this is a story about Mary

So, this is a story about Mary. And about Jesus, and about me.

I met Mary when I was on my lunch break. I walked down the block to the little burger joint on the corner (they have the BEST milkshakes, so on particularly exhausting weeks I like to treat myself). I was waiting by the curb after I ordered. Waiting at one of the tables were two women, at another table two men. There were a few people in line, a few standing around like me. The wait is sometimes long, but I don't mind, because I enjoy observing the people who come and go from the place.

After a few minutes, a woman walked up to the table where the men were sitting. She spoke to them, they quietly responded, and she walked away. Then she turned and started walking toward me. She said hello and started telling me about some of the difficulties she'd been facing recently. When I asked her name, she said "I'm Mary." I told her my name, and listed awhile longer to the pieces of her story that she was sharing. Finally, she asked if I could help her pay for lunch. All I had was $5.00, but I thought it might be better than nothing. We talked a bit more, and before she left she gave me a hug.

Here's a confession, y'all. Normally, I don't give out money. Sometimes, especially if there are a lot of people around, or I feel like I'm on a schedule, I won't even stop to listen. Sometimes, I'm afraid of what people will think of me if I take the time to listen or talk to a person who is asking for money.

But there was something about Mary that made me step outside those fears and listen. I don't know if she was telling the truth or not. I don't know what she might use the $5.00 for. But I know that when I asked her name, the look on her face showed that she felt seen. And when she addressed me by my name, I felt seen, too.

A few minutes later, I heard the women at the table loudly mocking some of the things that Mary had said, calling her "crazy," and laughing. Suddenly I realized that I probably looked "crazy" for talking to her, listening to her story, and helping her. Those women, and maybe everyone else waiting nearby, might have been thinking that I was stupid for even paying attention to her, naive for listening and believing her.

But surprisingly, I didn't care. I didn't care if they thought I was stupid or naive. Maybe I was. But I also shared a moment of connection with a woman who seemed like she was feeling pretty disconnected. It brought peace to my own disconnected soul, too. 

I guess that sometimes, loving people makes you look stupid. Or silly. Or naive. But Mary taught me that it's worth it. It's worth it to love, to care, to listen. To be interruptible. It was a challenging and humbling thing to learn, but I couldn't help thinking that it must have been a feeling that Jesus experienced a lot. He was probably mocked all the time for paying attention to the people who he paid attention to. And yet, he kept paying attention. 

Chances are, I will miss more opportunities for connection because of my own fear or selfishness. But I hope that I remember Mary when I am afraid of what others might think of me. I hope that I remember her smile, and that brief but powerful moment of connection. 

sometimes, I don't want to choose joy

Over the past several months, our Mission Year family has talked a lot about seeking "deep joy" over "cheap fun," and when we gather together, we share the ways that we've experienced joy during the week. Sometimes, these are real challenges. Sometimes, "cheap fun" just seems more fun, and sometimes there are weeks when it seems like everything went wrong and I just don't have anything joyful to share.

There are a lot of sayings out there about "choosing" joy. I've always thought that it sounds nice, but seems unrealistic most of the time.  I mean, if someone is sad, why can't they just be sad? Or angry? Or hurt?

....what about depressed? 

....anxious? 

Why do we have to choose joy when things are difficult? Can't things just be difficult?

Living in community, I've learned a lot about choosing love. When we're having the same tense conversation about dishes for the thousandth time, when one or two or all six of my roommates are getting on my nerves, when I can't seem to find just five minutes of peace and quiet, I have to choose love. We have to choose love. Do we do it perfectly? Nope. But we are committed to each other, and so we stay. We choose each other, we come back. Over and over and over.

So, if I can choose love, can I choose joy? Can I choose joy when I'm frustrated? Can I choose joy when I really just don't feel like it? When everything going on around me seems anything but joyful? I think that I can. Joy doesn't have to mean walking around everywhere with a huge smile on your face all the time. I am learning that for me, joy is the feeling I get when I think about the future that I will get to spend with Christ in eternity. That is my truth, and it's my truth even when I'm not feeling particularly "happy." 

So, for me, choosing joy means living as if I really believe that truth--even and especially when things are difficult. Feeling sad or angry or anxious or whatever I'm feeling is important--I don't want to replace those feelings with artificial happiness. What I do want is to start practicing choosing joy. Choosing to feel and know and believe, deep down, that I am loved and valued infinitely by the God of the universe. 

I think that when we start to figure out what our truth is--who we are and who we're becoming--we find a place for joy, right alongside grief and heartache and even just the mundane. We can choose joy even as we choose sadness. 

I hope that I can remember to choose joy, just like I need to remember to choose love.

I am terrible at remembering to write blog posts.....

Hey friends!

I have SO MUCH to share with you, and have not had much time recently to really get it all out. I'm sorry that I've been so silent over the past months, but stay tuned--new posts are coming soon!

Thanks for your patience :)