The Importance of Children's Sunday

One of the things I am most pleased about in my ministry is the creation of a Children's Sunday in our congregation.  This is different from Youth Sunday, which we actually have two of, one known as Youth Sunday and one known as Massanetta/Montreat Sunday.  These services are led by our teenagers, 6th-12th graders.  Children's Sunday also happens twice a year, on the fifth Sundays, one in fall and one in spring.  These worship services are led by our elementary aged children.  We also invite children from the preschool to participate as all the ages are welcome to join in the music that is prepared with the Children's Music Director.

This worship service is about more than the children singing in worship.  There is more to this than the Christmas Pageant (which is also fun).  For several weeks the children work with their Sunday School Teachers to pick or discuss a theme for the service.  Then they work to prepare prayers and liturgy for worship.  I typically preach, but the children have responsibility for leading the congregation in the other parts of worship.  Sometimes we bring their artwork upstairs or use it on the bulletin cover.  Sometimes we carry in Children's Bibles and use a lectern built just for them.

I have worked really hard over the last few years to create an environment of welcome to children and families in worship. We have had worship bags and children's bulletins which actually coincide with the scriptures and service of the day. Most recently we have started having acolytes each Sunday.  I've taken inspiration from other churches and created a card found in each pew with a welcome to parents to encourage them that it's okay to have wiggles or giggles in church.  For three summers, children have been welcomed in worship without an additional children's worship held outside of the sanctuary. We try (although not so well this summer) to do special things to engage the kids during the service.  I love Children's Worship or Chapel apart from the sanctuary up to a certain age and I think it is a vital time for their  faith development.  But, my reasons for this particular kind of service are multilayered.

1) Children will not know how to behave in worship if you don't invite them into worship.  They will never learn or understand that church is not intended to be boring, stuffy, and for adults only if you do not cultivate a culture that encourages children to express their faith.

2) Children have something to say about God!  Children know the stories, they listen and imagine the narratives of the Bible, and the wonder of it excites them in ways that we will miss if we don't allow them a space to share their own thoughts and beliefs!  Do not discount them because they are young, this is in the Scriptures! We as adults can learn something from our children if we open our hearts to listen to them.  It is also an opportunity to develop leadership skills in them that will benefit them in their future.

3) Children need to feel ownership of church life in the same ways that you do.  When I hear teenagers or young adults talk about how they grew up racing through the halls and knew every nook and cranny of the church--that means something!  It means they were welcomed there like a second home, they felt safe and loved.  Their memories should not just be relegated to the "education wing" or the "Sunday School Room" they should feel like the sanctuary is theirs and worship belongs to them as believers too.  Worship takes on a new meaning if you understand all of the effort that is put into it.  And worship also means more if you feel like you have an important role to play.

4) Worship is not about you.  Worship is not about you as the parishioner or about me as the pastor.  Worship is not a performance for you to feel validated or comfortable.  Worship is not an act performed by the pastor to keep you entertained. Worship is not even about you seeing those precious children and oohing and ahhing. It's not a parade.  Worship is directed to God.  We are worshiping the triune God through our words, through our music, through our offerings.  In worship we explore, and we make meaning, and we glorify God.  In all honesty, it takes all ages to make that happen.  So, maybe it is uncomfortable for you to have children crying in the pew behind you.  Maybe you get annoyed when the transitions between the hymns and the prayers take a little longer for the children to get into place.  Maybe it is harder to see them or hear them.  Maybe they talk too fast, maybe they read too slow.  But, at least they are there and that is brave.

So, on September 30th at 10:30 AM, I extend a special invitation to you, to witness people of all ages giving glory to God, being led by the children.  I encourage you not to dismiss it outright.  I encourage you to come and be present as you would any other Sunday and bear witness to the Holy Spirit moving in and through the priesthood of all believers.

Preschool Chapel Returns

There are parts of my vocation that are such a privilege I can hardly believe it is my good fortune to be serving.  Every Wednesday morning I get to lead chapel for the Covenant Presbyterian Preschool children.  This is not a "have to" this is a "get to".

Imagine 60+ kids from babies to 5 years old in a room together.  It is cahrazy!  And honestly in the 20 minutes I have with them--I keep their wholehearted attention for about 5 minutes.

They are snotty sometimes.  And wrinkled sometimes.  And cranky sometimes.  But they parade up the stairs or run off the elevator and they are charming.

We sing songs together! We get our wiggles out with "If you're happy and you know it" and "This Little Light of Mine."  They shout AMEN so loud it rattles the chandelier.

We've done all kinds of things over the last few years.  We have put on costumes and acted out stories from Noah's Ark to Pentecost.

One year we used Godly Play and we heard and watched the story being told in a variety of ways.  We've flung more sand from the sandbox than we ever thought possible.

We have been in the sanctuary where we have heard that the pews are "as old as your grandmother."  We have learned about advent and lent.  We have looked inside the baptismal font and had bread and juice in the fellowship hall as we learned about communion.

We've traipsed outside and danced in the parking lot and used our bodies to spell HOPE and LOVE.

We've done scavenger hunts with the wise men that guided us to the star at Christmas.  We've heard that big word, RESURRECTION, right before our Easter egg hunt!

This year, we will use some of our Sunday School materials from the Deep Blue Curriculum to hear our stories.  Yet another way to engage our senses in learning about the stories of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit.

You have to be careful what questions you ask of them. You never know what they will say or how your question might set them into a flurry of chatter.  But,we always end our time together in prayer where they diligently repeat after me.

My new stamp pad is ready, a cross stamp picked out-- a sign on their hands as God seals their hearts.

I feel like a part of the team now when I greet those teachers and their children each week.  The kids make me feel welcome too.  Hearing, "Pastor Loren" called out down the hallway is always a highlight of my day.

The Music Makes It

This week I'm giving a nod....no a standing O, to the music ministry of the church.  I do not know how they do it! But I know this, music is the heart of worship; it calms hearts, it joins voices, it lends words and interpretation when we do not know what else to speak.  It glorifies.

A pipe organ is an ancient instrument and it is beautiful.  Even though I love contemporary music and the use of varieties of instruments in worship, I cannot imagine worship without an organ.  You know what is even more beautiful than a perfectly functioning organ (ours will get there again), the person who plays it.  The art of being an organist is a true gift and I almost wonder if organists shouldn't be on an endangered species list of some sort.  Covenant is truly blessed to have hit the proverbial jackpot in Krista.  A multi-talented woman who is dedicated to her craft and the fulfillment of worship through music.

Here's the thing--I don't play an instrument--and as much as I would like to learn guitar, I just don't think I have the time or patience at this juncture in life to learn.  But I have so much respect for any musician.  It is amazing to me!  I've been in choirs before--I can kind of read music...but to be able to look at a piece of paper and bring those notes to life, amazing!  Covenant has so many talented musicians.  You know what, they don't have to share their musical talents with us. But they do--they recognize the God given gifts and they give back to God with their music.  Ultimately the playing is not for us, it is for God.  And for bells, pianos, drums, saxophones, harps, guitars, flutes...on and on....God too gives thanks, I am convinced.

To be part of a  congregational choir is a special thing. To work together in harmony can be challenging.  All of that "togetherness" to create a magical sound is hard work, and it creates bonds.  I know it does because I've witnessed it in my home church with my mother, and in every church I have served.  A choir becomes a family.  To lift your voice loud enough for the world to hear, well to me that is just plain brave.  Some people say to me, "well I could never preach."  I might respond, "well I could never sing in front of everyone."  That's not entirely true, I could, if you hog tied me....but it isn't my special gift.  So I respect the power of singing, and I hold it like a fragile egg.

Now, can you imagine someone who lives music as if it is as natural as breathing?  To me, that's Richard.  He sings, he plays, he teaches, he directs--give the man his own show!  The gift of Richard though isn't really his musical talents--it's the way he is a faithful servant of God using music as a vehicle.  People at Covenant don't just love Richard because of his gifts, they love him because he shows love, respect, and support to them.  He may joke around a lot, but his love of the Lord is deep and his compassion for people is wide.  Just watch him work with children and teens, as much as any minister, he lives his vocation.

Do you want to know a secret? I dislike picking hymns.  Many a time I have asked Richard to pick them for me.  I dislike picking hymns because I feel inadequately prepared to make musical selections with my limited knowledge.  Luckily, if I do a poor job, Richard tells me!  But what I do enjoy is hearing the notes echo in a reverent room.  I love it when a choir brings the Word with a spiritual, or when a pianist plays a familiar tune with the softest of touch.  While worship is directed to God and not a performance for us--it would be rather dull to my thinking without voices melding together or music reverberating in the rafters.  That is just the tradition in which I was raised.

So today, a standing O for the ministers of music--and all of the talent, the joy, and the love they possess for God, for one another, and for the church they make a home.

What I love about Sundays

This is probably not something the majority of readers would consider on a regular basis....what a pastor might love about Sundays.... and not because we only work one day a week!  Sundays are a beast for pastors (at least speaking for myself) and we spend our entire week preparing for this one day (among dozens of other irons in the fire at any given time) only to find that when it is done we must gear up for the next Sunday.

There is no such thing as a lazy Sunday in my household.  From the moment my eyes pop open the wheels in my mind are turning.  Sunday morning, or church, has a lot of moving parts for me.  I have to get ready, get there, and get started.  I used to be better about thinking through Sunday mornings before they actually arrived, but then I became a mother.  Now, I see check-lists in the mirror while I'm painting my face.  Pouring a bowl of cereal may remind me that we are taking up a hunger offering.  The flurry of activity begins from the moment I pull into the parking lot.    Review the bulletin, put my hands and eyes on my portions of the service.  Go downstairs and greet folks as Sunday School gets going.  See to whatever responsibilities I have in that hour (often teaching). Rush upstairs, get robe.  Again, put hands and eyes on bulletin, prayers, sermon etc.  By this time my mind is in total overdrive.  Where's the acolyte? Are the Bible passages marked? Oh, right, Hunger offering--where are those bags? Greet the greeters, peek at the prayers, check the clock.  Listen to stories from parishioners, answer questions, don't forget the microphone.  Chime the hour, entry of the word, walk. Worship begins.   By the way, it is HARD to worship when you're a pastor with responsibilities.  At least for me, I have to will myself to slow down and enjoy those moments.  My afternoons after lemonade and cookies might have fellowship events or evening meetings.  Those are long days but in the end, rewarding.  Because despite this review of my frazzled feelings on Sunday mornings, there are things I love about Sundays!

I love being with the children on Sunday mornings.  I love when they walk in with sleepy jacks in their eyes and tell me about their week at school or what they did on Saturday.  It is so fun to watch them come together and talk, run around, and laugh.  It doesn't really matter what their ages are--somehow they all welcome each other.  When their voices come together in song--stronger as they become more confident, I love that.

I love popping my head in the door of the youth room and seeing the teenagers engaging in conversation. I love when their teachers come and tell me about an ah-ha moment they've had.  It delights me to watch them shuffle over to serve as greeters, livening up as they welcome people into the sanctuary.  It has nothing to do with me at all, but my heart bursts when they serve as ushers in worship.

I love when everything goes smoothly in worship. I love when all of the liturgy, music, scripture, and sermon speak to each other. We work very hard to provide a space for that to happen in ways that are meaningful.  The caveat here is that it almost never happens.  I forget something, or flub something, or someone else does.  But this is good.  It is good to remember that we are all imperfect! It is good to remember that worship does not have to be stuffy, silent, or perfected in order to glorify God.

I love when people stay to visit after worship, to gather around the snacks provided, to linger in conversation.  It is a lovely way to greet people, to have those brief conversations about upcoming events, prayer concerns, etc. I enjoy hearing adults supporting one another, finding common ground and becoming friends.  In fact, I love all the opportunities where people can come together like this, classrooms, committees, lunches and dinners.  The church is the community within, not the building.

And after that, I love going home! I love the rare afternoons when we can all take long naps!

I love nights with session meetings.  I do not love session meetings.  I do not love that they are often long and my brain shuts down at 8:00 PM.  But I do love the camaraderie that only those of us privileged to be in the room get to see.  I love to witness respectful, thoughtful dialogue by dedicated members of the church.  More than anything, I love the moments of laughter wedged in between the mundane.

And after that, I love going home! I love eating a bowl of cereal over the counter, putting on my PJs and collapsing into bed to read my book for five minutes before I pass out.  Then it's Monday.  I get up and start the cycle all over again. Sunday comes quick,  I love that.

The Best Sunday School Teacher

He always wore a coat and tie on Sundays. He often served as an usher in worship. He would sit on a weathered couch under the high windows in the youth room of Bedford Presbyterian, and he would ponder what we teenagers said and begin his response, "Well, you know...." He always had a grand smile and a hearty laugh.   Three of his little paintings depicting family farm life hang in my bedroom.  I didn't know he was artistic until I was an adult.  Humble. Compassionate. That was Bob.

We lost my friend Bob after a fight with prostate cancer this week.  I didn't know.  I knew he had been struggling with some illness.  But this, I didn't know.  That was their choice, Bob and Jo (his beloved wife), their private choice not to tell me, to tell many of this battle.  Perhaps I am thankful, selfishly, because I can remember him as the man he always was to me, rather than being defined by the disease that took him from us.

You have to consider Bob and Jo as a unit... they are one word, coined by our sweet friend Elli, long ago as a child...BobnJo.  There has never been a time where they have stood in my mind as anything but an unquestionable entity like peanut butter and jelly.  Timeless and constant; and utterly delightful.  Of course, individuals with their own interests, talents, friendships--but always fitting together.

Along with a few other adults in my home church, Bob and Jo had a profound impact on my faith as an adolescent. Jo was my representative from session on the sunlit morning I was baptized at 15 years old.  Bob was my Sunday School teacher.  I know I am not alone in the feeling that he was amazing. He took the time to know all of us, to listen to the highlights and the struggles of our lives.  He was present for our Youth Sundays, our sporting events, our graduations. Later on, he celebrated with us our weddings, our ordinations, our promotions, our children. 

Now, it's my job to provide quality Christian Education for all ages in my congregation.  I would not have gone down the path I have been on in ministry if not for Bob's presence in my life.  I think nothing is more fitting than sharing how he impacted me through his role (just one of many hats) as my Sunday School teacher.

1) Be present in the life of the young people in church.  There were a million other things Bob Carson could have been doing on Sunday morning.  He chose to be with a room full of loving (but loud) teenagers, sitting on rejected couches and plying us with donuts.  Sometimes he would sit back and just observe us, listening to our banter.  Whenever he leaned forward, folded hands, arms resting on his knees, I knew he was ready to rein us in.  He was always there.  I don't remember having curriculum books although I am sure Bob did.  I do remember passing out Bibles with red letters and reading verses around the room.  He was a constant for us, for years.  He taught me that you don't have to have teenagers still living at home to be part of a youth ministry.  He taught me that a life of work also required a life of play ( I would often see he and Jo walking the loop in Bedford together--well Jo was running)! And he taught me that both of these were nothing without walking in faith. All that, just by being present on Sunday mornings!

2)  Ask the question.  Bob was adamant that if we had questions about anything he wanted to hear them.  And if he didn't have the answer, he would go home and research and come back to us with something.  There were no questions too minor for Bob when it came to our faith formation.  And by this model we quickly came to respect each other around the room--even if some of us were freshmen and others seniors.   As a teenager who had grown up going to church some as a child, I had not yet been through confirmation when I came to his class.  I was the new kid on the block at the church and he instantly made me feel like I had a place there.  His first lesson to me was, it's good to ask questions, otherwise we never grow.  As adults, we often think that in order to be a spiritual force in the lives of our congregation, whether teaching children, youth or adults; we have to know the Bible inside and out--we have to have all the answers at the ready.  This isn't the case.  A loving presence and a willingness to welcome the learner into a relationship in which they feel safe exploring questions and thinking through their faith--those are the only tools necessary.

3) Understanding other religions is important.  There was at least one year where we had lessons about major world religions.  I remember Bob saying one morning, "what would you all like to learn about next?  We haven't talked about other religions in a few years, would that be interesting?"  These conversations did several things--one we are all on new ground so asking the question was no longer so daunting.  Two, we learned at a young age that the world was much broader than our small town would suggest.  We learned to respect other cultures and religions.  Three, and maybe I should speak for myself,  it did not make me lose my own faith, but come to understand what was different about following Christ and why it was important to me.  It caused me to think theologically and make my own statement of faith.  This is why you will always hear me say that World Religions is an important part of any confirmation class.

4) Share your life so that others my see God at work.  Bob and Jo were not just people we saw on Sunday mornings.  They were engaged in the community.  There were times in which they invited us into their home.  They were our parents' friends.  They were our friends.  As Seniors, a rite of passage was to have dinner with Bob and Jo, they would treat us to a nice restaurant.  They took us to Montano's in May of 2002.  As an adult, it is one of my favorite places to dine.  Bob and Jo would ask us about our lives, but they would also share parts of their own lives with us when appropriate.  They made us feel welcome and safe.  Always.

A few years ago Bob and Jo moved to South Carolina to be closer to family.  I was so sad, the end of an era it seemed to me.  It seems foolish to think that a person whose life is built on the premise of following a call and moving to serve God would be sad about this.  It's not that I don't understand it, but that it is never easy.  Another part of the church I called home was changing, and us Presbyterians, well--we don't like change.

Bob and Jo created a lovely home there.  We visited and stayed with them several years ago, when we lost another friend, our dear Aimee.  Their presence, as always, was a balm to my heart.  I am sad that this weekend I will not be there to hug Jo and tell her face to face how dear she is to my heart.  I know that our mutual friends will stand by her.  I will be there in spirit if not in body.  Bob taught me that too, as an adult--friendship can cross all kinds of barriers--age, experience, beliefs, and especially the miles.

God has sent me so, so many people to show me the grace of God and the love of Christ in my life.  Bob Carson was a big one.

 I miss you already, my dear, dear friend.
I thank the Lord you are at peace.  Amen.

Radical Hospitality: The House in Muswell Hill

Have you ever lived in a different country with total strangers?

Last week I wrote about a memory of radical hospitality during my study abroad experience during college in 2005.  But even more radical than the encounter on the train to Edinburgh was the absolutely brilliant host family I was blessed to live with during my three months in London.  

We flew "across the pond" all through the night.  A night of restlessness meant dragging suitcases wearily through the airport and hailing a cab to take us through the city.  My dear friend Katherine and I arrived in front of a house on a lovely street, rows of tall, narrow homes stacked side by side.  I'm not sure what felt heavier to me, my carry on bag or the bundle of nerves in my stomach. 

We were met at the door by Ingrid, she opened the door wide and greeted us; her voice a song of Irish lilt.  She gave us a tour of the house which concluded with our sunny little bedroom overlooking the garden.  Twin beds, a desk, a dresser, and a sink.  I can still call to mind the pastel colors of the bedding. 

We were told that the rest of our host family would return that afternoon--father Jeff, teenage daughter Charlotte, and two young boys, Tristan and Toby.  We were also informed we would have a housemate of the four-legged kind, a gray tabby-cat named Harry (yes, after Harry Potter).  But, we should not be offended if Harry didn't make friends, he was a bit of a loner.  

Did we nap then? Unpack? I don't recall.  My next memory is of sitting in what we would call a den being served English Tea and Biscuits.  Did I like milk in my tea?  Well, I do now!  Around that time we met the rest of the family.  My first true memory of Jeff is sitting in the den with us, Charlotte stomping down the stairs, running out the door....then knocking only seconds later to be let back in.  "Oh, Charlotte," Jeff exclaimed, "you've got a brain like a sieve!"  And I knew, I knew in that very moment--in a new country, in a new culture, even in the midst of a deep longing for home-- that I would love these people as dear friends.  

We quickly made friends with the beautiful Charlotte, who said the most darling things like, "Properly" and "Actually" descriptively in every sentence. Charlotte loved American things, especially clothes which are so much less expensive for her with the exchange rate.  Tristan would come into our room and tell us lots of jokes....I distinctly remember one about David Beckham, a plane crash, and lack of a parachute...how they all tied together I don't know.   Toby loved The Simpsons and never missed an episode.  Toby also loved to play postman, and would invite us to "post letters" to our friends, but he had a specific formula for the address, so don't mess it up! 

Perhaps our most unexpected kinship was with Harry.  Harry quickly began sleeping with us in our room at night.  At first he loved to cuddle on Katherine's bed, it being closer to the window.   Then he realized that Katherine was much taller than I am, and therefore he had way more room to spread out on my bed!  Every morning we would have to turn on our sink as we got ready for the day so he could drink from the faucet.  One night after we returned from a weekend away Harry was so happy to see us and we were so delirious from travel and lack of sleep that we fed him peanut butter from a spoon.  

                               

While I fondly recall funny things like watching the Sound of Music bundled in blankets with tea cups pressed to our nose before we found the heat override button for the house furnace and Jeff hurling toilet paper rolls at us over the banister from the second floor.... what I cannot adequately express is the nature of the absolute welcome and hospitality we were shown by this family.  We were invited not only into their homes but into their lives in a way that I do not think many other students on that trip experienced.  

If the family was sitting down to a meal, we were invited to join them, far beyond the three meals we were "required" to be provided. We could do laundry anytime. We had plenty of space in the fridge.  We had a space heater in our room for those first chilly minutes getting out of bed!  We were allowed to bake Bisquick biscuits from the box my mom sent us, making a huge mess of the kitchen (Jeff's fault).   If the family was going out of town, they trusted us to be in their home.  We could have our friends over anytime.  

It is radical, the way this family opened their home to us--and not only us but to Hollins students over and over again, for many years.  It was more to them than a way to make money (sadly for some hosts this is the case).  For them, it was a way to allow people to experience the best of their country and their lives, and for their children to have different experiences too.  I was so sad to leave them, more so than I ever thought possible.  One of my favorite parts of Christmas is getting their annual letter, to see how their lives have changed and how the children have grown into young adults.  

 Would you open your home in that way?  Do you open your church that way?  Are your doors always open to the newcomer, is your table always filled and ready to share?  How open are you to widening the circle not only to let others in, but to link arms with them and keep them there?  

I am so incredibly thankful for this family.  I am so thankful for their kindness and their love. Without them it would not have been possible for me to have many of the experiences I had that spring, meeting new people and being introduced to a variety of cultures, seeing places I could only have dreamed of visiting.  I can only hope one day my son will have the same opportunities.  Who knows, maybe Charlotte, Toby, or Tristan will host him! :)  

Radical Hospitality

What I have come to love most about this place, Montreat, is that it always brings my mind alive. It always awakens me to some hope, some dream. It always transports me to some memory of a special  time in my life.  I always find myself desperate to carve out some time and space when I am here to write while the waters rush by, singing a swirling song to my heart. 

Last night in worship, the preacher spoke about the story of Ruth and Naomi (one of my favorites) and he expressed that his desire for the church was to widen our circles.  He shared this wonderful story about his parents, who were from Mexico, taking their first trip to Europe, and about their visit to London.  The two of them, who spoke very little English, found themselves turned around in a tube station, unable to figure out how to get back to their hotel.  A very tall Englishman guided them to the right place. 

In listening to this tale, I recall my own first encounter with a tall Englishman. My friends and I met him on a train from London to Edinburgh thirteen years ago.  The story didn’t begin positively.  The train was waiting an inordinately long amount of time to leave the station.  But when we boarded we discovered that we could not sit together at one of the two benches with a table in the middle, but rather we had to split up because this one, selfish jerk was taking up a whole table with his lanky frame, nose stuck in a newspaper.  So, we were griping (probably mostly me) as all loud, touristy Americans do. Yes, yes—his thoughts—little did we know at the time was, “Oh, Lord help me, I am trapped on a train with four atrocious American girls.”    Two of my friends sit down across from him at the table.  Eventually sheer boredom prompts them to ask him for the Crossword section of the paper.  And so it began; by the time of our arrival in Edinburgh we were friends. 

Alec is a navy man, about six years older than myself.  Over the course of our three months studying abroad, our friendship grew with Alec. He became “Big Al” and we his, “American Girls” (in the best British accent I can muster).  I think perhaps he felt a protectiveness of us.  He would call to check in when we were traveling outside England, he would count us like little ducklings if we went out to the pubs.  He harassed us with brotherly love.

One of my favorite experiences of my time abroad was when Alec invited us to come to his family home in Torquay, along the coast, to celebrate his 30^th birthday.  We got to meet his sweet parents and all his siblings.  They opened their home to us and made us feel like a part of their family.  To this day we keep in touch with Big Al, we are always thrilled to hear if he is coming to the states and we have had occasions to welcome him on our home soil.  We teased him mercilessly that we would all wear big, floppy hats to his wedding….I can’t for the life of me figure out why we weren’t invited!😉 

Just by sharing a portion of his newspaper (however reluctant at first), Alec helped me to widen my circle. Without him, I would never have visited Torquay; I would have never witnessed the absolute joy of their large family. I never would have had these wonderful memories with dear friends or captured this photo of my Hollins sisters that remains framed in my home, my absolute favorite.  By befriending four college students from Hollins University, he widened his own circle and showed endless hospitality to us.  Never underestimate the power of radical hospitality.

So today I am thankful for opportunities to travel with my sisters, for the blessing of unlikely friendships, for my own transformative encounter with a tall Englishman.