So, I'm going through menu options for a conference my company is hosting in the spring, and I've had to laugh.
We want to feed approximatly 200 down home, mostly farmers and ranchers, mennonites.
The hotel we're working with (very classy by the way) has menu options like "white bean and sweet garlic soup with wild boar bacon" and "celery root, candied pear, and cured salmon salad, citrus vinaigrette".
It's providing my colleagues and I with some very good laughs as we consider the reactions we would get if we served dishes such as these to our target demographic!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Not Alone
I was thinking this morning about an experience I had about a year and a half ago. I was sitting in church, and the formal time of teaching had split off into a time of worship, and praying over various people and needs. I had joined a small group of people to pray, but was keeping my eye on another group who were praying over a girl I knew a little bit. I was keeping tabs on the group because a new friend, one whose wisdom I’d rapidly grown to trust was there, and I needed to speak with him before he slipped out for the evening.
Finally, the group I had joined finished praying, and I was standing, chatting with them, still keeping an eye on the other group. I happened to glance over at the other group at the same time as my new friend was looking around. He immediately beckoned me to join them, and I moved in that direction, assuming they’d finished praying, and he was looking for me in the same way I was looking for him.
As I approached, he said, “I was just about to come looking for you.” When I asked why, he said something to the effect of, “the spirit told me you needed to pray for this girl.”
This was not a statement that made me happy. In fact, if I could have escaped at that moment, I absolutely would have. My mind was blank. I couldn’t help but think, “well, if the Spirit told you that I needed to pray over this person, you’d think the least He could have done was let me in on it!” However, instead of running, I sat down, and began asking the girl what was going on. As she began to share, Jesus very graciously stepped in, guided my thoughts, and gave me words of scripture, and words to pray over this young woman’s life. Words that confirmed things others had spoken over her earlier in the evening, and words that surprised me entirely by their sudden presence where there had been nothing only moments before. Throughout, the friend who had called me over in the first place provided guidance, leading both of us through this process.
And then, it was over, and I had absolutely no idea where that had come from.
As I sit here at my desk, and reflect back, the spirit is brushing against my spirit, and I shake just a little.
I didn’t realize the significance of that moment with that friend until nearly a year later. I was sitting in his living room early this spring, and we were chatting about a church situation I had found myself involved with. He spoke of the need for leadership to invite those in the church to step into their giftings, to help the young and inexperienced learn to walk out those things that God has placed in them. As he spoke, I suddenly realized that this friend was one of only two or three people (none of whom were in leadership) who had invited me into this space with God, and encouraged the growth of it in my life.
I let my mind drift back to that story this morning as I was taking the train to work. I have been feeling particularly alone and discouraged in some areas again lately, especially when it comes to the idea of learning to walk out the things that God has placed in me which are so very far outside the realm of my experience and comprehension. I found myself once again asking Jesus why it seems that so many of my friends have found spiritual parents and friends – people who live in close proximity and are able to share the stuff of life, and yet I continue to find myself walking this journey alone. I was asking Jesus for a cheerleader – for encouragement as I continued to walk out this journey. His response was varied and layered, it used the music I was listening to, and flashes of memories like this one, to remind me that I do have friends and cheerleaders, though they are often at a distance, that I hear his voice, that I am not alone.
Finally, the group I had joined finished praying, and I was standing, chatting with them, still keeping an eye on the other group. I happened to glance over at the other group at the same time as my new friend was looking around. He immediately beckoned me to join them, and I moved in that direction, assuming they’d finished praying, and he was looking for me in the same way I was looking for him.
As I approached, he said, “I was just about to come looking for you.” When I asked why, he said something to the effect of, “the spirit told me you needed to pray for this girl.”
This was not a statement that made me happy. In fact, if I could have escaped at that moment, I absolutely would have. My mind was blank. I couldn’t help but think, “well, if the Spirit told you that I needed to pray over this person, you’d think the least He could have done was let me in on it!” However, instead of running, I sat down, and began asking the girl what was going on. As she began to share, Jesus very graciously stepped in, guided my thoughts, and gave me words of scripture, and words to pray over this young woman’s life. Words that confirmed things others had spoken over her earlier in the evening, and words that surprised me entirely by their sudden presence where there had been nothing only moments before. Throughout, the friend who had called me over in the first place provided guidance, leading both of us through this process.
And then, it was over, and I had absolutely no idea where that had come from.
As I sit here at my desk, and reflect back, the spirit is brushing against my spirit, and I shake just a little.
I didn’t realize the significance of that moment with that friend until nearly a year later. I was sitting in his living room early this spring, and we were chatting about a church situation I had found myself involved with. He spoke of the need for leadership to invite those in the church to step into their giftings, to help the young and inexperienced learn to walk out those things that God has placed in them. As he spoke, I suddenly realized that this friend was one of only two or three people (none of whom were in leadership) who had invited me into this space with God, and encouraged the growth of it in my life.
I let my mind drift back to that story this morning as I was taking the train to work. I have been feeling particularly alone and discouraged in some areas again lately, especially when it comes to the idea of learning to walk out the things that God has placed in me which are so very far outside the realm of my experience and comprehension. I found myself once again asking Jesus why it seems that so many of my friends have found spiritual parents and friends – people who live in close proximity and are able to share the stuff of life, and yet I continue to find myself walking this journey alone. I was asking Jesus for a cheerleader – for encouragement as I continued to walk out this journey. His response was varied and layered, it used the music I was listening to, and flashes of memories like this one, to remind me that I do have friends and cheerleaders, though they are often at a distance, that I hear his voice, that I am not alone.
On the Journey Towards Being Vulnerable
Not only does the Henri Nouwen society send me a daily reflection from Henri's writings, but once a week they send a longer reflection, written by someone who has ties with the society.
The longer reflection arrived in my mailbox today with the same title as this post, and, as I found it particularly timely to some things I've been thinking about and wrestling with again these last few days, I thought I'd put it up here for you all to share!
On the Journey Towards Being Vulnerable
written by STEVE IMBACH
Our media are saturated with images of individuals wearing the mask of "all togetherness". I rub shoulders daily with people quick to reassure me of the unreality "I'm fine, thanks". I find myself trapped in a superficial community, stuffed in my self-imposed cocoon of fear and shame, afraid to admit my brokenness and weakness. I can't face the possibility of rejection and loss, not making the cut, not fitting in. To break out of this prison, we are invited into the honesty of becoming vulnerable. Vulnerability dismantles our obsession with getting it right.
As I take off the mask of "all togetherness", I discover a vast world of freedom. In my vulnerability, I become accessible to fellow companions on the journey. My vulnerability invites others in, offers understanding and empathy, but also can be a cry for help. Even though vulnerability's path is often painful, its reward of deepening intimacy is welcome. Being vulnerable opens my heart to a larger worldview. I become free to explore beyond the exhausting self-focus of supporting my false image of "OKness". I find myself challenged to deeper transparency as I sing along with Leonard Cohen "Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in".
The longer reflection arrived in my mailbox today with the same title as this post, and, as I found it particularly timely to some things I've been thinking about and wrestling with again these last few days, I thought I'd put it up here for you all to share!
On the Journey Towards Being Vulnerable
written by STEVE IMBACH
Our media are saturated with images of individuals wearing the mask of "all togetherness". I rub shoulders daily with people quick to reassure me of the unreality "I'm fine, thanks". I find myself trapped in a superficial community, stuffed in my self-imposed cocoon of fear and shame, afraid to admit my brokenness and weakness. I can't face the possibility of rejection and loss, not making the cut, not fitting in. To break out of this prison, we are invited into the honesty of becoming vulnerable. Vulnerability dismantles our obsession with getting it right.
As I take off the mask of "all togetherness", I discover a vast world of freedom. In my vulnerability, I become accessible to fellow companions on the journey. My vulnerability invites others in, offers understanding and empathy, but also can be a cry for help. Even though vulnerability's path is often painful, its reward of deepening intimacy is welcome. Being vulnerable opens my heart to a larger worldview. I become free to explore beyond the exhausting self-focus of supporting my false image of "OKness". I find myself challenged to deeper transparency as I sing along with Leonard Cohen "Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in".
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