"If Grace Is An Ocean We're All Sinking"

Last weekend I had the opportunity to spend time away from the stress and pressure of everyday life. 

I don't think there are words to adequately describe the experience.  See, when I was in high school I was involved in a youth group called LOG (Love of God).  LOG was important for me...LOG taught me that I could actually be loved for being myself, not because I shared the last name of some pretty incredible people.  LOG taught me that I was worth being cared about and listened to - by people other than my family - even though I might not have been the cutest or the smartest.  LOG taught me how to know Jesus, really know Him, and what it means to love Him. 

LOG was pretty important to me.

Luckily for me, LOG is still a part of my life.  I was asked to be on the Spiritual Advisory Board (a.k.a. LOGBoard) when I was out of college.  Elisa told me to think about it and pray about it - and I used all my self-control to do so - and then said, "YES!!"  My role on LOGBoard is to do a bunch of behind-the-scenes type stuff.  Mary and I are a unit (sometimes called, "Phary"...take the last few letters of "Stepha" and "Mary") and together we write some pretty amazing skits (if I do say so, myself), and get a lot of the more practical things done.  I am also supposed to be there to pray for and love and lift up the high school students who are involved in LOG.  It's kind of funny how I am always the one getting lifted up and loved.

Last weekend we had a retreat where we rented a camp up by Lake Cachuma.  Cell phones are discouraged, but you don't get reception anyway, so it's not too rough to keep them put away.  iPods are discouraged, but there's no time to sit and listen to them, so what's the point of having them?  Watches are discouraged, because up at that retreat you get the chance to be outside of time.  It's tough the first time to have no watch, but after that you begin to appreciate it.  Time has no meaning up at LOG, except that you sleep at night and wake up in the morning, and God is always present. 

While I haven't exactly been screaming it from the rooftops, I haven't made a secret of the fact that life has been a little rough lately.  I have felt weighed down by all the things I have to do.  I am slightly afraid of checking my email, because while there is always one more reminder of something I need to do there is also always the possibility that I will have an email asking, "Why didn't you do this?  Did you forget??"  I feel overwhelmed sometimes, and all I want to do is run away (not the healthiest way of dealing with my problems at all). 

In the weeks leading up to LOG this all reached a peak, of sorts.  I was feeling down-trodden and frustrated and guilty, too, because I was looking forward to the weekend, but only to get away from it all.  I was excited to spend the weekend with my close friends, other LOGBoard members and high-schoolers.  I am sorry to say that I wasn't necessarily excited to spend the time with God. 

Fortunately He met me where I was.  Last weekend I was wrapped up in love and taught a valuable lesson.  Sometimes we need a slap in the face.  Sometimes we need to get knocked out of our complacency.  We need to realize that the path we are headed down is going exactly that way: down. 

My life lately has been the slap.  I was skating along and somewhere along the way had lost sight of what was truly important.  I got caught up in my own world.  I forgot to look outside myself.  And then my life - which wasn't too hard really, however much I had moaned about it - got hard.  I was suddenly left feeling like the things I had before were gone.  I was left without the things that distract me from the important things in life. 

And then, because God is good, I was wrapped up and held tight when I felt most vulnerable.  The slap in the face was soothed by the hug afterward.  And with my eyes cleared from the distracting stuff I was able to see the most beautiful thing of all: Grace.  I saw that even with my faults, my distractions, and my missteps I am loved.  I am offered forgiveness and the grace to stand back up and begin to walk again. 

Mary gets Group-Hugged!

Quite the lesson, really.  And it was taught by high-schoolers. 

And so I leave you now with the words of the theme of LOG 42.  The song, How He Loves states it much better than I can. 

He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realize just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so,
Oh, how He loves us.
How He loves us, so.

We are His portion and He is our Prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes.
If grace is an ocean we're all sinking.
And Heaven meets Earth like a sloppy wet kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
And I don't have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way

That He loves us,
Oh how he loves us.

Oh how he loves us

How he loves us, so.

Reflections on Thanksgiving

I have a confession to make: I am a material person.  I like stuff.  And what's worse, sometimes I like stuff just for the sake of having it.  It doesn't matter that I buy something and it usually ends up forgotten within weeks.  It doesn't matter that it simply clutters up my house.  It doesn't matter that I don't actually need it.  I have been intrigued by ads, and seduced by commercials.  I buy, I regret, I shrug, I move on.  Very rarely do I appreciate, or even really enjoy, my purchases.

That has had to change.  Now, if I am going to be completely honest here I have to admit that it did not change because I chose to change it.  No, God - in His infiite wisdom (that I can't completely see yet) - decided that the time had come for me to open my eyes to what was going on.  He offered me a job that looked like it would pay a lot of money and I took it.  Then He let the bottom drop out from under me, at least, that's what it felt like.  I had to build a client base.  I had to build up my time.  I am still not working full-time.  And because of a few months of paychecks that couldn't even cover my rent, I am indebted to people for more money than I can even imagine. 

I've been discouraged.  I've been tired.  I've been selfish.  I've been angry and bitter.  I've been stressed and anxious.  I've cried so much lately that I won't even watch a remotely touching movie, because I'm flat out tired of crying, even good tears. 

But in the past few weeks I have been able to get a glimmer of hope.  My dad sent me a couple of texts that I have saved onto my phone, and I look at them when I am discouraged.  Don't let money rule your life. And, the one that brings tears to my eyes every time, I am NEVER disappointed in you or any of my children.  I know what a gift you are from God, and I appreciate every one of you.  Or there is the birthday card my mom wrote to me: Don't give up before the miracle happens.  Simple, really, but somehow more encouraging than the best pep-talk.

And in this time of stress and discouragement, uncertainty and questioing of whether the bills will be paid or my loans will default, I have been able to go through an amazing change.  I am starting to appreciate the beautiful things in life again.  I am starting to forget that my bank account looks pretty grim.  I can jump up and down about a free coffee drink from Starbucks and really feel that excited.  I can get a hug from a high schooler and feel uplifted for the rest of the day.  I can give thanks at the end of the day for what I accomplished that day, because I am learning to see what it is I truly do. 

I work with special needs kids during the day, and one evening a week (so far) I tutor children who may not have specific special needs, but need a lot of extra help.  I sit on the floor all day.  I let mothers cry about what it feels like to not know what having a "normal child" is like.  For some of them I am the only person outside of their family they see all week.  For some of them I am their only friend.  I teach two-year-olds that it is not okay to throw blocks across the room.  I teach them that hurting their parents is not acceptable.  I teach them that even though they are struggling to place one block on top of another they are wonderful children, worthy of love.  I listen to sixth graders struggle through books that my second-grade sister is reading in class.  I help them understand that "I've" has the exact same meaning as "I have."  I sit with them and listen to their stories of being bullied because they can't read in class.  And I let them know that I love them and want them to succeed. 

I'm not perfect.  I come home at the end of the day and am exhausted.  My back hurts, whether from sitting on the floor all day or bearing some of the burdens of the families I work with or a combination of both I don't know.  I can be crabby with my sister, when all she does is say "hi."  Sometimes I just want to sit and be by myself.  But I am learning that through it all I am being molded into the person that God wants me to be. 

You see, growing pains always hurt.  And I am going through some pretty intense growing pains. 

I hope at the end of it I have actually grown.  I hope I am that version of me that God intends for me to be.  My prayer lately has been that I will learn the lessons set before me, so I don't have to go through this again...Maybe it's not the perfect prayer, but I think it's a start.  I hope so at least. 

And so, on this day of Thanksgiving, I am going to offer a prayer written by someone much more amazing than I could hope to be.  Fr. Gregory Petrov was a priest in a Slavic prison camp - where he ultimately died - and even in those horrific conditions was able to write a beautiful service of thanksgiving to God.  Last night at church, when we celebrated the service, I was struck by this song:

That which is broken cannot be restored, but Thou canst set aright those whose conscience has become decayed; Thou restorest the soul to its former beauty in those who have lost it beyond all hope. With Thee there is nothing that cannot be put aright. Thou art all love. Thou art the Creator and the Restorer. To Thee we sing praise: Alleluia!

 To God be the glory, now and forever - in good times, and in bad. 

Job 1:21



"You look like you can help me....6663!"

This Halloween I did something that I have never, ever done before: I spent Saturday night of Halloween weekend in Isla Vista.  What's more, I spent part of it on Del Playa - the biggest party street in Santa Barbara.  Now, I think, in order for this story to really make sense I need to back up and begin at, well, the beginning.

Thursday night I sat on the patio of Fr. Nicholas and Jan's house with Mary, Cat, Garrett, Fr. Nicholas, and Jenn.  We were at a choir party (which should really be a blog entry in and of itself) and I turned to Fr. Nicholas as we ate. 

"So Fr. Nicholas, are you excited about your first Halloween out of IV?"

He laughed.  "You bet I am."

The conversation then turned to how horrible the situation is in IV during Halloween.  Which roads were closing?  How many extra people were already in IV, waiting for the party to start?  How many injuries do you think there will be?  Oh!  Are we having Vespers on Saturday night?

"Of course we are," Fr. Nicholas answered.  Even though it will be difficult to get into IV?  "We will do it if only for one reason: someone needs to pray for that city."

We then started wondering how on earth the city supervisors (or whomever is in charge) actually let the party happen each year.  After all, there is a serious crime spike over the weekend, not to mention all the unreported assaults, rapes, etc.  It is simply unsafe to have that many people (anywhere between 30 and 40 thousand) in such a small space (one square mile - but mainly on one street) under dangerous influences. 

I brought up Cal Poly and Mardi Gras, and how that used to be comparable to Halloween in IV.  My freshman year of college they started a campaign called "The Party is Over" and now Mardi Gras isn't an issue.  Jenn was amazed.  "We should start that here.  I wonder who we would have to talk to if we want to get that started?  I know tons of people who would sign that."  She then went on to talk about the Santa Barbara Street Medicine group that she volunteers with on Halloween.  She explained that a first aid station is set up at our church, and that she has actually gone into the thick of the partying to search out people who are lost, hurt, or confused and help them. 

I turned to Mary.  She nodded, and I looked back at Jenn.  "How does one go about getting involved in this?" I asked. 

"Do you want to stop by?  You might have to sign waivers and stuff, but I'm sure they would love to have you."

"Well, it's my church," Fr. Nicholas said, half-joking.  "And I give them a very high recommendation.  I say they can do it."  We all laughed, and I turned to Mary as the conversation drifted to other topics.

"Mare," I said.  "I really think we should do this."

"I know, Steph.  I think we should, too." 

The decision had been made.  We were doing it.  After Vespers on Saturday night we would stay late and ask if they needed any help.

Saturday night rolled around and I left extra early for Vespers - it still took me about double the length of time to get to church than any normal Saturday evening.  And although it was only 5:30, there were people already getting into costume and party mode.  I arrived at church and stood, fascinated, as I watched group after group of party-goers walk past.  I looked at a few other church-goers and shook my head. "It just doesn't sound fun," I said. 

After Vespers I was told to come back in a few hours, as that would be when extra hands would be needed.  I told Mary, and we tried to work out the best way to get into IV.  We could park far away and walk, or we could bike.  We could drive in and hope there would be a space left in the church parking lot (the spaces would be sold as a fundraiser for the homeless outreach our church does).  We decided to try our luck with the parking spot, so at 11:00 Mitchell, Mary, and I slowly drove into Isla Vista and made our way to church.  We pulled in and explained that we were volunteering, so we were waved in. 

After a few minutes of confusion, in which we were told we needed to pay for the parking spot, then told we didn't need to, then told we did need to, and finally told we didn't, we introduced ourselves to the other volunteers - mostly pre-med seniors - and waited for a carful of partiers to come to rent a parking space. 

In the first hour there were about 2 cars, so we did our duty and rented out the spaces.  After a little more time we looked at each other and decided it was time to don the reflective vests and head onto Del Playa (DP) to see if there was anyone who needed help. 

As we walked down the street, heading toward DP, we passed the search and rescue station.  The firefighters, cops, and search and rescue workers who were sitting at the station smiled and waved at us as we walked by.  We smiled and waved back, and I felt slightly excited by the sense of acceptance and camaraderie that was shared. 

After passing the search and rescue station we turned onto Del Playa.  Suddenly I was on full alert. 



Yeah...This is really what it was like.

It was like Disneyland - but a warped, twisted, evil Disneyland.  No matter which direction you were walking, you were walking against the flow of traffic.  People in costumes came toward me, and I had to dodge to keep from being run over.  At one point Mary was afraid she would be thrown up on.  People were yelling at us as we walked past: "Caltrans!" or "Construction workers..." or "GO GIANTS!"

We had walked to the end of the street when a girl dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz stumbled up to us.  Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and she seemed to be struggling to figure out who to look at.  Finally she clapped her hands together.  "You look like you can help me...6663!" 

We stared at her for a second until I said, "You need to get to 6663?" 

"6663.  I wish I could sound smarter than that.  6663."

We looked around.  We were at 6679 so we turned around with her and headed back the direction we came from, toward 6663.  As we walked together we were extra careful - there were mounted police and drunk people everywhere and this girl was drunk.  She looked at me with big eyes as we walked.  "Oh man.  I was like a lost puppy when you found me.  This is so scary.  I can't find my friends.  I was in totally the wrong direction.  This should not be allowed."

"It would definitely be much safer if it wasn't allowed."

We chatted some more as we walked - she was completely oblivious to all the people and potential dangers around - and when we finally found 6663 she turned to give us all hugs.  "Thank you so much!!"  She ran into the house (which looked pretty dark).

A police officer pulled me aside.  "Are you guys helping people who are lost?"  I nodded.  "Well I sent a guy on his way up there.  He's a white guy wearing flip flops, jeans, and a tank top.  He's looking for his hotel."

I told him we would look for this guy to help him find his way, and told Mary and Mitchell the description the cop had given me.  "Seriously, Steph?  That could be anyone."

We never found that guy... I hope he's okay.  Because let's be honest: if he was looking for a hotel he was in the wrong part of town.  There are no hotels in IV. 

It was a long night.  We left IV at around 2:30 am.  But it was a good night.  For all the people, and the sadness, knowing that we helped that one girl made it all worth it.  For one night I was able to keep my mind off my problems and help someone else.

I think I have found a new tradition for my Halloweens.

Philippians 2:4