Stories of Community: Day 25

By Katie Eichler

I am one of the pastors of St. Mark’s United Methodist Church. In September, there was a major fire that caused significant damage to the church building and kept our congregation from worshiping in the Sanctuary for over a month. It did not keep us from worshiping though. The love poured on our church by our community was palpable. The schools that we had supported over the years with cookies and prayer and books, moved mountains to help us get back on our feet and never miss a Sunday together. Everything we needed was puzzled together through the outpouring of kindness of other churches in our area. Our neighbors have brought light into what could have been a very dark time for our church. 

This Advent, we’ve worshiped in a beautifully restored Sanctuary. There is still plenty to do. Half of the building has no roof, and our accessible restroom is in the parking lot. But last night, the Sanctuary on Christmas Eve felt magical. 

Giving every single person a candle and voluntarily bringing fire into the space feels risky given the year we have had, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. As I lift my candle into the air while singing Silent Night, I do so alongside hundreds of others that are doing the same. Some of us are in these pews only on this night each year, and some of us rarely miss a week. Frequency of attendance does not matter at all. We all belong here. This night has been waiting for us to stand shoulder to shoulder and lift our lights high. 

John 1 teaches us that, “the Word became flesh and lived among us.” That word is Jesus and “in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” 

As we lift our candles, I remember the rays of light that have warmed us from the cold this year. As we sing, “Son of God, love’s pure light” we believe that light can’t be overcome by shadows. As we stand shoulder to shoulder and lift our candles, we stand and hold off the darkness together shining that light out the sanctuary doors and into the world. It is in fact magical, and I love it. 

Stories of Community: Day 24

By emily ledbetter

My family moved to Texas in the mid-80s.  Dad’s job was transferred to the Houston office, so we loaded up everything into a moving van and tearfully left Home for a place that might as well have been Mars.  Within a few years Houston had become Home, but we still spent every holiday driving back to Kansas to be with family.  As a ten year old, I’m sure I grumbled why do we always have to travel.  I’m so glad we did, and not just because it cemented close relationships with the extended family.  In retrospect, I realize that’s where I learned most of what I know about hospitality.

My Grandma was a master at being the matriarch hostess.  She had her sewing room and 2B (the affectionate nickname for the back bedroom) ready for whoever climbed out of our van and whatever pets were along for the ride.  She had enough holiday treats stocked in the pantry to last the entire season.  Her handmade quilts were in every room.  She was feisty and quick to stick up for any who needed it, but it didn’t hurt if you were one of her grandkids.  She was the last person to go through the buffet line in the kitchen for any meal.  She said she loved you, but her actions already told you that.

I don’t host big Family dinners like Grandma did, but I see her lessons in hospitality in so many of my actions.  I hear her voice coming out of my mouth.  I see her hands when I show up to someone’s house with a batch of cookies.  (Just be grateful I’m not bringing a jello salad)  Most importantly, I am thankful that I have her always in my mind reminding me to share whatever bounty I have.

Stories of Community: Day 23

By Lisa Sampson

I often feel like something is missing.

 I've gotten used to it. That feeling seems to accompany the mild depression and anxiety that have plagued me since college. I had always been a little high strung and experienced bouts of melancholy at times, but never had I been so deeply entrenched in a pain that felt imaginary yet was so palpable.

 Part of The Sadness TM was triggered by a couple of painful experiences in community, and its onset took me by surprise. I was in an environment that was intended to foster a flourishing community. I was supposed to find my circle. At the time, Rice University was ranked number 1 by the Princeton Review for having the Happiest Students, and its long-standing residential college system (akin to the Hogwarts) was supposed to be THE conduit for making lifelong friends. From orientation week onwards, I made it my goal to get everyone in my residential college to like me. However, somewhere along the line, I was rejected by the people for whom I changed myself to appeal to. The people I thought I was closest to made me feel inadequate and made concerted efforts to exclude me. I was grateful to develop stronger friendships in the Wesley Foundation and had acquaintances in other groups on campus; however, so much of my college experience was incongruent with the friendships I had built in youth group or through marching band in high school, places where I felt like I could earnestly connect to any person I happened to talk to.

 I have yearned for deep, meaningful connections with other people for such a long time. I am a shy person, but it's been even harder for me to open up in any setting since college. I still struggle to make it past small talk or the introductory phase in relationship. As a result, there are very few places I feel truly seen by other people and accepted for who I am.

 A few months ago, I joined the Epworth League, the young adult ministry of FAM Houston. The Epworth League is like lightning in a bottle -- a rare, precious wonder, captured in time. Like its tagline, the Epworth League has felt like a community that has been waiting for me. Each week, I am in constant disbelief at how genuinely welcoming and supportive everyone is -- I feel like I don't deserve the grace and kindness my fellow Leaguers have shown me as we build community together. League nights and trivia have become a staple of my week, and I look forward to see how God moves through our group in the seasons to come. 

As I look forward to 2020, I reflect on how much has changed in the past few years. The empty feeling still lingers, but it isn’t as constant a sensation as it once was. For the first time in a while, I feel hopeful about engaging in community.

Stories of Community: Day 22

By lauren O’malley

What does it mean to be community? There are so many things I could say about community and the profound ways it has changed and improved my life. Most significantly, community helped me get to know God in college. Then, community supported me through some terrifying medical situations during law school and recently, when my husband got sick.  I’m only the woman I am today because of the communities that have lifted me up and molded me. And sometimes I think that there’s a pressure to be community like that for someone else; to pay it forward, in a sense. There’s a nagging feeling that I need to be doing more, to be in more spaces, to connect with people more, or join more groups. But then I think about the different communities that have lifted me up, and I realize that this pressure is misplaced - there are so many ways to do community!

There are groups of people all around us. And sometimes, when we’re lucky, those groups turn into community.  I think you can actually feel that shift into community. It’s the sense of shared triumph in a class full of brave pole dancing women when that last student finally has the strength to go upside down.  It was the classmates in third grade who, bless them, pretended not to hear a certain noise from a certain student’s desk. The work colleagues who heard you’ve had a hell of a week and get you an Uber Eats gift card, just because. The seventh grade track team who never teased an athlete for not being invited to track meets and let her remain blissfully unaware that track meets existed. Those same students that cheered her (ok, me) on even when I missed 70% of the hurdles during track practice. 

So what is it that turns a group of people into a community?   I think it’s kindness and love, maybe with a shared sense of vulnerability or compassion. One of my favorite scriptures reads:

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.”

— Colossians‬ ‭3:12‬ ‭

When we clothe ourselves with kindness, gentleness, patience, and humility, we can’t help but be community instead of groups! When we clothe ourselves this way, even the smallest of interactions with others is transformed into community. Because we are God’s chosen people—all of us—and he wants us in community with each other. In our Orange Theory classes. In church. At work. In the Epworth League. In our nerdy book clubs. In all of it. So maybe being community doesn’t require that big a change. Maybe all it takes to be community, and to enjoy and give all that it has to offer, is to clothe ourselves with love, in whatever group we’re in.

Stories of Community: Day 21

By Shelby Olive

I moved to Houston in 2017. It wasn’t a big move. My family lives nearby, and I had a couple of friends in the area. But I still felt new in the sense that everyone seemed to have budding social lives and full calendars except me. This was my first time living in a big city surrounded by countless people, and somehow I was the loneliest I’d ever been. 

So I started cooking. At first, it was a way to fill up my empty weekends. I’d turn on the TV or listen to a podcast and have at it. Then, it became my primary creative outlet. But it wasn’t until I started cooking for others that it transformed into something I never expected. 

Much to this southern-raised woman’s embarrassment, hospitality has never been my strong suit. I’ve always admired people who could craft the perfect dinner parties, and I was always grateful to be included in these gatherings. But I always thought that hospitality was best left to the “hostess with the mostest” kinds of people. Plus, I thought I was far too introverted to invite people into my own space. I was wrong, and I found out that I was wrong when I became absolutely fed up with being lonely and started inviting new friends to my small apartment and cook for them. The meals were never anything elaborate, but they were recipes that I had fun making. We’d eat and talk, and over time, the conversations would go from surface level chit-chat to deep discussions where we would share our life stories, our passions, our fears, and so much more. Eventually, these dinners would not just be me cooking for friends but friends coming over to cook with me. I can’t remember every meal or every conversation, but I do remember every time they left, I’d shut my door feeling more at home in my little, big city apartment. 

Loneliness tricked me into believing a lot of lies. For a long time, I thought I needed something perfect to bring to table in order to be hospitable or included in a community of people. However, it was at my own hand-me-down dining table that I finally found community, and in this space I finally became comfortable letting myself be known by others. Hospitality, I learned, is not just about providing for others. It is about opening a space where people can simultaneously know each other and be known by each other. It is a practice of letting go of perfection and keeping up appearances and allowing in exchange for genuine friendship. The food is just a plus. 

Stories of Community: Day 20

By Anne Houang

“… looking at people in their eyes, feeling their humanity, and letting them feel yours isn’t just helping, it’s a way to live life to the fullest”

– Bobby Sager

The children in these photographs are anonymous urban refugees, but above all they remain children. They will never stop dreaming or playing. They have travelled across jungles and borders, sometimes by foot, chased by people and overcome with fear. They have reached Malaysia full of hope for a better life and are unable to safely return home. They live next to us, walk the same streets, and deal with the same issues of growing up as our children. They have the right to education, health care, and child protection.

Their strength and determination, the light of hope in their everyday life was their gift to me. They taught me “The Power of Hope”. Hope is about faith – the belief that there is something bigger and more important than us, about gratitude, about love and our connection with family and friends.

Their story is my gift to you. I hope it will inspire you to make a difference in their life.

— Pai Cuek —

— Pai Muem —

— Lai Thang Aung —

“… The tree of life was also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil…” 

– Genesis 2:8-9

I would like to thank the children in these photographs, and the ones around them, for teaching me “The Power of Hope”. I would also like to thank Patrick Theseira at Charis Hope Learning Centre in Kuala Lumpur. He believed in me; without him my journey working with refugees and immigrants would have never started. 

With love, 

Anne

Stories of Community: Day 19

By Kimberly meyer

The night of the 2016 election, I was listening to buzuq music played by Mohamed Horo, a Kurdish refugee from Syria who had arrived in Houston the fall before with his wife and four children from Turkey. They’d fled to Istanbul after the Syrian government bombed their home in Aleppo. In their first-floor apartment on the plush donated couches beneath his framed Employee of the Month certificate, Mohamed had been teaching himself the “Star Spangled Banner” on this traditional lute-like stringed instrument. I remember thinking to myself as he picked out the tune, this is what makes America great.

The rhetorical assault on immigrants and refugees that began during the 2016 campaign has become established policy, and the debate over these policies has been at the center of what feels like a deepening divide in our American community. I have been reporting and writing about refugees and immigrants since early 2016, at first just because I was deeply fascinated by the process of becoming an American, and then, as the rhetoric heated up, as my own small act of resistance. If these newcomers were going to be demonized, then I would humanize! And if I could humanize, perhaps my writing could begin to bridge that divide that troubles us! If I could tell everyone about the refugees I know—Esperance from Congo, for example, who grows a tiny garden in the patch of yard outside her apartment in public housing filled with plants whose seeds she carried with her; or Egbal, a computer technician from Sudan, who was accused of working for the opposition and tortured and who is now trying to get certified here by watching YouTube videos of people reading Arabic translations of her English textbook; or Alaa, whose husband died fighting in the Free Syrian Army, and who brought her children to America where, she says of them, “when they are talking or when they are choosing or when they are wanting something, all people are listening to them and no one tells them no”—if I could tell everyone about these refugees, then they would agree that we need them here. And though I wouldn’t have put it this way, I think I saw these stories as blunt instruments with which I could bludgeon the opposition into submission: These aren’t villains! I wanted the subtext of my writing to say. And they aren’t heroes either! They are just struggling human beings like you and me! 

As you can probably guess by now, my act of resistance hasn’t exactly succeeded. The number of refugee admissions continues to decline. The chasm between red and blue, left and right deepens and threatens to swallow us whole. But strangely, perhaps, I continually find myself heartened by my work. The refugees I know and the stories they share with me now seem less of a bludgeon to be used against some imagined opposition, and more of a balm. Though the trauma they have suffered is profound, and though their struggles here are sometimes overwhelming, as I watch refugees trying to work and pay their rent and learn English and raise their kids, and as I watch people trying to help them—people like Pastor Hannah Terry and the volunteers who run the FAM Congolese Women’s Empowerment Group—I am reminded that becoming American is a communal effort. That for all of those who seek to build walls to keep others out, we have others clearing pathways in for people who, there but for the grace of God, could be us.

Stories of Community: Day 18

By Paula Arnold

Christmas Eve is our big Christmas celebration. For many years, our group of “chosen” family (about 5 families with about 10 kids) gathered at 6 pm on Christmas Eve and we cook, cook, cook and eat, eat, eat. Early in the 80’s, we actually accomplished the Italian tradition of 13 kinds of seafood accompanied with the appropriate types and amounts of wine.

It’s calamari, mussels, assorted fish dishes and a tip of the hat to some of our Southeast Texas roots, gumbo which covers shrimp, oysters and crab. The sounds and the smells and the cacophony of voices with opinions on how to do every recipe – these are the pure joy of Christmas for me.  After this overload to the senses, we piled everyone into cars and drove to St. Mark’s for the 11 pm service. As we filed in, the entire congregation would turn to see where all those fishy, fried smells were coming from. 

As the service began and the noise subsided, I looked around at my “chosen” church family, those that supported me, loved my children, especially my saint, Ruby Clifton. I then experienced the peace of Christmas. The dark church, the passing of candles, the warm glow of God’s love and peace.

This year it’ll be little different – the cooking comes later - a 4 pm service, lots of grandkids. But the peace of belonging in my “chosen” church family will be present for me. And once again, I’ll thank God for the gift of my families, the gift of belonging and for the peace of Christmas.

Stories of Community: Day 17

By Mimi LeBouef Wozniak

I’m a “lister”! I make lists for the grocery store, daily/weekly to do lists, menu lists, places to eat in Houston lists, vacation idea lists, you get the picture... in fact I made a list of topics I could share on this blog. And so from that list I chose this topic.. What my year in review looks like. I try to learn what things need tweaking and what can remain, where I need to spend more time vs less time, etc. 

•Ministry makes me happy, continue
•spend more quality time w/ my husband
•parenting is hard, but must continue

•why is 1st and 2nd grade homework so difficult for me, find a tutor for all of us
•be more present and fully available for my children 
•exercise at the gym is for the birds, fly away

•walk outside everyday and work in the garden
•spend more quality time w/ extended family, maybe with a timer set
•go to bible study @ St. Mark’s 
•travel more 
•girlfriend time is the Best, continue x 10
•make healthier food choices 
•commit to random acts of kindness
•learn Spanish and chess, maybe 

And in between these lists, life happens. My youngest son gets a stomach bug, then we all get it, a family member has major surgery, a friend’s parent passes away suddenly, part of my church catches on fire, a difficult conversation happens w/ my spouse, etc., and as I make this list, I realize it is in these situations I become a list-ener. I slow down and really focus on the moment, and the needs of my loved ones. And it occurs to me, I’m right where I need to be in my life. God is with me and all of us, hand in hand, guiding us through these lists of life. 

Stories of Community: Day 16

By Leah Taylor

It’s been more than ten years since we moved to our “new” house.  After the excitement of the move wore off, I experienced a sense of disconnectedness.  Although we only moved from Katy to Memorial, it felt as though my friends didn’t make the move with me.  Almost all of my support structure, those friends from our neighborhood, church and other places of connectedness, were just 15 miles west of our new digs but they might as well have been in Nebraska!  

For a while we stayed at our Katy church home but then found ourselves there only on Sunday mornings – not our usual level of commitment.  But the traffic was heavy and it was hard to get there in time for evening meetings, meals and worship.

We eventually came to the realization that our 25 plus year roots in the community just weren’t deep enough to sustain us even though the distance wasn’t physically far.  So many of those friends were the people with whom we had been doing life!  I was devastated.

So, we decided to find a new church home.  It was hard but we did it.  And over the past years we’ve built a new community.  New friends, new bible studies, new worship styles and times. 

Now as I find myself in a not so new place, I realize that what we missed was the sense of community.  Now I know building community can happen on its own but sometimes you just have to be intentional.  You have to be the person who takes homemade cookies to the new family in the neighborhood, or the person who is first to stick out your hand and say, “Hi!  I’m Leah and I live around the corner”, or “We worship at Memorial Drive UMC.  Would you like to come with us next Sunday?” 

Sometimes you can sit back and community comes to you!  Two of my most treasured friends from our “new” neighborhood I met while walking my dogs.  We are three dog moms who all have needy Labrador Retrievers who love to run, play, and swim together.  God’s gifts come in all sizes!

At FAM I’ve connected with a few people I already knew but mostly it’s folks I never would have met otherwise.  As volunteers we’ve found connections – around FAM and other parts of our lives.  And watching how the Congolese women are building new lives, in a new country where they don’t speak the language, Wow! It’s lot further than from Katy to Memorial!   As we each step out in our faith, God provides to build a connections; of hope, faith and love.

Stories of Community: Day 15

By Julia Linton

I loved soccer from the moment I first played.  I liked running around; I liked the speed of play; mainly, I liked winning.  As such, I spent a lot of my time training to be the best I could be. I would go to all of the practices (even the optional ones that were only offered as a “make-up” for people who couldn’t make the other three practices during the week).  I spent summers at camps, learning from various coaches all of the state. I spent my free time in the backyard working on new skills and perfecting the “little things.” Despite how awful and time consuming this seems, I loved every second of it.  I felt most relaxed when I was playing soccer. I felt most myself when I was playing soccer.  

At that time, I would have considered my teammates my community.  I spent the most time with them, on or off the field. I knew that, no matter what I needed, they would be there for me.  That said, one comfort that I had when deciding to go over 1,000 miles away for college was the fact that I was committing to play soccer, a sport I love with 27 other girls who would become my new family.  That was not the case. The other girls on the team were not who I wanted to spend my time with, and, unfortunately, I spent a lot of time with them.  Suddenly, the sport I used to play whenever I got the chance, was now a task, a dreadful, awful task.  

The worst part about not having soccer was the fact that I had nothing else.  Sure, I knew other athletes, and I was in a scholarship program with 60 other business students, but I did not have anything that made me feel at home.  That said, at the beginning of my sophomore year, when soccer was no longer part of my life, I decided to get more involved.  

I started with a campus job.  I worked at the campus recreation center in three positions.  While this doesn’t seem like a lot, I was surprised by how many people I got to know.  Furthermore, I was surprised by how often I saw them around campus. I was most surprised by the fact that I felt more relaxed (and oddly more confident) because I recognized people on campus.  From there, I tried to get involved in more parts of the community. I took on positions within my scholarship program, went to different activities on campus, and began volunteering (and eventually working) at the local Boys and Girls Club.  By the end of my senior year, I was the happiest I think I have ever been. On top of having a group of great friends, I felt at home 1,000 miles away. 

Stories of Community: Day 14

By Kate Wong

My grandma was barely five feet tall and yet when it came to wisdom she was a giant. One of thirteen children, she grew up during the great depression. I remember an old black and white photo of her standing arm and arm with one of her sisters as huge smiles stretched across both their teenage faces. Too poor to afford more than one pair of skates they each wore a single roller skate on one leg and tucked the other leg behind their body.

She once told me that every morning she’d wake up, look in the mirror, blow herself a kiss and say, ‘Self, I can’t wait to spend time with you today.’ Before she passed away she could barely talk but when you asked her how she was doing she’d smile her half smile and warmly say, ‘Wonderful.’ Positivity wasn’t merely an attitude in my household growing up but more of a way of life. No matter what experiences I have faced I have used my faith and positivity to throw a spark, pull from within and light my way forward.

Some of the most beautiful people I’ve known have lived in a world that was not always kind to them. They still care so much and love so deeply. In suffering one can find resilience and an appreciate for life. Just as the sky is black with night there are also shining stars. In order to reach the brightness in one’s journey it is equally as important to cross the darkness as the two are threaded as one whole.

We don’t always know the struggles one is battling on the inside nor do we know what challenges they may be facing behind closed doors. When I think about what community means to me I see an image of points of light that come together creating a bright spot in the world. A safe place for one to find respite from whatever trials they are facing. Your kind word, smile, open door, invitation to a meal, volunteer work or act or service may just be the lifeline that someone needs whether you realize it or not. How do you want to be known in your community? If we all cast out a light from within there would be no shadows.

Matthew 5:14-15 where Jesus said, ‘Ye are a light unto the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’

Stories of Community: Day 13

By Katie White

When I was asked to contribute to this blog, my mind immediately went to a dark place. 

Don't get me wrong, 2019 has been wonderful. I hit a milestone birthday, I spent the entire summer with my kids and husband (something I haven't had in a few years), and everyone in my immediate life is healthy and in good spirits.

Only in the past month or so, has one part of my life taken a turn. I accepted a teaching position at a middle school for newcomer students, which on paper sounded amazing. This job literally combines all the things I'm good at: teaching, kids, refugees, music. The catch: the job was vacant mid-year due to the previous teacher's sudden and unexpected departure. Even though I saw the red flag, the principal assured me that the previous teacher was a first-year, with no refugee experience either.  That was when my ego took over: "Well, I have Refugee experience and I'm certainly not a first-year. Watch what I can do."

Fast-forward to now, less than a month later.  My main job, I've discovered, is not teaching English or music, but to keep traumatized, hormonal teenagers from killing each other. I've been cussed out, flipped off, yelled at, and ignored. My room is trashed daily.  Things are stolen or broken. I've learned more Spanish cuss words than I care to count. I was even physically assaulted by a student on my third day.

The funny thing is, I feel like God Himself gave me this job. Before I found it, I prayed to Him everyday to use me as an instrument. To be His hands and feet. To make a real difference in the lives of the children I would work with.  And I think God knew I was up for the challenge, even more so than I knew myself. (He perhaps also wanted to keep my ego in check!) I have always believed that He will never give us more than we can handle. 

Now that I've been there a full three weeks, I am seeing glimmers of Hope.  There are so many kids at that school who WANT to learn, who WANT to be there. Who absorb my lessons and try their best.  Who give me hugs and draw me pictures. Who distribute supplies and clean up the wreckage.  THEY are the reason I'm there.

And, oh! The rally of support!  I have been surrounded by more love and prayers and texts and phone calls and funny memes and coffee talks and drop-ins than i can shake a stick at!  This is my fuel - nay, my lifeblood- to continue. THIS is the community of which i am a part. I am a BLESSED woman who is doing God's work!  A reminder to put HIM on the throne, and not anybody else. 

But I am still counting down the days til Christmas break!

Stories of Community: Day 12

By Helena Oliver

I was born and raised in Houston. And I loved it. I grew up with a very strong community to surround me: I lived in a neighborhood with a ton of kids my age, both sets of grandparents lived nearby, and I was the third generation of my family to go to my childhood church. I had never not known community.

Then, I decided to move to Indianapolis to go to Butler University to get a dance degree after I graduated from high school. I was excited to go someplace new, experience the cold, and major in something that I felt passionate about. For me, making friends in college was very easy because, at least where I was, freshman year was set up in such a way that it would be hard to not make friends. My lucky streak with community continued through my four years of college.

Upon graduating, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do exactly. I had gotten a degree in Dance Arts Administration and I had a feeling that I wanted to go into arts administration instead of joining a dance company, but I did not have a job lined up or any plans. I moved back to Houston to live with my parents and started looking for next steps. During the five months that I lived at home, I worked at Madewell at the Galleria and picked up a marketing internship at the place I had interned during my last college summer, Society for the Performing Arts. I also watched a lot of Friends.

Six months after graduating, I got a job as the Development Associate at Society for the Performing Arts. This was everything that I could have hoped for! Then I moved out and realized that I needed to start building my own community because while the one of my childhood was mostly nearby it was not going to be exactly the same. I made work my community. And this worked as the sole community for myself for a little while, but I think most people will tell you that you shouldn’t only be friends with people you work with.

Finally, after several months into my job, the Epworth League was formed, and I got to meet a whole new group of people that wanted to meet me as well. Every week that I am able to come and be a part of the community that the Epworth League continues to create, I leave feeling valued and refreshed. I feel more complete. Community is essential to survival.

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” -Proverbs 27:17 (NIV)

Stories of Community: Day 11

By Mary Brandt

Almost two years ago, while sitting on the couch, I got a clear message that I should go to seminary.…. Say what?!?!? ..... My wife, friends and family all thought it was crazy for a full-time surgeon to even think this, much less do it! So here I am, a year and a half later, halfway through my MDiv studies at Iliff School of Theology, a journey that has brought me joy, deep friendships and growth. Lesson one - When the Spirit moves, get off the couch!

Another recent and important part of my journey was listening to a pull to leave the job I’ve been in for over two decades. December 23rd will be my last day as a pediatric surgeon at Texas Children’s Hospital. I leave without a clear path to a new job. There has been a lot of Kleenex needed in my clinics, innumerable hugs, and a series of “last times”… my last time on call, my last time to attend certain clinics, etc. But these have been outweighed by extraordinary love, support and joy. Lesson two – Listen to your heart when it is time to make a change.

These decisions mean that I find myself in a period of expectant waiting… not by coincidence, I think, during Advent. I wait to know what I will be doing in the coming year. I am sure my original calling to be a surgeon is still part of my journey, but I don’t know what this will look like or where it will take place. I wait to find out what I am to do with my new call to be a Deacon in the Methodist church, especially during this time of division and turmoil in the church. I wait, silently, with trust and joy that something great is happening in my life. Lesson three – If there is joy, you are on the right path.

One of the requirements of my seminary training is to complete an internship in a church or with a non-profit. A pastor friend once told me that “a coincidence is a miracle where God prefers to remain anonymous”. What a “coincidence” that my pastors are involved in the ministry of FAM Houston, and that Rev. Hannah Terry opened her arms to take me in as (to put it lightly) a fairly non-traditional intern. I have learned so much from the family of FAM, but I think the most important lesson is that great things happen in the smallest and simplest ways. Whether it’s assisting an immigrant family when a child falls and breaks a tooth, helping with a math problem in study hall, or stuffing envelopes to invite people to join the family of FAM, these small acts result in adding light to the world… and that is what we are called to do. Lesson four – Any light, no matter how small, is a miracle of love.

I wish for you gentle waiting during Advent and the joy and miracle of Christmas light during the holidays and beyond! 

Stories of Community: Day 10

By Rachel Ransleben

“Come as you are” was written on the sign outside of the worn-down church. It was a brisk fall morning in Durham, NC when I first visited CityWell. I was greeted with a bear-hug from a soon-to-be new friend, Sherita, and a fist bump from a soon-to-be sister, Erica, a beautiful song sung by Suvya, and a warm smile from Micaiah, Sydney, and Tikelah. CityWell became my church home and the people are what made it like nothing I had ever experienced. 

CityWell is known for its diverse congregation- age, race, ability, socioeconomic status, education, etc. This charmingly, chaotic church is how I became involved in Reality Ministries- a Christian non-profit creating opportunities for adults with developmental disabilities. Reality Ministries brought brothers and sisters of all abilities into my life. As an only child, I have always invited others into my life. My siblings of Reality Ministries love me as I am and embrace all that our friendships have to offer. Jesus’ presence is infiltrated in this community. This community of belonging gives me the butterflies, a feeling I thought I would only experience a handful of times on this earth.

As I visited North Carolina last week, my friends at Reality Ministries welcomed me home with open arms. The second they saw me getting out of the car, they ran to greet me with happy grins from ear-to-ear. The sparkle in their eyes is a memory I will always hold onto. 

As we continue in this season of Advent, my friends at Reality Ministries remind me of Jesus coming to end all separation. “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.” -Ephesians 2:19-22. Jesus is the bearer of peace and the one who brought us together.  

I have been fortunate to have weekly phone calls with Erica, text with Suvya and Micaiah, and relay my love to friends such as Sherita, Sydney, and Tikelah. No matter the distance or time between our gatherings, my siblings at Reality Ministries will always remind me of the unconditional love of Christ. This is the type of love I strive to share each and every day. As I adjust to my new life in Houston I hope to live by the words of “what we share in common is greater than what divides us.” 

For more information about Reality Ministries, please visit https://realityministriesinc.org.

Stories of Community: Day 9

By Sarah Yockey

In college, I always found this time of year stressful. Not just because of finals and end-of-semester exhaustion, but because it meant I had to find a ride to the airport.

As an out-of-state student at the University of Houston who didn’t have a car and whose mother was skeptical of Uber, getting to the airport required help from someone. And it always seemed like options were slim. This friend didn’t have a car, that one had already gone home... I sometimes had to ask several people and it was a process that I generally dreaded.

My freshman year, I was so worried I called my mother weeks ahead of time just in total distress.  I was convinced that it was impossible and I was going to be stuck in Houston. 

But, in all the years I was in school, I always found a ride. Sometimes I had to take risks and ask people outside my inner circle of friends, sometimes I had to ask multiple people, and sometimes I had to be flexible about the schedule. But eventually I always found someone willing and able to get me to the airport and I slowly learned to trust that my community was not reluctant to help out once they knew my need.

I was reminded of that lesson this week because I needed to ask for a lot of help. My grandfather passed away just as I returned from visiting family for Thanksgiving, so I had to quickly make plans to head home again.

In order to leave, I had to find substitutes for all my duties as a teacher and dorm parent. Someone needed to coach my basketball teams, teach my classes, care for my residents and be on duty overnight. In the process of asking for help and finding it generously offered again and again, I saw the goodness of community. People responded with their time and skills to step in so that I could go be with my family. 

Asking for help is hard, but when we do, good community responds with generosity. I am thankful for community that has served my needs so well, and I am grateful for opportunities to do the same in return.

Stories of Community: Day 8

By Jake Woodward

On December 26, 2018, I was admitted to the emergency room with slurred speech and fatigue. I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called Myasthenia Gravis (MG), a.k.a. “severe muscle fatigue.” My immune system was producing antibodies that were blocking nerve receptors throughout my body, making it increasingly more difficult for me to move, talk, or breathe.

My MG was caused by a tumor. I underwent surgery to remove the tumor - no chemotherapy or radiation necessary, thankfully. Now it’s just a waiting game. My doctors say that eventually my immune system will realize the tumor is gone and just... stop. No more antibodies, no more symptoms.

Throughout my health struggles this year, I have been propped up and carried through by my community. I’m not talking about my wife, my family, and my close friends. Those are the people you know always have your back. I’m talking about a community that I didn’t know I had.

The outpouring of support I’ve received from people I’ve never even met has been overwhelming. Classmates I barely barely knew have texted, called, even sent cards. People have told me about their cousin’s (or grandma’s, or friend’s, or housekeeper’s) church group who are praying for me every week. My best friend from second grade - who I hadn’t spoken to in at least five years - reached out to reconnect and shared the story of his own ongoing struggle with cancer. Thinking about it all still makes me want to break down and cry. 

This community of friends, family, strangers, and Christians helped save my life. Their support gave me the strength to keep fighting whenever I wanted to give up, which was a lot. Knowing that there were so many people pulling for me lifted me up when I was low. It has been a long, difficult year. But I’ve made it through by the grace of God and the support of my community.

Stories of Community: Day 7

By Michelle Manuel

I’ve been trying to spend the end of my day in a little more internally. If I’m not careful I melt into the couch after I’ve tidied up for the night and I become a Scroll Zombie. You know, the type of zombie that scrolls through social media endlessly feasting and consuming her carefully curated Insta feed until her eyes can’t stay open and her mouth tastes stale? Unfortunately, the Scroll Zombie shows up at the end of the day more than I’d like her to. I said, I’ve been TRYING ok? Don’t @ me. 

So the other day Scroll Zombie showed up and before she could come back into her right mind and she got TRIGGERRRRRED. Yes, the Scroll Zombie is prone to this type of thing; more on FB than on the Gram, but nonetheless she got triggered. A “friend” of mine on Facebook posted something that I felt was mean-spirited about saying, “Happy Holidays,” instead of “Merry Christmas” to random passersby in our life’s various activities. Oh friends, this Scroll Zombie was so triggered that I may or may not have morphed into a troll. *sigh* I’ll admit it, this pastor commented on that post in a… *achem* tasteful way. As the Scroll Zombie was cackling maniacally to herself about the witty comeback she posted her partner may have mentioned the value in being kind… 

Confession is good for the soul. I’ve heard it’s especially helpful in putting Scroll Zombies to rest for good. I want to step out of that triggered Scroll Zombie life and step into a place where people are allowed to be imperfect and it’s not my responsibility to fix, manage or control them. I want to step into grace and mercy. I follow a savior who was so full of grace and mercy and so very self-sacrificial. Jesus was sacrificial all the way to the cross and even now in this moment calls us to a life of self-sacrifice. I can lay down my pride and need to be right on social media. I can lay down my need to make sure everyone is doing things the right way and saying the right things. AND I can also make a sacrifice in reaching out to that person privately and starting an open conversation. I can sacrifice my peace and comfort to step into an awkward, but respectful conversation. I can make a sacrifice of my emotional labor and time in order to find sensitive and kind words with which to engage this individual. I can sacrifice MY WAY of doing things in order to follow The Way of love, peace, hope, and joy. May God bless you and your inner Scroll Zombie richly this Advent season.

Stories of Community: Day 6

By Fred Lazare 

Like many in this city, my family’s house was flooded during Harvey in 2017.  Which made us two-time losers, Allison in 2001 being the first time that the White Oak Bayou visited our house on Grovewood Lane.  Post-flood my wife Heather and I were the recipients of assistance and love from many people, some close friends and others who came to us as friends of friends, members of our church or simply to help a stranger in need.  

One visit was particularly meaningful.  I recognized a woman taking supplies to residents of our neighborhood as a fellow parent from Travis Elementary which our youngest had last attended in 2005.  I chatted her up and next I knew, first her teenage son and then her mother-in-law were in our house, working as if it were their own.  My friend Dan (also a Travis parent) was my crew-chief, and he understood this as an opportunity for the young man not only to work, but to get a lesson in house construction; one learns about construction when tearing a house up.  For the next hour, Dan and his assistant and the two women worked in teams, and my role changed; I became a host of house guests who understood instinctively that my heart was not in this work.  

Our story does not have a tidy ending.  Neither Heather nor I were able to get ourselves up to go through the lengthy and trying process of reconstruction which we had weathered previously.  We moved seven miles away and live in the Brays Bayou Watershed in a third-story apartment where we feel safe.  We sold the house in early 2019; it’s since been torn down so that a grand new house can be constructed above the base flood elevation.  (One learns all sorts of interesting terminology when disaster strikes.)

My life has been shaped in no small part by responses to calamities, even some that took place before I was born.  My father’s family arrived in Houston in 1941, refugees from the occupation of France, and found a welcoming home.  My grandparents lived virtually the rest of their long lives here.  Heather and I have lived here since 1986; we’re often surprised that we’ve spent so long in this odd city that seems to be always courting disaster of one type or another.  Yes, we love the food, the art and music, the trees and birds, the Astros and Rockets, but ultimately, it’s the people here who give us sustenance, make us feel at home.  

When I met Hannah late last year, I knew immediately that I wanted to work with her at FAM Houston. Managing the business end of the organization frees up more of her time to do that which FAM was created to do, making Houston a welcoming and inclusive town for all who come together through its activities.  At this time in our country’s history, I can think of no work more noble.  I am thankful to be part of FAM Houston.

Stories of Community: Day 5

By Moira Coker 

For me, a life without joy is a life without much meaning. We all want to be happy, but happiness depends on our circumstances, whereas joy is more than a moment; it is more than circumstance. Joy is a state of contentment and assurance that God is in control of all the details of our lives.

I witnessed and experienced immense joy when I attended a baby shower held in honor of one of the Congolese women who is also a part of FAM Houston.

I walked into a hall filled with Congolese women , most of whom were dressed in identical blue African outfits.

Those who knew me rushed to welcome me. The Mistress of Ceremony was made aware of my presence and she proceeded to acknowledge me publicly. I was pulled to the dance floor to dance with them. The air was filled with laughter and song. There were no baby shower games, but gifts were presented to the celebrant in a procession. I was reminded of the Magi who presented gifts to the baby Jesus. One would never imagine the difficulties and challenges some of these women have encountered in life . These women did not have much, but they were filled with joy and rich in hope as they celebrated the expected birth of a new baby and new life.

At the end of our weekly FAM meetings, Rev. Hannah Terry will close with the same prayer: that they should know that they are loved and that they are not alone in Houston. As I was leaving the baby shower party, I was struck by the fact that just like we strive to make them feel loved and that they do belong, they also made me feel welcome, loved and part of their community.

Being part of FAM Houston inspires me to hope more, to be more grateful and to love my neighbor as myself.

Stories of Community: Day 4

By Jordan Veenendaal 

Besides baking and clothesline volleyball, another activity my mom and I shared was a love for watching old movies.  The glamour of that Golden Age of Hollywood—the classic 3-pieced suits with hats and the shimmering silk dresses—along with the over-acted scripts and signature accents (i.e., Katharine Hepburn’s nasally, Mid-Atlantic drawl) had us hooked.  Naturally, my favorite Christmas movie, and possibly my favorite all-time movie, hails from this era:  It’s a Wonderful Life.  Deemed too sentimental even by critics of the time, it performed horribly at the box office but has since become arguably the most recognizable title made by director Frank Capra.  

I’ll try not to ruin the entire story for you, in case you have somehow avoided the yearly NBC special (and you really should just see the movie!).  This movie was important to me because I could relate to Jimmy Stewart’s turn as George Bailey.  I, too, was the oldest child in my family.  My father worked for a local financial institution, also like George’s.  Strangely, I am deaf in one ear, like George, although I admit I did not make any heroic, icy rescue to acquire my hearing impairment.  Finally, growing up in a tiny town in the middle of the prairie I began to dream of travelling to the world beyond—an escape to more exciting lands and adventures!  Even through college I would find myself in tears at the conclusion of the film, but not because of the lesson George ultimately learns; instead I felt the script hadn’t done right by him in the end.  He was still, as ever, stuck in Bedford Falls by no decision of his own.

I’ve never lived terribly far from home, but I did eventually leave my family in Kansas for, first, the mountains and deserts of Utah and, now, the tropics of south Texas.  While this isn’t quite the world tour I had imagined, it has pushed me out of my comfort zone.  If surviving a multi-pitch climbing route or one of the worst rain events in history weren’t enough of an adventure, at the very least I have learned how to manage in “real” traffic.  But as I have moved, the true spirit of It’s a Wonderful Life has been revealed.  Without exposing too much plot, let’s just say, broadly, that my life has been made rich not by the amazing scenery and experiences I have had leaving home, but by the people I have met in those places.  My wildly entertaining 3-year-old niece (and her great parents) here in Houston, my incredibly patient roommate in Utah, my college trivia team, my summer softball team and their collective families, the entire nine neighbors at my childhood home.  Without these folks welcoming me into their community, I would not have the wonderful memories of those places.

This December, I have a few challenges for you.  First—and I hope this is an obvious one—if you haven’t seen It’s a Wonderful Life… do!  If you can get some friends or family gathered for a viewing, even better.  Secondly, consider the community you have experienced, both past and present.  Is there anyone in those places you have called home who deserve a quick note (or text, if you aren’t into handwriting and stamps and such)?  Make their holiday season and reach out; touch base, invite them back into your life.  As the angel Clarence says, “Each man’s life touches so many other lives.”  You might find that they have a void in their life only you can fill, or perhaps you will rediscover something special they bring to your own life.

Stories of Community: Day 3

By Phillip Lillquist 

When I was only four months old, I arrived in the United States as a baby from South Korea.  Unbeknownst to me, I was being adopted by two loving parents.  The adoption process was a manifestation of unconditional love from my single, biological mother and the two parents I have today.  My birth mother loved me enough to let me live a new life without her, while my adoptive parents gave me this new life full of deep and genuine love and affection without any prerequisites required. 

For adoptees, the experience can be highly challenging, emotional, and unsettling.  Identity gaps and the many questions surrounding one’s origins can manifest themselves throughout life at various times.  However, God does not make mistakes, and nothing happens by accident under His watch.  My adoptive parents helped assuage adoption issues by showing me an unconditional love that placed my needs and considerations first in a nurturing way.   They demonstrated true hospitality, generosity, and inclusion for which I am grateful to have experienced and continue to experience from them as an adult.  They sacrificed and worked hard to provide me many opportunities to achieve and grow to be a successful individual while allowing me the space to explore and experience life. 

There is a piece of art on my parents’ wall that says, “Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still miraculously my own, never forget for a single minute, you didn’t grow under my heart, but in it.”  God gifted my parents with the miracle of life and my parents gifted me with a very special love that came from deep within their hearts as they provided me with unconditional love, affection, and grace.

“Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.” - Romans 12:13 NIV

Stories of Community: Day 2

By Mark Robison 

I have had a lot of time to be by myself since I moved to the US from Bolivia in January. It’s been almost a year now, and I remember it like it was yesterday; I filled two suitcases with clothes, grabbed my laptop, and hopped on the plane after being offered a job in Charlotte, NC.

And quickly, the shock hit me. It didn’t come from the change of cultures, most of my family on my Dad’s side lives in the US, mostly in Texas and Kansas, and I’ve spent my entire life taking short trips to visit them. The shock actually came from how much time I spent by myself. I like to call it “community shock”, or the lack of a community if you will.

You see, back in La Paz I had my fair share of family dinners, coffee with friends after work, enjoying beers after softball on Saturdays, and watching soccer games with Dad after church on Sundays. There was always something to do, and someone to do it with.

Not that I was never by myself, and I enjoyed my moments of solitude, but if I was by myself, it was because I wanted to be, and if I wanted to hang out with my friends or family, all I had to do was pick up the phone.

All of that changed when I moved here. I no longer had a friend to meet after a long day at the office, I could no longer go to my mom’s house uninvited to “borrow” some food when I was hungry for real food and didn’t feel like cooking. I no longer had activities on weekends, I had lost my community. 

That lasted for several months until I lost my job and had to move to Texas. I did have the option to go back to Bolivia, but my family and friends convinced me to give it one more try; so I updated my resume, and found a job here in Houston!

These days, I’m slowly beginning to build a sense of community here. I’m staying with family, so I get to enjoy meals and sports with them. My aunt brought me to church, and they welcomed me with arms wide open, and I have even made a few new friends with whom I get to share quality time with.

I guess if I have to arrive at a point writing this story is that during those times of loneliness I learned to appreciate the community I had, and had taken for granted, and to be thankful for the new community I am a part of here, and thankful for the opportunity to share this short testimony.

And remember; when you feel alone, it’s always a great opportunity to have a conversation with God. 

Stories of Community: Day 1

By Hannah Terry

Dear fam, 

If you and I have had the chance to share a cup of coffee together, you know that coffee time is my very favorite time of the day. The smell of fresh ground beans, the weight of a warm mug in my hands, the taste of joy. I am super wild about my love of coffee. 

My favorite part of sharing coffee with you though is that it’s a time when we can share our stories. Listening to your voice; sharing mine with you. American writer and Presbyterian minister Frederick Buechner expresses what I know to be true about stories.

“My story is important not because it is mine, God knows, but because if I tell it anything like right, the chances are you will recognize that in many ways it is also yours.”

FAM Houston teaches me about this beautiful exchange. As I take the risk of vulnerability, I discover connection with you. And you discover connection with me. And there within these sparks of connection, God finds us. 

Today marks the beginning of Advent -- a season in the Christian community of waiting, longing, and anticipating the day when we discover the absolute fullness of connection with God and one another through Jesus Christ. A day when the weight of the world is lifted. Our work for justice is complete. All things are made right. Everyone belongs. 

This Advent, FAM Houston’s gift to you is storytelling. Each day a writer from our community will offer a reflection on their experience of community. Posts are published on FAM’s website and shared on social media and in our daily email. Take a moment these next 24 days to read and listen to the stories of our community. If you find the story moves you, please repost and share the love. 

I pray our blog sparks hope in your life and you discover connection in community. And if you and I have yet to share a warm beverage, let’s remedy this soon!

Peace & joy, 

Hannah