The Call of Stories

Our stories matter - yours, mine, theirs. Everyone has a story that is wildly complex, beautiful and redemptive. Yet we forget to pay attention to the call of stories because we have reduced ourselves and others to sound bites, profile pages and 120 character expressions. We lack self-awareness to see the story of our own lives; kindness to put ourselves into the stories of those we know; and imagination to consider the stories of those whom we do not know. In last week's prayer, I begged God to equip us with moral imagination to have real discourse. I am referring to Robert Coles' book The Call of Stories: Teaching and the Moral Imagination. Coles is a psychiatrist and Harvard Professor who champions the importance of one another's story. He understands the unique value of each person's narrative, and urges each and every one of us to dive into the narratives of great literature as well as to consider other people's stories as we conduct ourselves in relationships, politics, vocation and faith. I fear that our discourse with one another will suffer empty and superficial pettiness if we are too blinded to discover the sacred value of each other's stories.

Here are some of his words that have encouraged me to build my own moral imagination as I interact with others in the world:

"Their story, yours, mine - it's what we all carry with us on this trip we take, and we owe it to each other to respect our stories and learn from them."

"The story of some of us who become owners of a professional power and a professional vocabulary is the familiar one of moral thoughtlessness. We brandish our authority in a ceaseless effort to reassure ourselves about our importance, and we forget to look at our own warts and blemishes, so busy are we cataloguing those in others."

"Behind the door of every contented, happy man there ought to be someone standing with a little hammer and continually reminding him with a knock that there are unhappy people, that however happy he may be, life will sooner or later show him its claws, and trouble will come to him - illness, poverty, losses, and then no one will see or hear him, just as now he neither sees nor hears others. But there is no man with a hammer. The happy man lives at his ease, faintly fluttered by small daily cares, like an aspen in the wind - and all is well. How do we find that 'hammer' for ourselves?"

"We shrug off, shake off, walk away from, close our eyes to the world of unhappiness. Checkhov notes the commonness of this maneuver: we stifle any inclination our conscience has to direct not only our awareness, but our conduct."

How do you think we can cultivate this moral imagination into our discourse with one another?

How It All Happened

It's been a whirlwind.

I came home from work last Wednesday night, August 29th, flipped through the major network channels and was quickly disturbed by the bickering and bantering of the political campaigns, advertisements, and pundits. I felt an ache in my gut, a sadness in my heart for the way our country conducts itself through the election season, from both sides. I turned the tv off, trying to keep cynicism from creeping in.

So when I received a call the following day with an invitation to pray for our nation at the DNC, I almost laughed in disbelief. The person on the other end of the line was an acquaintance who used to work for the White House Office of Faith Based Initiatives. He was looking for a Christian who has done "good and admirable work in the world" and was familiar with Blood:Water Mission because he had heard me speak a couple of times. It was a big call full of questions- how can I pray honestly before an arena of politics and power? How do I, a nonprofit leader, transcend partisanship? Of course, I felt honored and excited, but I mostly felt humbled, like in the heavy, sobering kind of way.

To take on the task, I retreated for several hours on Saturday September 1st to my secret garden of Radnor Lake near Nashville and walked along the soft soil of its trail, lost in thought and reflection, wondering what I could possibly pray to the God of the universe in front of people from various backgrounds, convictions and walks of life.

As I meandered through the woods, I had this unrelenting sense that I ought to simply pray for the things I care most about: Justice. Mercy. Humility. The prayer of St. Francis came to me, as well as the Scripture in Micah that says that seeking justice, loving mercy and walking humbly with God are what the Lord requires of us.

I spent the rest of Saturday night in my not-so-secret garden of Starbucks where James met me, and gave me encouragement as I put the words to paper.

James and I spent a full weekend hosting his parents, driving to Louisville to celebrate an incredible young man whose life was taken by cancer and the 40th birthday of a dear friend of ours. In the midst of these deep moments with family and friends the prayer was brewing in me, percolating.

By Tuesday September 4th, I was in Charlotte with a prayer on my heart that was ready to be shared. Backstage that night, I sat with incredibly influential people - Rahm Emanuel, Kathleen Sebelius, Kal Penn, Craig Robinson, and Governor Deval Patrick. I watched these powerful people look as human as I was. I asked Governor Patrick if he ever gets nervous in situations like these. He smiled at me and replied, "Of course I do!" And then he kindly said, "You'll do great."

I sat on the side of the stage as the First Lady spoke with heart and elegance, and then when she finished, I walked up to the podium and felt the most amazing sense of peace and confidence in what I was supposed to pray. They were the honest words of a citizen, praying to God and hoping also to reach other citizens on their couches, who might be watching with the same sentiments I felt just five days earlier. I meant every word and have been encouraged by the thousands of you who prayed alongside of me. May justice and mercy trump partisanship in our lives these next 9 weeks.

Praying for the Nation

Below is the benediction I was honored to give at the close of the opening night of the 2012 Democratic National Convention.

As a young woman of faith and a leader, I am humbled to follow the First Lady, whom we all admire. So, thank you for inviting me here. As we close this day, let us quiet our hearts in prayer.

God, I stand before You and ask that the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing unto You.

I pray for our President, Barack Obama. May he know Your presence, oh God, as he continues to serve as a leader of this nation, as a husband to Michelle, and as father to his daughters. Help him to seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with you.

I pray as well for Governor Mitt Romney. May he know Your presence, oh God, as he continues to serve as a leader, as a husband to Ann, and as a father to his sons and their families. Help him to seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with you.

I pray for our country in the next nine weeks leading up to this election - for those of us meeting here and for our fellow citizens who met last week. May we make our children proud of how we conduct ourselves. We know our human tendencies toward finger-pointing and frivolousness. Our better selves want this race to be honest and edifying rather than fabricated and self-serving.

Give us, oh Lord, humility to listen to our sisters and brothers across the political spectrum, because your kingdom is not divided into Red States and Blue States. Equip us with moral imagination to have real discourse. Knit us, oh God, as one country even as we wrestle over the complexity of how we ought to live and govern. Give us gratitude for our right to dissent and disagree. For we know that we are bound up in one another and have been given the tremendous opportunity to extend humanity and grace when others voice their deeply held convictions even when they differ from our own.

And give us wisdom, God, to discover honest solutions for we know it will take all of us to care for the widow and the orphan, the sick and the lonely, the downtrodden and the unemployed, the prisoner and the homeless, the stranger and the enemy, the thirsty and the powerless. In rural Africa, I am witness to thousands of HIV positive mothers, fathers and children who are alive today because Democrats and Republicans put justice and mercy above partisanship. Help us keep that perspective even as we debate one another.

God, I thank you for the saving grace of Jesus and for the saints who have humbly gone before us. I thank you for the words of St. Francis of Assisi whose prayer I carry with me both in my home in East Nashville and in my work across rural Africa.

As we enter this election season, I pray St. Francis’ words for us all.

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.

Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

p.s. This was me practicing my words in the car on the way to the convention center in Charlotte, NC. At that point, I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to pray in front of a 20 million live television audience...

The Sacred Act of Remembering

It's amazing how quickly we can forget our own stories. We are inundated with the immediate pressures of today, and if we are lucky, we find time to look ahead with vision for the weeks or year to come. But how much time do we spend considering where we have come from? I realize that I have not spent enough time remembering my own story.

Last weekend, James and I drove several hours through winding mountain roads to find ourselves in a secret garden and quaint lodge at the foot of the Smoky Mountains. We joined an intimate gathering of some staff, board members, Jars of Clay and their spouses, and special donors to the organization.

In the serenity of nature, simplicity and community, our stories were drawn out of us - stories of what Dan saw on his first visit to Africa, of writing the name Blood:Water Mission on the plane home, of a wise and thoughtful friend who ensured that Jars of Clay and I meet, of what it was like for me as a college student to hear their vision, and of the 25-page proposal I wrote on my Thanksgiving break to suggest how we could start Blood:Water Mission.

Stories of driving across the country to Tennessee with my dad, moving into the basement of the Haseltine's home, beginning work in the basement of an old church in Franklin, our first tears together in an AIDS hospice in South Africa, our first dollars raised, our struggles to raise more, and the people who came along at the perfect time to keep this mission alive.

There is delight and wonder in remembering. "What we were thinking?" we asked ourselves. "Can you believe we made it through that?" we wondered soberly. "Do you remember the surprise of that first time we collected dollar bills for Kenya?" we smiled.

On Saturday afternoon, Dan, Charlie, Matt, Steve and I sat together outside among the audience of God's great beauty, and we reflected on the stories of where we have come from. It has been painful, exhilarating, disappointing, beautiful - all of it. We sat there, circled together, with the blue ridge mountains as our witness, and affirmed that we are blessed to be a part of such a story. And then we took the great leap to dream about where we are going next, and we cannot wait for the stories that will come as a result of this new chapter of ours.

But we could not have done that until we had remembered where we came from.

Our stories can teach us, time and time again.

What stories ought you to remember?

May you be as blessed as we were in the important and sacred act of remembering.

The Friday Five: Reasons to Give a Dam

Our organization has launched a tongue-in-cheek campaign on behalf of an actually quite serious cause. We are in the process of trying to raise $75,000 needed to build an earthen dam for a community in Marsabit, Kenya.  So here are five reasons to give a dam (an earthen one):

1. Because Justin Beaver says so.

2. Because last year, northern Kenya experienced its worst drought in six decades. This dam will protect the communities from future droughts.

3. Because a gift as small as $25 can make a significant difference for our friends in Marsabit.

4. Because this dam will also allow for small scale irrigation farming for over 3,000 people.

5. Because isn't this video just irresistible?

[vimeo 47469878 w=500 h=281]

If you would like to walk with us in this journey, click here for more information.

Meet Kabale

For those of you who have been following Kabale's story as well as the money that was raised for her surgery, here is a sweet video we did of Kabale last year. [vimeo 30330697 w=500 h=281]

Meet Kabale from Blood:Water Mission on Vimeo.

Thank you for praying for Kabale and her recent battle with cancer. She was discharged from the hospital on August 2nd, went back to Marsabit for two weeks and is now back in Nairobi for a follow-up appointment.  Enjoy her story and keep rallying for her!

Un-freaking-believable!

Contrary to more ambiguous titles in the book world, this one tells you exactly what you will read about.

This story immediately throws you into a scenario of a devastating predicament for a young soldier, Louis Zamperini. Stranded for weeks in the middle of the ocean on a failing raft, enemy fire from above and sharks looming below. The author then leaves you hanging there in the uncertainty of survival and takes you to Zamperini's early years - all the while knowing that somehow he will end up in this unfortunate introductory scene.

And there was more to come. Violence, isolation, starvation and disease.  It is a true story through and through, and all I could think was, unbelievable. As in, how could one man have endured such atrocity? And, are humans really capable of this kind of brutality toward one another? This is a captivating story, a page-turner that forces you to refer back to the front cover multiple times, simply as a reminder that, as suggested by the title, this man indeed survives.

Here a few take-aways for me in the story:

1. War

It's horrible. It's outrageous. This World War II account takes you into the underbelly of human beings at their worst. I wish it were a thing of the past, but it is not. It is an ever-present reality for our world today, and I fear, for as long as people inhabit this earth. There's an observation in the book about the cost of human dignity. We ought never to forget what war costs, for all of us, everywhere.

2. Resilience

The recent Olympics reminded me of the kind of physical, emotional, and psychological strength that some people are capable of drawing out of themselves. But what if it isn't voluntary or for sport? What if it is a matter of life and death, a test of survival? To be living off a few grains of rice, to be beaten to a pulp, to be force-fed a whopping dose of terror, to be ripped violently of human dignity - and to keep going? Un-freaking-believable. That is resilience.

3. Redemption

We are never too far gone for redemption. And we ought to remember what kind of influence we can have on others in extending grace, love and an opportunity for healing. This part of the story was a surprise for me. We simply wanted our protagonist to survive, and he did. But thrive? Again, unbelievable.

Thank you, Laura Hillenbrand, for working so diligently and writing so beautifully to accurately share this one man's story.

Who else has read this book? What were your impressions?