penned an analogy that helped give better definition to what I was trying to communicate:

Being a woman is kind of like being a cyclist in a city where all the cars represent men.

You're supposed to be able to share the road equally with cars, but that's not how it works.

The roads are built for cars and you spend a great deal of physical, mental and emotional energy operating on the defense and trying not to get hurt.

Some of the cars WANT you to get hurt. They think you don't have any place on the road at all.

And if you do get hurt by a car, people make excuses that it's the fault of the cyclist not the fault of the car.

Wow - what a fabulous analogy. The cars are not wrong for driving on the road nor are the cyclists wrong for riding on the road. The conflict comes when the more powerful vehicle (which has the potential for life-taking damage) is not aware of the speed, space, and scope of his vehicle. Whether unaware or purposeful, great harm can come from a driver who is simple unaware.

Years ago when I was first learning to drive, I was taught that before merging into traffic or changing lanes I needed to always look twice for motorcyclists. I had a few friends who drove motorcycles and had heard some terrifying stories from their personal experience about accidents and near-misses. It set in me an attitude to always watch-out for and be aware of motorcyclists driving near or toward me.

In thinking about the analogy of women as cyclists on a road with men I wondered how many "accidents" we could avoid by simply watching for and being aware of women around us. What would it take for men to be aware of the danger of "cycling" and to create a space where women don't feel they have to be constantly on the defense. 

This analogy struck me at a practical level because I am someone who actually loves to ride my bike. I am also someone who has an exaggerated fear of riding a bike with cars. None of my three children ride bikes and I wonder how much of that is my own fear I have projected onto them. The fear of not trusting drivers on the road. 

Unfortunately, I have a similar fear of men in power who are unaware of the damage and pain they cause to women. I don't typically work with men who are intentional in their "poor driving," but I have worked with many men who were simply unaware; good, kind men who were never taught to look twice for how their decisions and behavior may affect the women around them.

Is part of the solution changing the vehicles/bicycles? Is it reducing the motor-power of vehicles and reinforcing bikes with protective gear? Changing how our "roads" are built? Of course it would be easier to limit cyclists from riding on the roads or to limit engine-powered vehicles from driving on bike-paths. We all know the ease of being with people similar to ourselves. But how do we travel some of these roads together? How can we work alongside one another?

That's enough of my rambling for today. I continue to hold out hope that one day we can all journey together without fear of one another but in celebration of our differences.

Goodbye to a Classroom

I can be overly-sentimental...but I try to keep my emotions in check and not react too much when I'm facing an emotionally-volatile situation.

I felt a weight today as I cleaned out a classroom at church. The preschool who rents our building is growing and needing more space (good for them). They are adding this room at the end of July (not good for me). 

Oh, I'm sure we'll survive and I can "simply" adjust classrooms, volunteers, pencil boxes, classroom bins, toys, supplies, routines and schedules. The church will benefit a bit monetarily and the preschool can expand, but it sure feels like a loss to me.

I took posters of scriptures down from the walls, cleared North Fresno Church kids' faces from bulletin boards, removed a kid-friendly world-map and peeled labels off the inside of cabinets.

I may "rent" this room again on a Sunday morning but the atmosphere will be one of of a preschool not a classroom dedicated to teaching children about Jesus.

I warned you I'm in a melancholy mood.

I'm sure I'll get over it soon enough, but today...

    ...I'm frustrated,

    ...I'm angry,

    ...I'm defeated,

    ...I'm sad.

Goodbye Room 203 with your south-facing windows, sink, and built-in cabinets. I will miss the sunshine pouring in on a Sunday morning and a sink to wash my hands with my own lavender soap. Simple, insignificant things indeed.

Goodbye. 

Redemptive Hospitality

 

Tonight I stepped into a church that I had not entered in 35 years. 

Our cities of Fresno and Clovis are in the middle of a season of prayer - 21 Days of Prayer in fact. One  tradition that has become a January staple during this season of prayer is the chance to visit different churches every night to pray for our cities together. 

Tonight's service was at Crosspoint Church.

I was a bit distracted heading to the service. I rattled off the cross-streets of the church to Bret and we drove and chatted all the way there. It took me until we were turning off Cedar to realize we were about to pull into the driveway of (what used to be) Harvard Terrace Baptist Church.

My family moved to Fresno in 1983 when my dad became the pastor at Harvard Terrace. My brother, sister and I (pictured above) were sad to leave our family in LA, but were quickly adopted into the warm Southern Baptist community. Many people in the congregation became our adopted grandparents. 

This picture was taken in 1985 to celebrate the day I was baptized. The following year, 1986, life would change and I would receive my first reality check on the health of the Church at the young age of nine.

I don't know all the details because I was so young (I'm in the blue dress), but piecing together conversations, all  my brother, sister and I could figure out was that our Dad was going through a spiritual awakening and the church didn't like it. He began dabbling with topics like prayer, spiritual gifts, healing and worship (with a guitar, not the grand piano or organ no less!). He began encouraging the singing of chorus not just hymns. My dad had been to a Signs & Wonders Conference with John Wimber and was learning to pray for people and learning chords to Vineyard music. I remember hearing him sing and play when I went to bed and again when I woke up. Something was alive in him and the three of us could see it.

From a 9-year-old's perspective, my understanding of the messiness of church was limited (thankfully so). I'm sure there was even more to the story than worship and the Holy Spirit (maybe not!), but what transpired between my dad and the leadership of the church/denomination ended in his termination - or as he explains it, he was led out the backdoor, but when he turned around the door was shut and locked.

As children, we lost grandparents that day. We lost our community. We lost our friends. Why? Because the board - the denomination - did not agree with the vision of their young pastor. My sister, brother and I refused to believe that our dad (our family!) had been fired. We walked our familiar path to church Sunday morning by ourselves, certain we would not be disappointed. 

Instead of warm hugs and a welcomed embrace, we were turned away. The three of us sat on the curb and cried.

I've never stepped foot in that church again, until today.

Our Prayer Night was at Crosspoint and, like I said, I hadn't put the church together with Harvard Terrace until we arrived. I was excited to go in to see how much the church had changed. Walking in we were greeted by friendly people from a variety of ages and ethnicities (that was different than the last time we were here). Inside, the pews were gone (no surprise) but the set-up was the same. Same center stage. Same lower ceilings on the two sides. Same door frames and windows (actually the glass was more clear, it used to be gold), same baptistry (where I was baptized!). Structurally the church was the same...but the people, the paint, the energy, the atmosphere - wow - much different.

What I loved most was that the congregation beautifully reflected it's neighborhood. 

Then worship began. The congregation began singing, people raised their hands and I began to cry. Part of me felt like I was seeing my dad's prayers from 35 years ago - worship and prayer were happening under the same roof that shut it down.

Nothing monumental happened, it was simply a beautiful night of worship and prayer with men, women, youth, and children at Crosspoint Church where we prayed for our cities and worshipped God. But for me, I received the greeting and welcome I wanted as a child. My little self was welcomed and I felt the healing balm of the people of God soothe a wound from so long ago. Singing Vineyard worship songs with arms lifted in the building where my dad was fired for singing Vineyard songs and praying was absolutely incredible. 

I'm grateful for this community of believers who are loving their neighbors and welcoming the broken into their church family. 

Crosspoint Church, thanks for offering your beautiful worship, for leading us in prayer, and especially for your warm hospitality. 

May the Spirit continue to be at work within the Churches of Fresno/Clovis so we can better be God's representatives outside of our church walls.