A Time to Live

I don’t remember how old I was when I first learned about capital punishment, but I do remember my thought process. The context of my belief system and perception of the world was deeply rooted in my Christian upbringing, and so much of how I was informed about life at that young age was through what I read in the Bible. 

Hello room for misinformation and taking things wildly out of context, and cue the need for gaining the art of critical thinking!

I called to mind all of those Old Testament stories where ‘so-and-so’ gets eliminated for doing the wrong thing, and it seemed fairly logical for my young mind to accept that being sentenced to death for a crime was a natural chain of events. It was deserved, justified, God-approved. 

When I was thirteen I won a writing competition and got my story published in an anthology. Along with the publication, I won $100 in book vouchers (a small fortune back then) which I took great nerdish delight in carefully spending. I invested in a dictionary and thesaurus and spent the rest on a long list of novels which I’d had my eye on. John Grisham’s ‘A Time to Kill’ was one of them. The story gripped me and still remains one of my favorite novels, but it also began to open my eyes to the complexities of life beyond those old Bible stories. Granted, it is not a storyline about the death penalty per se, but it is one about justice and how easily it is often not allowed to prevail. 

As it happens, the more you read the Bible and get to know who Jesus is, what he stood for and who he hung out with, the more you discover how for life he is. My ‘a+b=c’ thinking got quickly turned on its head to embrace the complexities of the human narrative, and how God breaks in with his grace and redemption. It turns out that when you get to the New Testament, Jesus changes everything.

Last week, two black men were executed in Terre Haute, Indiana. The second of the two, Dustin Higgs, maintained his innocence throughout - even in his final words. (You can read about his case here.) Since July 2020, the Trump administration successfully carried out thirteen executions, more than any other federal government has done in the past 67 years combined, and after a pause of almost two decades with no executions taking place at all. 

Having spent a good chunk of time working with incarcerated men and women over the last couple of years, including a number who had done time on death row, these federally approved killings are just a little alarming. Not least due to the fact that 1 in 9 people on death row are found to be innocent. Which means that statistically at least one of those thirteen executions made in the last six months was of a guilt free man. (Check out Equal Justice initiative for a full breakdown of the system surrounding capital punishment, its history and impact.) 

I realize that not everybody is innocent, and when justice cries out from the ground following the enactment of horrific crimes, consequences need to be faced. But when our system is so corrupt that it regularly allows entirely innocent men and women to be killed in the name of justice, should we not reevaluate what we have agreed to, and why we defend it so passionately? Should we not look at the dark history within which this law was first birthed, and seek to do better now? 

“The question we need to ask about the death penalty in America is not whether someone deserves to die for a crime. The question is whether we deserve to kill.”

- Bryan Stevenson

I am very much pro life, but I am very much pro ALL of life. 

My faith still very much informs how I live my life and what I believe, but rather than taking everything at face value as I once did as a child, I now love to dig deep and wrestle with the hard and messy conversations. For me, the death penalty isn’t some far-removed topic that has no impact on me. It is a matter of life, of justice, and of seeing the humanity in every face and every story, and believing more in the power of redemption than the vengeful act of death. It is a matter that I have chosen to draw close to, rather than using my privilege to turn away from, for I cannot in all good conscience stand up for the lives of the unborn whilst I turn away from the killings of the living. 

There is much much more that could be said on this topic, and this blog is but an introduction, so I have tagged other sites with helpful information and ways to use your voice and time to educate yourself, respond and act. I could not let this week go by however without acknowledging those whose fights are now over:

Daniel Lewis Lee

Brandon Bernard

Alfred Bourgeois

Orlando Cordia Hall

Christopher Andre Vialva

William Emmett LeCroy, Jr

Keith Dwayne Nelson

Lezmond Charles Mitchell

Dustin Lee Honken

Wesley Ira Purkey

Billy Joe Wardlow

Lisa Montgomery

Corey Johnson

Dustin Higgs

For more information check out:

The National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty

The Death Penalty Information Center

Books to read:

Just Mercy

The Sun Does Shine

Rethinking Incarceration

The New Jim Crow

IG accounts to follow:

@innocenceproject

@eji_org

@grassrootslaw

@helenprejean

Igniting the Activist Within

What. A. Week. 

Joy and sorrow have abounded in equal measure; tears flowing with both. Anger has been ignited by bold injustice and raged unabated like a hungry forest fire, fed by centuries of racial trauma which has been passed down through bloodlines and the stories lived, remembered and told from one generation to the next. Confusion has been equally present as, for many, people and places that once felt safe and comfortable have been revealed as questionable, and the hope that the new year gingerly brought with it has left many hearts shattered. 

I, for one, have run the gamut of emotions this week with each new headline, story and image that has grabbed my attention. From the elation felt on Wednesday morning at the news that Georgia had elected their first ever black senator, Rev. Raphael Warnock. To then that afternoon witnessing crowds of violent Trump supporters force their way into the Capitol Building causing the deaths of four people, and bringing about a momentary halt to Congress’ process of certifying Joe Biden as the 46th president of the United States. This country has hardly felt peaceful, and the Church has certainly not presented itself as unified. 

Images from the Trump rallies that day surfaced showing ‘Jesus Saves’ and ‘Jesus 2020’ banners alongside a hangman’s gallows - a hideous symbol of public lynching - in front of the Capitol Building. Videos taken during the attack capture scenes of arrogance, hatred and racism including one of the mob dragging a police officer out of the building and repeatedly beating him with anything they could lay their hands on. I had to stop watching as my spirt and heart became overwhelmed, sickened, by the level of depravity I was witnessing. What was happening and how did Jesus get twisted up in this mess?!

I’ve never known life without the involvement of church, faith and God. I wouldn’t be where and who I am today without them. I was raised in a home where God was known and honored and church was our community; where justice was married to faith, and love was the action we were to respond to everybody with. Nothing in my understanding of who God is and what we reference as His Kingdom has enabled me to be able to reconcile that with this display of behavior coming from these crowds of people professing the same faith as me. 

My anger felt like it was breaking me - dark and consuming, messy and unholy. It burst out in a nighttime display of passive aggression followed by broken sobs, inevitably giving way to healing tears. As I spoke with a friend the following day, confessing the darkest of my thoughts and seeking wisdom and encouragement, she reminded me that anger isn’t always unholy and what appears chaotic can be a part of the sifting process needed to get us to where we’re meant to be. We are each wired with passions that cause us to lean into different aspects of the same situation. Mine is justice, or injustice if you will. 

There has been a lot stirring in me the last few weeks, questions that I’ve been wrestling with and options that I’ve been pondering. In amongst the mess of this week, I feel like I’ve gained a little bit of clarity with this justice piece. I’ve come to realize that for the past several years my focus has been pulled into a couple of different directions - necessarily so for the season and needed for my growth - but this activist part of me is now fully done with being sat on the sidelines. 

A new friend of mine, Tyra Nicole , wrote a blog this weekend which you should definitely read if you too find yourself as an observer of injustice and wondering how to respond. In order to see our world change we all have to play our part.

We can become ACTIVE bystanders–people who [safely] intervene in situations where someone is being victimized.

This realization comes with a fresh injection of hope for me, and may you too receive it as you read this:

Your anger isn’t unholy, it’s a mandate. Seek justice and choose mercy; walk in humility and choose love; pull righteousness off the sidelines and be a mouthpiece for truth; shake off fear and apathy, and embrace the fiery passion that comes with action!

An Honest Reflection

I ended 2020 quite differently from the optimistic way I had started the year. 

On Wednesday, January 1st 2020 I woke up energized and excited by the prospects of this new year, and all that I anticipated was to come. My husband, Phillip, and I headed out that morning to sit in a coffee shop and take some time to ourselves, to dream for the year ahead and journal what we felt was on our hearts - spiritually, mentally, emotionally and physically. There was so much hope and newness that month, and we were spilling over with joy as we headed into it. 

The next time I sat and opened that journal was today, Sunday January 3rd, 2021. 

Last year did in fact bring us deep joy as we welcomed our firstborn son, Freedom Alexander, into the world on February 12th. I have never felt such joy, boundless love and deep pride as I do when I look into his cute face. We also moved into a new home at the very start of the year after over two years of constantly moving around and yearning for a place to call our own. 

Freedom and his Grandparents.

There was so much hope, and so much promise. 

Now as I sit and reflect on this past year, it is with tears building just below my throat and a heart that is weary and vulnerable. I find that I am my most honest and clear minded when I am writing, the most in tune with how I really feel and think. So welcome to my process. I can’t promise where I’ll conclude but hopefully some good will come through these words. 

People will be telling stories, writing songs and creating movies for decades to come about this past year. Everyone’s experience has been felt a little differently, their perspective nuanced depending on how close pain’s shadow came to their household. And in the midst of all the fires, beauty could also be seen and felt; babies were still being born; joy was still boldly pressing on. 

My 2020 ended with a crash that not many beyond Phillip were even aware of. It was an internal falling apart that left me worn out and angry. I still am a little bit. 

My personality is one which thrives in helping others. I can’t help myself asking, ‘what do you need?’ or ‘how can I help?’ when I even have the smallest sense that someone is not a 100%. There is definitely a lot to be appreciated in this but my weakness is that I can lose myself in those questions. I get consumed with the needs of others - those I am close with as well as the hurting cries of the wider world. The initial throes of crises actually leave me feeling energized as I pour myself out with comfort, care plans, practical help and endless prayers. Then, inevitably, the crash comes as the adrenaline wears off and the initial fuel of imminent needs putters out. 

Of course the key to overcoming those unhealthy cycles is to begin by not falling into the trap of believing that you are everyone’s personal saviour. It looks like not saying yes to everything and everyone, and allowing yourself to be cared for before extending that to every hand reaching out. 

I know the keys, the tricks, the tools and how-to’s. But 2020. 

It was craziness after craziness but onwards we plodded and for the most part I was ok. Then we reached the Fall and everything within me just started screaming, ‘NO!!’ No more Zoom, no more distance and restrictions, no more political expressions of church, no more platforms and three point sermons, no more striving, no more fakeness and deception, no more religious language to cover up oppression, no more strategies instead of relationships. NO MORE! 

I hit my limit and rather than hitting it and moving on, I stayed. I couldn’t move myself forward, but rather I found myself stuck. I was going through the motions and doing all the things but I didn’t feel connected. Instead I felt angry. Angry at all the injustice, the lack of real change, the continual stream of disappointment, the pain of words spoken by friends, the hypocrisy of the Church, the corruption of our systems and the realization that what you once saw as good maybe is not so. 

I probably spent a solid week being truly angry, and then the Christmas lights and mulled wine began to soften my prickles and warm me up to the holiday season, albeit different looking from how I had dreamt that it would be. 2021 crept in after Christmas Day and I have found myself slowly beginning to thaw. Hope has been returning to my heart, like a battery on slow charge. A fresh measurement of time is stretched before us and with it the invitation of grace. Like a permission slip to dream, I have found my heart gradually returning to life, revisiting those things which cause passion to burn and an easy laugh to be close to my lips. My metamorphosis of healing is hardly complete, but as each day dawns it feels a little closer and the future a little brighter. 

On Friday, January 1st 2021 I woke up energized and hopeful once again for this new year, and all that I anticipate is to come. 

How to Revitalise Compassion

It’s been hard to get out of bed recently. Granted on my best day I’m sure I’d still want to hit snooze and have a few more minutes under the covers, but as of late I could have taken the whole day. If my body wasn’t now employed to keep a very scrumptious five month old alive, I probably would have. 

You know you’re tired when the thing you were full of zeal for just a week ago, is now the thing that drains the life from your eyes at the very thought of it. At the same time, I am deeply aware of how much I care about those things. I don’t want to give up. I need to keep moving, pushing forward…getting out of bed. And so I’ve been having little talks with myself. My mind and my body in conversation with one another, ‘You can do this Joy. You need to keep moving. Freedom needs you. You’ll regret it if you don’t get up now. You’ve got this.’

I’ve always been good in a crisis. The 2 in me thrives (check out The Enneagram if you have no idea what I’m talking about) as I survey the scene of catastrophe before me and move into action to help anyone I can. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can keep going and going - putting out fires, treating the sick, holding the bereaved and lending my ear to the broken. But if the onslaught is too relentless, and the space for my replenishment not found, I’ll eventually be hit with the crash. 

And regardless of our number and personality - we all will be.

I started hearing the phrase crisis/compassion fatigue about a month ago. The first time was whilst I was listening to Jo Saxton and Alli Worthington on their morning Instagram Live. Their conversation highlighted the importance of self-care in the midst of caring for others and fighting for racial justice. Essentially they were giving a warning to all of their listeners: “The world is crazy right now. There’s a lot going on and we need you to keep fighting and stay in the race; so don’t get taken out by exhaustion.”

At that time I wasn’t feeling too tired. I was actually pretty charged with energy, but the warning resonated all the same. I felt the importance of taking heed. So I did, and as I tried to tighten the reins on the speed of life, I also passed this warning on to those around me. But 2020 has let up for no one. 

The dictionary defines compassion fatigue as: 

noun

‘indifference to charitable appeals on behalf of those who are suffering, experienced as a result of the frequency or number of such appeals.’

In Wikipedia it is explained as:

‘Compassion fatigue is a condition characterized by emotional and physical exhaustion leading to a diminished ability to empathize or feel compassion for others, often described as the negative cost of caring. It is sometimes referred to as secondary traumatic stress.’

Essentially, it is possible to care so much for others and be so invested in a cause that your mind and body become overwhelmed by the amount of output required and do a 180 on you, leaving you wanting to run full-pelt in the opposite direction of where you started. 

There wasn’t a climatic moment which caused me to want to press the brakes on everything and just stay in bed with my little family of three. It felt more gradual, like when sleepiness slowly creeps in at the end of a long day, starting with a succession of yawns and then before you know it you’re fast asleep whilst supposedly watching a movie with your husband. Anyone?! 

That’s the danger of fatigue though, you often don’t realize you have it until you find yourself consistently choosing pjs and pressing cancel on commitments. 

““We have not been directly exposed to the trauma scene,
but we hear the story told with such intensity, or we hear
similar stories so often, or we have the gift and curse of
extreme empathy and we suffer. We feel the feelings of our
clients. We experience their fears. We dream their dreams.
Eventually, we lose a certain spark of optimism, humor and
hope. We tire. We aren’t sick, but we aren’t ourselves.””

— C. Figley, 1995

2020 is going down in the history books as that year. Everything that could be thrown at us pretty much has been, and this is only July, we still have to get through the US elections in November. Lord, help us. 

We’ve been navigating a global pandemic, creating a new normal in quarantine, losing jobs, rescheduling weddings, celebrations, concerts and events. Half the country has woken up for the first time to the reality that racism does actually still exist, and the fight for racial justice and equality has leapt forward with fresh vigor. Kanye is apparently now running for president, and fireworks through the night is now the new sound machine for inner city living. And this is just a snapshot…no wonder we’re tired. 

So, how do you know if you’re experiencing fatigue? Here are some signposts:

• Exhaustion - both physical & emotional

• Reduced sense of accomplishment

• Feelings of isolation

• Sleep disturbances

• Difficulty concentrating

• Anger or frustration

• Over-reactions or avoidance

• Aches and pains

• Muscle tension

• Apathy and loss of interest

• Loss of hope and meaning

• Depression and PTSD

• Your sense of identity, worldview, and spirituality feeling impacted

Isn’t that a fun list?! 

If you find yourself identifying with some of these, then I’d love to share some simple ways that you can engage in loving yourself back to health. 

1. Create Safety in Your World

• What does your sensory world look like? Are you taking in music, shows, articles, environments that are life-giving? If so, change it up! 

• Be aware of what restores and replenishes you and invest time and space into those things.

• Taking quiet alone time in a space that feels calm and beautiful does wonders for your soul. 

• List one thing that brings you joy and make that a daily priority. 

2. Regulate the Body

• Often our physical needs are the first to take the back burner when we’re under stress or over tired. Ensure that you are eating and sleeping regularly and well.

• Carve out time to rest in a way that replenishes you physically. 

• Make time for relaxation and exercising.

• The deep pressure created by weighted blankets can also be really helpful for aiding relaxation, as well as instilling a greater sense of security. 

3. Non-Verbal Connection

• Engaging in eye contact (warm, soft eyes) with those that you love and trust communicates deep love, security and a sense of feeling seen and known. 

• Experiencing healthy touch where and when possible - the hug from a friend or the cuddle from a spouse. 

• Playing, laughing and creating releases endorphins and encourages childlikeness as well as a sense of freedom. 

4. Tell Your Story

Give yourself permission to name, sort out, and express your stress with someone you feel safe with. Sharing your story and processing your experience validates how you feel, as well as what you’ve been through. It also allows the trauma to move from the right side of our brain to the left, causing us to complete the healing journey in our minds.

5. Be Refilled Spiritually

When experiencing fatigue, it is not just our body or emotions that are affected but our very spirit gets impacted too. Recognizing this and allowing yourself to be refueled spiritually is important. Part of this process may involve needing to ask hard questions as it relates to your faith journey, as well as giving space for receiving fresh input. 

Compassion actually means ‘to suffer with.’ Living with compassion is not an easy or romantic road to travel down. It requires something from us. It costs something. The answer to compassion fatigue is not to rid ourselves of the compassion part; it is to refill, refuel and refocus the fatigued part so that we can keep moving toward seeing our world made whole. Right now we’re in the messy middle, with a lot before us that we can’t afford to overlook or ignore again. So pause for a moment and take stock once more, engage in a personal health check, and revitalize the compassion muscle within you, because this is a marathon and we need you in it. 

Silence Is Betrayal

This week has been one which I don’t think I’ll ever forget. There are certain times, conversations, moments in life that become markers for us all - whether of joy or sorrow - that cause us to move forward forever changed. Tuesday May 26th, 2020 was one of those days for me. It was 11pm and I was in our kitchen washing up my son’s milk bottles when I heard an eruption from upstairs. Grief and turmoil has a sound that transmits at a frequency different from any other. This was the second time in my life that I had become marked by its utterance and this time its source was my husband. I dropped the bottles into the sink and raced upstairs to find Phillip in our bed, hands over his face, as the sound of pain and rage was released from his lips. On the covers in front of him lay his phone with the video of the inhumane death of George Floyd continuing to play. I climbed up next to him and wrapped my arms around his shaking frame as my own tears fell.

Grief has a name. This week it's George Floyd. Two weeks ago it was Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery. Tomorrow the name might be different but the cries are the same.

Last month I wrote a blog about grief in response to the upheaval and loss created by Covid19 and felt by everyone. I spoke about the stages of grief and the ways that it can manifest in each one of us. Little did I know just how much this would intensify as a reality, both in me personally but across this nation, in just a few, short, quarantined weeks. 

We didn’t know who George Floyd was a week ago, but it matters how we respond to his name, his life and death, now. I didn’t know him, I don’t know anyone who did, but his passing feels personal. 

I first moved to the States as a white, British woman in 2011 to live with my now husband’s brown family. My whole experience of America has been that of an outsider adopted into family by people who look and sound different to me. But what was once a foreign culture has now become a part of my own. 

“The spirit and posture of adoption has the power to turn foreigners into family.
”

As America has gone from the country where I now live, to the place that I call home, and my family has gone from simply white and English, to mixed and multi-cultural, I have learnt how to embrace my historical identity in order to be cognisant of my present reality. I was born in Bristol, England and raised majoritively in Liverpool - historically two of the biggest slave ports in the United Kingdom. In the 1730’s, Liverpool rose to become Britain’s foremost slaving port. From 1791-1800, British slave traders surpassed all previous records, purchasing or kidnapping no fewer than 400,000 Africans and transporting them to the Americas. 1798 alone saw 150 ships leave the port of Liverpool bound for Africa, the highest number ever recorded. I guess it’s therefore not really a surprise that when William Wilberforce, the great abolitionist, was campaigning for an end to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, the city of Liverpool was one of his biggest opposers.

Why am I giving you a mini history lesson about my hometown? Because where you come from and the hue of your skin matters. Should you be treated differently because of them? No. But if we don’t understand the origins of our physical and historical make up, we will deny ourselves the ability to move into our future with freedom.

I was raised with a deep understanding of both my country’s and city’s history, not to shame me with the past, but to help ensure that it would never be repeated. This developed in me a grid and value for justice and reconciliation, as well as recognition of the part that I can play in the ever-evolving history books of life. If I chose to bury my head in the sand now and ignore the blatant systemic racism that still continues, both in the US as well as the UK, and the plight of people of colour all around me, I would be just as bad as those slave traders back in the 1700’s who vehemently opposed abolition. 

“There comes a time when silence is betrayal.”

- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr

I refuse to sit on my hands and do nothing when injustice is occurring all around me. I refuse to let history repeat itself by being a white person with privilege who does nothing with her voice. I refuse to be ok with another person of colour being degraded, incarcerated or killed on my watch. 

If we allow it, our history, both personal and national, can empower us to see change in our future, but it won’t happen if you plead ignorance or wave these issues away as yesterday’s problem. If you’re white and reading this, I challenge you to own your story as it relates to race. Own where you come from, own your family’s history, own your culture’s perspective and privilege, because it’s only once we own up to these things that we can choose a different way. And if you’re a person of colour reading this, I want to take this moment to personally repent on behalf of my ancestors, my city, my country for how we have not cared for you - my brother and sister - as we should have done. I’m sorry for how we used, abused, and killed you, believing that you were somehow less than us simply because of your shade of skin.

This week has broken my heart in a deeper way than ever before as I have sat with my black and brown community and grieved over the death of George Floyd. May these tears be unto breakthrough. May his cries not fall on deaf ears in the weeks to come. May we choose to turn from our wicked ways, to repent, and allow healing to flow through our lands. May we never forget their names as we move forward forever changed.

A Time to Mourn

“Grief is the heart’s response to any deep loss.”

- Paula D’arcy

My heart resonated with these words as I read them and my mind immediately went to the pandemic that has swept our planet in recent months. To date, 163,134 people have been recorded as passing away worldwide and most countries are currently operating in quarantine lockdown, with social distancing becoming the newest phrase to add to our vocabulary. 

Every evening at 7pm, New York City resounds with applause, car horns, the clattering of pots and pans and the whoops and cheers of its occupants, as the city unifies to thank and celebrate its courageous healthcare workers. From behind our closed windows and doors, loneliness and fear are shrugged off and for a minute each day we are all free again.

None of us have experienced anything like this before, and as we tread out into the waters of the unknown each day, our hearts are learning how to process the grief of so much loss. Our everyday routines have been turned upside down and the activities that we took for granted just a couple of months ago, now seem like such a far away possibility. Never before have we felt so starved of connection or hungry for what used to be normal. 

The longer this goes on for, the more aware I become that we are all experiencing loss of some kind, and whether or not we realize it, our hearts are beginning to try and process that grief. Whether we are a healthcare worker and daily having to face the effects of the virus on the human body; the loved one of someone who has passed, or the interceding relative of those who are sick; the extrovert quarantined on their own with sudden limited ways to connect with others, or the introvert who is now having to home school their kids, work from home, and try and figure out having alone time; or the artist, server or retailer who has suddenly lost their employment and income, all of us are affected and losing something. Rather than ignoring this pain or trying to numb it with Netflix, I felt the importance of leaning into it this week, for when we acknowledge what is hurting we are able to begin healing. 

It is commonly understood that there are seven stages to grief:

Shock - initial disbelief at the bad news

Denial - trying to avoid coming to terms with the loss

Anger - the result of bottling up emotions and can be poured out on self or others

Bargaining - trying to reason with yourself that by doing things differently you could’ve changed things

Depression - sadness associated with the realisation of the loss

Testing - seeking a new passion or challenge

Acceptance - finding a meaningful way forward

As I looked over these again, I could identify with feeling all seven of them over the past six weeks of quarantine. I think I’ve even double-backed on a couple from time to time too. In fact, over the past few days I seem to have been stuck in a revolving door of anger, and have had to continuously give myself the space to release it and understand where it is coming from. Not only could I see my personal grief journey, but it also opened my eyes to our communal one too. It’s possible to grieve individually as well as corporately, as a nation and even across the globe, and it’s much deeper than simply missing someone or something. 

So what do you do with grief once you’ve acknowledged that it’s there?

• Give yourself permission to feel and process each stage. There’s nothing wrong with you, and if you’re supporting someone, your friend. The heart may be a little broken but it is not beyond healing. Choosing to walk through grief is an expression and exercise of love, both towards yourself and your community. 

• Consider starting a journal. Emotions are a funny thing and oftentimes we can feel the world without fully understanding why or what is at the root of it all. Writing down all that is swirling within can reveal more of what’s going on beyond the surface. 

• Invite a couple of trusted friends into the process with you. There is such healing that is found when we allow community into our most vulnerable times and places. We gain strength from the presence of others, and there is some truth to the phrase, ‘a problem shared is a problem halved.’

• Give the gift of time. If you are someone who is in a more supporting role of someone else, think about how you can give your time to bless them. Obviously in our current quarantine situation this may be limited to a phone or Zoom call, but knowing that you have taken the time to pursue them and make space for their heart communicates a lot. 

• Share your story. There is great power in sharing our stories. It has the ability to be a cathartic experience for the one sharing, enabling us to accept and come to terms with events that are hard or painful, but it also allows our friends to be a witness to our lives and encourages them to own their stories in return.

• Pray. It’s easy to find ourselves feeling helpless in this current scenario of a worldwide pandemic where the death toll is rising daily. We are left with questions of, “What if?” and “Where is God?” But we don’t have to be trapped by this, in fact we can bring our wrestling to God. Through prayer we are able to find comfort as well as understanding. 

‘Here’s what I’ve learnt through it all:

Don’t give up; don’t be impatient;

be entwined as one with the Lord. 

Be brave and courageous, and never lose hope. 

Yes, keep on waiting - for he will never disappoint you!’

Psalm 27:14 (TPT)

There is way more that could be said or shared on this topic so maybe I’ll write more on this as I journey through it myself, but for now please know that you are not alone. It’s ok not to be ok. If you need to take some space today, take it. Reach out to someone in your community and ask how they are. Check in with your own heart and see what it needs. 

‘If we carry our storms

like actors pretending to be brave, 

each swallowed tear will fill our hearts

like a bag of stones.’

- Alison Asher

If you recognise symptoms of grief manifesting in you, don’t shut them down but give yourself the space you need to process them. Your heart will thank you later. 

Lessons of Liberty

A couple of weeks ago, I sat with a group of ten men inside a maximum security prison and talked about what freedom means to them. Every man was in the middle of serving a heavy sentence, some having already done a couple of decades worth of time. Freedom was a concept that resonated deeply, stirring up both hope as well as sorrow, but was a reality that none had physically felt in a long time. Several guys talked about how they felt like they had let freedom down, not recognizing its full value until it was too late. Others had discovered that it meant far more than being physically free, now experiencing great joy and relief in the internal freedom that they had found amidst their incarceration. And yet all agreed in their longing to be released, to be entrusted with another chance at walking into liberty with no bars, locked doors or security guards to hold them back. 

Since sitting in that circle and hearing these men talk so honestly and vulnerably about something that I know I take for granted every day, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what it means to be free. Wars have been waged, lives have been given, stories have been passed down over centuries, and songs continue to be sung about this innate desire we all have - freedom. 

Recently, Phillip and I went to see the movie ‘Harriet’ which portrays the life of Harriet Tubman, a hero in American history who dedicated her life to the freedom of the slaves. She knew the value of freedom because for many years she had lived without it, and she was willing to give her last breath to set her people free. She was a visionary and her vision was liberty. 

“God has shown me the future and my people are free; my people are free!”

- Harriet, the movie

I think it takes great courage to believe in freedom when an aspect of it has been taken away from you. It also takes wisdom to steward it well when you are privileged enough to have it.  But before either courage or wisdom are walked out, we need to have a vision for freedom.

“Until our children learn to deal with what is going on inside of them, they simply cannot learn to manage freedom.”

- Danny Silk, ‘Loving Your Kids On Purpose’

I read this line from Danny Silk’s book a couple of days after returning home from being with the men at SCI Frackville. They immediately came to mind again as I read this over and over. How we manage our external freedom is directly connected to how we steward what is going on internally. Hopefully we’ve been raised in an environment that allows us to learn this early on, but many times that is not our story and decades can pass before it is a concept that we are actually able to live out in health. 

Right now, Phillip and I are preparing to have our first son in February who we’ve named Freedom Alexander, and as motherhood approaches it has caused me to ponder all of this more seriously. I want our son to be raised not just knowing that he is free, but knowing how to steward that freedom. We all have this deep-seated knowing that it is our right to be free so we demand it with all that we have, but when it’s finally given to us how often do we betray this most divine of gifts? If we’re honest, do we now stand holding onto the remnants of an abused relationship with freedom, or is our gait marked with integrity as we extend our freedom to the benefit of the world around us? 

I’ve never not known freedom. From my privileged upbringing being born with white, European skin into a family full of love with parents who believed in me and always championed my dreams, to encountering spiritual freedom at a young age where I came to know a God who loves me and has divinely purposed me for this time in history. Yes I’ve known injustice, pain and betrayal, have had to overcome fear and hurts, anger and lies, but I’ve never not known freedom; I’ve never not had a choice. Even here - in ‘the land of the free and home of the brave’ - I wonder how many people could actually describe their life as being one that is free, for this state of being does not just begin and end with our physical reality but encompasses every part of our beings. As I heard recently in a conversation around prostitution and the sex industry, for many people trapped in that cycle of sexual exploitation, it came about as a choice-less choice. They had no other option. 

If we look at our lives honestly, are we stuck in any places simply because we have no other option? Or have we created environments in our relationships or work places where those around us are faced with no other choice because of an element of freedom that we have stripped away from them? Are we championing freedom and managing it well, or are we operating in control and manipulation and abusing the very thing that was created to release us? 

The last words that Harriet Tubman uttered were, “I go to prepare a place for you.” She gave her everything in order to see her fellow man live in the freedom which she knew they were created for, and I hear in those words a challenge to all of us: are we going to do the same? 

Harriet Tubman, who rescued enslaved people via the Underground Railroad and also led U.S. troops in a raid that freed hundreds during the Civil War.

Finding Freedom in a Max-Security Prison

“See that guy over there?” K.A nodded to a man stood a few feet away from us, “He killed someone I was close to.” He paused as I followed the direction of his gesture with my eyes, “And I killed someone he was close to… We didn’t used to be able to be in the same room together, but now we’ve learnt how to tolerate each other. It’s really crazy that we can even both be here right now.”

I looked at the two men and let the enormity of K.A’s words soak in, our conversation from the previous day suddenly carrying a whole new weight. The afternoon before, K.A had asked me if I’d ever been betrayed. I knew there was something specific on his mind as I shared with him my journey of choosing to forgive the man who had raped me ten years prior, and just what true forgiveness looked like, but had had no inkling to what that might be. Now, as we stood in the prison chapel, I felt the sacredness of vulnerability and caught a glimpse of the hope of reconciliation. 

“I hope that one day we can do more than just tolerate one another,” K.A looked at me with a little smile. 

“I believe you will,” came my simple words of encouragement as I smiled in return. 

Joy chatting with a Shining Light participant from Philadelphia Detention Center

The moment shifted as the room geared up for our first group activity of the day and K.A moved away to take his seat. I was now once again so aware of the power that our presence has to break down walls, restore humanity and release fresh hope. This was day two of a three day Creative Intensive Workshop that I was helping to lead with Shining Light Ministries. It’s the fourth time this year that I’ve entered a state correctional facility with the organization, our sole purpose being to love on the inmates, using the tools of creativity and presence to see perspectives expanded and lives changed in prison and beyond. My role was to lead a group of 10 men in a spoken word workshop, the end goal being to create a collaborative piece together which they would then perform for the rest of the participants at the end of the Intensive. There were three other teams - dance, theater and vocals - all with roughly 10 apiece, making up a full and lively room of men all eager to have their minds set free from their  current surroundings.

Myself and the dance team had been using the song, ‘Run Wild’ by for King & Country as the stimulus for our groups’ creative processes, but neither team saw the other’s work until the final day. It just so happened that the man that K.A had now told me about, Felipé, was on the dance team. These two men, who were once arch enemies, were now both exploring similar  personal journeys of finding freedom - even whilst living behind bars. 

Dance team rehearsal from Waymart SCI

As a spoken word team, we took the concept of freedom that the song highlighted and used it as a prompt to write from. Each man wrote their own response to what freedom looks or feels like, or what their relationship with freedom is currently like, and we weaved them all together into one fluid piece. Below is the section that K.A wrote:

‘Not a lion who forgot how to roar, 

But more so a heart that forgot how to beat. 

From chaos that infiltrated my peace, 

I became a slave to the chaos of the street. 

I am crushed at what I have become, 

An element of all but God’s plan.

All because the thing that I honestly am not, 

Has made me the person to which that I am. 

A prisoner of my own destruction, 

A king to a throne-less kingdom, 

A servant to the undeserved, 

But yet the betrayer of my dearest and beloved Brother Freedom.’

After our group presentation time on the final day of the Intensive, the other teams were invited to give their responses to the pieces that they watched. Felipé raised his hand and went on to express how the spoken word team’s piece had made him see that just because someone had committed murder didn’t mean that’s all that there was to them. It had opened his eyes to see things differently, and I knew that he was talking about K.A. 

I think if we’d been able to spend a few more days with these men, we would have witnessed the full restoration of relationship between K.A and Felipé. As it happened, we just got to glimpse the beginning and perhaps middle of that process, where grace was starting to be extended and understanding allowed to enter in. My conversations with K.A continued in the vein of exploring forgiveness and what true justice looked like right up until the end of the program, and on the last day he said, “You have inspired me to find the good in all people. To forgive - not just others, but myself.” This young man who had one of the worst reputations in the whole prison was being reminded that trusting people is possible, that forgiveness was not just an option but a reality, and he wasn’t an animal but a valuable human being. 

These conversations have left an indelible mark on my heart, not just because they were profound in nature, but because they were evidence of humanity being restored to men who had literally had it repeatedly stripped from them. Sons, brothers, fathers, who had undoubtedly made big mistakes but who were searching for redemption, hungry for love, and desperately longing for the loneliness to end. As humans, we were never meant to live in cages. We were created to be free, living in community - family - with justice looking like the restoration of every violation of love. 

It matters what we do with our freedom - whether we abuse it, using it for our own good, or wield it for the betterment of those around us. It matters where we choose to take our presence, and where we decide to shine our light. If a room is already flooded in daylight, lighting a lamp is of no consequence, but when darkness covers the walls even the smallest of lights has the greatest of impacts. 

Shining Light Participant from Waymart SCI

• For further in formation about Shining Light Ministries and how you can get involved, please head to https://www.shining-light.com

• Images used in this blog are courtesy of Shining Light Ministries and were taken at different correctional facilities in Pennsylvania than the one highlighted here.

When Truth is an Inconvenience

The truth can be inconvenient, unwanted, in the way, and even avoidable when we want it to be. It can cause us to react in anger, disbelief and disgust, or move us with compassion and propel us to act and seek change, but either way it always warrants a response. 

A couple of weekends ago, I woke early and headed downtown in order to gather with hundreds of other abolitionists and participate in A21’s Walk For Freedom. Each year on the same day, multiple cities around the world host local walks in order to have a global impact against human trafficking. The volunteers march in single file and without uttering a word, each holding bold, eye-catching signs that blast the passers-by with the harsh reality of the existence of modern day slavery. 

I had chosen to do the walk with a group of friends from my church, Liberty, and a non-profit that I work for, Treasures NYC. After spending several minutes getting registered, lined up and organized along the perimeter of Madison Square Park, we set off down Broadway in the crisp, fall sunshine, our numbers soon stretching out over several blocks in silent protest. 

My friend, Damaris, walked in front of me holding aloft a sign with words that wrenched at my heart: ’99% of victims are never rescued.’ As I followed behind her carrying my own sign of, ‘Slavery still exists,’ I ruminated on these statements and the gravity of what we were declaring to the world around us. I felt the tightness of my belly where my son, Freedom, is steadily occupying more and more space, and found tears gathering in my throat, threatening to tumble out. ‘May he never encounter such atrocities,’ I found myself thinking.

I am aware of our audacity in choosing to name our son Freedom. Even in the womb, his life is making proclamations in places of darkness and oppression, but rather than shrinking from that I celebrate what his life represents so loudly with every utterance of his name. The night before this walk, I led a team of female volunteers out to the strip clubs in Manhattan to give out gifts to the women working there. Attached to every gift was not a price tag but a message of affirmation, acceptance and freedom - you are loved, valued and purposed. Every person I met that night and interacted with had an encounter with both Joy and Freedom!

My focus was pulled back to the present as we entered Union Square Market, a massive farmer’s market which takes over the majority of Union Square at the weekends. The whole area was packed with people meandering from stall to stall, enjoying the perfect New York fall weather whilst sampling all the edible goods on display. As our marchers entered the space, neatly cutting the crowds in half, a type of silence uncommon in New York followed us. I watched the faces of those we passed by and took in the human interactions that continued around us, Some people stopped to take in our message, visibly moved by our demonstration and taking photos to capture it all. Others pretended like we didn’t exist, talking over the tops of our heads, clearly inconvenienced by our presence. Children tugged at their parents asking for explanations whilst the adults stumbled over how to respond. All around us people were confronted and for the majority it was visibly uncomfortable and unwelcome. Tears stuck in my throat again the further we stepped into the marketplace as I couldn’t help but make the correlation between our current surroundings and the market we have created for humanity, both historically and presently. I was reminded of the fury of Jesus when he discovered that the temple courts had been turned into a shopping mall, and his display of righteous anger as he called everybody out on their greed and manipulation. Have we not just continued to do the same thing, turning what was created as a gift of intimacy into a product to be openly sold in clubs, street corners, inside dark rooms, on the safety of our computer screens and from the comfort of our living rooms?

The walk continued in silence through Noho, Soho, Little Italy, the outskirts of Chinatown and into Tribeca until we reached our final destination by City Hall. Traffic was halted numerous times along our journey to allow our continuous movement through the city, and each time we were met with a cacophony of blaring car horns, the owners frustrated at their five minute delay. People continued to ignore us or responded in such a way to communicate that we were merely an obstacle they needed to overcome rather than an invitation to pause, if only for a moment. We encountered those who celebrated our presence also, but I was struck by how few and far between they were. In a city that celebrates the activist and prides itself in being progressive and for the people, it felt like the truth was not what many were wanting to receive. 

As I made my way home, excited to put my feet up, I mulled over the whole experience. How often have I responded in exactly the same way to someone speaking truth to me, whether about a world issue or an area of personal growth, wanting to stick my head in the sand and pretend I didn’t hear anything? I think if we’re honest we all do it at least some of the time. But we can’t escape the truth. It’s still out there in bold colors, like billboards in the street, when we open our eyes again. So what will our responses be? Will we choose to add our number to the silent march, or blast our car horns in hopes it drowns out the enormity of what we’re being confronted by? Will we be truth tellers, or those who pretend that they are too blind to see, do not feel, and cannot hear the truth? 

“You may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know.”

- William Wilberforce

I pray that I am one who never looks away. 

A Promise Fulfilled

I felt nervous this morning as Phillip and I headed, hand-in-hand, to our ultrasound appointment in St Paul, Minnesota. The last time we had been in this position the circumstances were very different, and the results had been heartbreaking. Today there was no fear, but rather an excited ‘what-are-we-going-to-find-out’ flutter in our bellies. 

Life being what it’s been the past couple of years since our second pregnancy, we haven’t been able to afford health insurance and so have been living that ‘God-is-my-doctor’ life, which is great until you pee on a stick and realise that might not be an option for much longer.  But for the past 12 weeks and 6 days we have continued our journey of trusting God, believing that this third pregnancy would be the healthy miracle we have been longing for. It also led me on a search of places that offer free care to pregnant women, and that’s how I found Abria. 

Abria means, ‘father of a multitude; strength; power.’ As a clinic, they offer a safe, non-judgmental, and supportive environment for Twin Cities women, teens, and couples experiencing an unexpected pregnancy. They do not provide or refer women for abortions, but they do recognise choice and offer medical counseling for those unsure of what to do. 

As a Christian, I may be about to step into dicey, political waters with some people here, but I also wanted to share my honest experience today, and express my gratitude to those who are truly seeking to serve families - whatever their circumstances may be. I am pro-life, but I also know that life is messy and circumstances can leave you feeling vulnerable, alone and afraid. Today, as I sat on a super comfy couch talking to one of Abria’s life coaches, I was struck by the peace, warmth and safety of the environment they have created. I am so blessed to be married to one of the most supportive men God created, but not every woman who has sat in that same seat has had that. 

The ladies who took care of Phillip and I were moved with empathy when we shared our miscarriage journey, and joined us in celebrating as we took in the ultrasound images of our tiny bouncy baby with awe. We were sent out with armfuls of information, pre-natals, hugs and well-wishes as we left with hearts full of gratitude both to God and the generosity of human compassion.

I think this is what it looks like to be pro-life, to be pro the one in front of you. It looks like welcoming them in, just as they are, with love, understanding and grace. It looks like hearing their stories, and having the honest conversations of what all the options are as well as what they entail. It also looks like empowering them to be the mothers and fathers that we were all created to one day be. Yes, I wish abortion didn’t exist. As a woman who has lost two babies against her will, I have come to value the preciousness and sanctity of life in a much deeper way. I can also see how much trauma is experienced by those who feel like they have no other choice than to terminate their pregnancy, yet backing them into a corner with condemnation does not say love either. How we care and provide for our mothers is just as important as how we value and care for our unborn. 

The systems and structures this nation has doesn’t tend to favour the under-privileged, the immigrant or vulnerable, the poor and weak. We seem to smile instead on those with solid educations, good backgrounds, the right last name or zip code, building the strength of our society on whatever we can gain from them whilst pushing the ‘other’ out. If we’re just talking numbers, having a baby is expensive - especially in America. On paper, Phillip and I can’t afford to pay for a baby, but we are some of the privileged ones. We are surrounded by family and friends who adore us, who have been praying for this baby along with us, and who we know we can lean on in times of need. We also have faith, this rooted assurance that God - the father of multitudes - is with us and will not forsake us. But not everyone has that. Where we say choice, they may see no other way. 

I’m not attempting to solve the topic of abortion in this blog by any means, but as I watched this little miracle baby growing inside of me, bouncing around in my womb and responding to the sound of my laugh, I was struck by the grace of God over it all. Politics won’t solve our debates or what we see the problem as being, but a Kingdom perspective will. What do I mean by that? I mean that when we surrender our political preferences, banners, megaphones and war cries and instead pick up the heart of a mother and father we get to embrace those around us as our own. It allows us to see. It opens our hearts to compassion, which in turn compels us to open our homes to house the orphan and the widow. 

By the time you read this I will be 13 weeks pregnant - the furthest any of my pregnancies have gone and a victory Phillip and I are already celebrating. I know this baby is a gift from God, and I am profoundly grateful for the love of life and sacrifice of others which enabled us to meet each other for the first time. As we continue to converse, campaign and debate with one another about these topics that we can’t help but be impassioned about, may we never lose sight of the one - however old or tenderly young they may be - because every heart and the beat that resounds within should be given the time to be heard.

A Blissful Reunion

On February 10th, 2007, Chase Korte was driving along Interstate 40 near Needles, CA, when he was hit by a drunk driver at 162mph. The impact struck him like a missile and his life was instantly taken at the tender age of 24. 

I didn’t have the privilege of meeting Chase before he tragically left us, but his life has nevertheless had an impact on mine. Nine months before he passed, Chase had bumped into my husband, Phillip, by Loch Ness in Scotland whilst he was filming an independent movie, “Peace Walker” - a project involving him walking 1,100 miles from the most northern point of Scotland to the bottom of Land’s End, England, all in the name of peace. After chatting next to a herd of highland coos, the two became fast friends and over the following few months regularly hung out in LA where they both resided. Never one to leave another out, Phillip swiftly welcomed Chase into his community and soon found a close friend in the young actor. 

The same month that Phillip met Chase is also when our paths crossed for the first time, and so his name became as familiar to me as if we had also hung out on the banks of a Scottish loch. I know that if he had lived, he would have stood alongside Phillip on our wedding day, would have spent hours at our home in deep debate and laughter; he would have been a part of the furniture of our lives. And in many ways he still is. 

Last week, over twelve years after Chase’s death, Phillip and I got to meet and go for dinner with his wonderful parents, Pat and Linda. It’s possible for loss to leave a heart feeling barren, the grief of what has been taken leaving no room for life to flourish, but as we sat around the dinner table I only became aware of how enriched each heart was. To lose a child at any age is  unimaginable, but to do so as a result of an accident that could have been prevented is torturous. However, Pat and Linda displayed a marriage that has weathered the harshest of storms, and hearts that have chosen love over bitterness. Memories were shared like gifts across the table as Chase was brought back to life with each humorous recollection, poignant memory and remembered interaction.  

No one would have guessed what or who gathered us around the table that evening, we looked like any other group lost in conversation, but I found myself regarding this moment as something sacred to be savored and treasured. I think one of the greatest acts of vulnerability is to keep your heart soft and open in the aftermath of tragedy. 

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.”

- Brené Brown

It takes courage to be vulnerable and it takes stepping out in vulnerability in order to receive deeper healing. Sat with Pat and Linda I witnessed how their choice not to give up but to choose one another in the midst of their journey of loss, pain and seeking justice, had made room for a beautiful strength to rise up in them. They are a mother and father, not just to Chase and their younger son Joel, but to many others who do not have the honour of sharing their name. When you carry the heart of a mother or father it changes your perspective on everything and motivates you to act, not just for yourself, but for the benefit of all humanity. 

As I mulled over the time we spent together I was once again reminded of these words I penned a couple of years ago:

Life is the most precious of gifts and every heartbeat resounds throughout all of eternity. 

Chase Korte (1982-2007)

Fresh Hope Not False Hope

Hoping can feel like a dangerous play in a chess game; the success of your move all dependent on how your opponent chooses to respond. It feels vulnerable to hope for a dream to be fulfilled, especially if you’ve already experienced a lot of disappointment in the waiting. It takes courage to once again open up your posture to the possibility of your heart’s desires being realised. 

A few weeks ago I found myself daring to believe. I was a few days late in coming on my period and my energy levels were on the floor. For a couple of days all I wanted to do was sleep, and on the second morning spent the first few hours in bed trying to keep nausea at bay. As all of the symptoms seemed to point in one direction, I slowly became convinced that I was pregnant. 

On the morning that I had planned to take a pregnancy test, I instead found myself walking to the store to buy a fresh pack of tampons. Later, I retreated to the safety and solitude of the shower, finding comfort in the water as it washed away every tear that I sobbed into its stream. It had been a little while since I had opened up my heart to hope like that, but once again reality had succeeded in quickly shutting the door on its existence. 

Over the next couple of days my emotions fluctuated as I tried to coach myself through the disappointment, but I needed more than just platitudes. I needed a fresh encounter with truth. Pulling myself and my heavy heart out of bed, I opened my Bible and read the next verse in my devotional:

One day Jesus taught the apostles to keep praying and never stop or lose hope.

Luke 18:1 (TPT)

I sat in my room and cried as I continued to read the story of the widow who persistently pleaded to a judge for justice until he finally caved in and gave it to her. The passage ends with Jesus saying this:

“Don’t you know that God, the true judge, will grant justice to all of his chosen ones who cry out to him night and day? He will pour out his Spirit upon them. He will not delay to answer you and give you what you ask for. God will give swift justice to those who don’t give up. So be ever praying, ever expecting, just like the widow was with the judge.”

Luke 18:7-8 (TPT) 

As I sat in my apartment, wiping tears from my face and reading these verses over and over, I felt enfolded by fresh hope that sank deep into my heart. When we believe in and follow God, we automatically get to abide - remain; continue; stay or dwell - in him, which guarantees our hope. We abide in hope. Hope doesn’t equate foolishness, it equals the strength of our faith in the true judge who grants justice to all who ask for it.

Today is mother’s day in America, which over the past two years has been a vulnerable one for me as I remember the two babies I have in heaven and long for more here on earth. Yet today all I had to utter from my lips was, ‘thank you!’ as I felt the strength of hope around me. It is possible to grieve what we have lost or been hurt by whilst also being held in the perfect strength of hope. 

Your season or circumstance today may look different from mine, but I believe that God has a fresh gift of hope for you to abide in. It will not be swayed by your emotions but will become the foundation in which you can remain as you continue journeying towards promises fulfilled. So may hope become your anthem today, and may truth become the fire that revives your bones to keep moving forward into all that God has for you tomorrow.

The Intentionality of Generosity

The new year has brought with it our annual ‘fresh start’. We moved again, right on the first day of January, back to the bustling hustle of New York City. Our lives contained in two suitcases and carry-on sized bags, whilst the rest of our belongings lay strewn between Pasadena, Liverpool, and our storage unit located somewhere in Manhattan.

I’m sure like most other humans at the start of a new year, the beginning of this one got us thinking about how we want to live it, where we want to give our yes, and what exactly we should prioritize. Most of those things are unfulfilled desires and passions rolled over from the previous years that we’re hoping against hope will be met in this one, but others are the smaller daily decisions of how we want to invest our time and money.  New simple ways in which we can bring heaven to earth. 

I was reading Luke’s Gospel when a passage caused me to stop and pay attention:

“When someone comes to beg from you, give to that person what you have…However you wish to be treated by others is how you should treat everyone else.” 

Luke 6:30-31 The Passion Translation (TPT)

Homelessness and the disparities between the wealthy and the poor are unavoidable when living in any city. It would seem they are the perfect environments for the rich to thrive and the less fortunate to survive, and it is in this tension that we choose to live, plant and take root in. In reading the above verses, I was reminded of every person I have encountered during my daily commutes who has stopped and begged for help. I would go as far as to say that it is near impossible to step foot outside your door and not be met by a person in need of a place to stay, a bite to eat, or a hot drink to warm them. I felt the conviction of one who knows they can do something, even in a small way, to bless someone in need. 

Generosity takes intentionality. Yes, we can be spontaneous, suddenly taken over with desires to give all we have, but let’s be honest, they don’t happen every day. Most days we don’t actually feel like we have anything to give, and we’re not always sure if we want to. So to counteract these less shiny days, we have decided to budget generosity into our weekly spending, so that when someone asks, we’ll be in a position to give what we have. 

In New York, other than the Empire State building and Lady Liberty, the other staples of the city are Starbucks and Walgreens. They’re everywhere and accessible to everyone. So each week we now give out gift cards with little notes of love and encouragement to those we encounter who need it. 

Last week I spent twenty minutes talking to Steven as he cleaned his bedroom on 37th St and told me his life story, convinced I was an angel. I met Mike who was old enough to be my grandad and Alisha, a pregnant mother who was hungry and begging in Lincoln Center. It doesn’t take much to restore someone’s dignity in a moment, but it does take intentionality. 

I wonder how often we just don’t stop because we feel like we have nothing to give? But what if we made sure our pockets were always full? If we found ourselves hungry and without a home, wouldn’t we want people to have purposed in their hearts to help us too?

Turning 30 & Erasing Timelines

Last week I entered a new decade and turned 30!

Before I go any further, for those of you who are ahead of me on this timeline of life, please forgive me as I know you stand with the seasoned wisdom and perspective of one who knows that life does not end at 30, in fact it is mostly just beginning. Thank you for listening as I process my own wobbles and come to these conclusions myself. For those of you who have been born after me, I celebrate your season! I hope what I have to share benefits you, but I also know from experience that there are many things that don’t click into place until you have your own ‘aha’ moments. I hope my own bless you in some way. 

I was stood in church this morning when I had a thought that I have actually visited multiple times previously, and yet today decided to fully land and settle in my mind, assuring my heart with contentment. It doesn’t matter at what age you get married, how old you are when you have kids, or whether or not you accomplish all the goals you have vision for at the age of twenty or ninety-five. What matters is that you do it well - that you love well. In light of eternity, all of the time lines, measuring sticks and goal charts we have don’t matter. What matters is how well we walk out the journey.

In the weeks running up to November 27th (my birthday), I experienced a few emotional wobbles. Turning 30 felt like a big deal to me. To be honest, it took me by surprise just how much I was affected by it, and how great my expectations were for the day itself. It felt like a marker; the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. In reality, it was just another day in the week, that blended into the month, which was part of a larger year and season. Really the only difference in that day was that I got to spend it around a banquet table with a lot of dear friends and toast life in all its fullness. Otherwise, it was just another day in the life of Joy Attmore. 

Dates are interesting right? They can trigger all sorts of responses, feelings, emotions and reactions in us. We can pin so much hope and expectation on them when in actuality, who have they ever saved? What have dates ever done to change history, other than to mark when history has already been changed? 

The week before my 30th was Thanksgiving, a holiday that, since moving to America, I have adopted as a beautiful occasion to gather as a family and give thanks. This year however I found myself being triggered by grief and disappointment. You see, last Thanksgiving I had been convinced that I was pregnant, and the Thanksgiving before that I had been pregnant with our first child who we then lost a month later. I had hoped and believed that this year I would be pregnant again by this time, the big looming 3 0 a deadline in my mind which would keep me ‘on track’ to achieve all my timeline goals of being married and a mother by this point. I found myself feeling lost. 

Here’s the funny thing: I had been allowing my identity to be given away to societal and personal expectations and timelines instead of ensuring that it was rooted in truth. Who I am is not defined by how much I’ve achieved or own by a certain age; it’s defined by how well I love. Ultimately, by agreeing with a mindset that says I’ve somehow failed because I’m not able to raise kids yet, I don’t have my own home yet, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be an adult, is denying what I was really created for and is a gospel without grace. 

I sometimes wish I could say that Phillip and I have been married for much longer than we actually have been, because the competitive side of me wants to be able to win the competition, which isn’t happening with my friends, of who has been married the longest. Who cares if we’ve only been married 1 year or 100 years! What matters is that we can say we love each other well, that we choose covenant every day, and that we even got to love each other at all. 

Today I simply came to a place of peace that life looks different at 30 than I always thought it would do, and it’s ok. Maybe you’ve heard others say these same sentiments. Maybe you’re thinking, “Yes Joy, I told you this already, weren’t you listening?!” Maybe you’re in the place of wrestling that I was in last week, or maybe you have no idea what I’m waffling on about. But, if I may, I would love to leave you with this thought: When history tells your story and marks dates in a diary, it won’t be in comparison to anyone else’s life. It will be beautifully and simply all about how you lived your’s, about how you triumphed and overcame, how you wrestled and searched, how you created and dreamed, and how deeply you loved. In light of all eternity, timelines fade away and all we are left with is who we really are. 

Living Unashamed

Every day I take the time to read a bit from the Bible. Some days I only manage a few verses, others I’ll do a whole chapter, but either way I try to weave it into my daily routine. As I read, I write out every verse in my journal and take notes about its content, to help me digest the ancient and holy words. It’s the first book I remember wanting as a child and wherever I have gone, my Bible has traveled too. It’s a beautiful and confronting book, and if you really take on its words it’s also a life-changing one. 

I was reading it this week when the word unashamed jumped out at me. It was in the context of Jesus talking to his disciples about what it meant to truly follow him. He was a pretty straight-talking guy, our Jesus, he didn’t beat around the bush or dance around a topic before saying what he really thought about a matter. He was honest. And he was so honest because he truly loved the people he was talking to. 

It got me thinking: “Am I that honest with the people I love? Do I live unashamed of the truth?”

To be real, I think the answer is ‘no’ sometimes. I realized, as I mulled over what it means to be unashamed, that I often choose the safe, non-confrontational route. The one where I’m confident I’ll still have all of the friends after speaking up, posting on social media, or writing a blog.

unashamed

[uhn-uh-sheymd]

adjective

1. not ashamed; not restrained by embarrassment

2. open; unconcealed; unabashed

3. free! (Joy’s definition)

I think life is too short to spend any of it being ashamed or embarrassed of who we are or what we believe. I think we were created to be free. I don’t mean forcing our opinions or beliefs on anybody else, but I mean lovingly sharing what we really think and feel. I mean being more concerned with the truth than with how many followers we have or likes we receive. The truth isn’t always popular, but it is always the best option. 

I’m that girl who truly wants world peace and if I was stood in a beauty pageant I wouldn’t have a problem giving that as my answer. But sometimes in our efforts to keep the peace we end up deceiving ourselves and others. What I mean by that is that we can give fake responses, put a smile on our face, and say, “I love you, it’s ok, don’t worry about it.” When the truth is that it might not be ok, there are issues that need to be dealt with, and actions that need to be confronted. I think we need to be the ones who make peace rather than just trying to keep it. Creating often means confronting. 

What I’m trying to say is that I want to be honest with you. I know I can be vulnerable. I believe I live an authentic life, but I also want to step into the arena of truth with you and be ok with speaking up. I don’t want to hide my beliefs in case they look different to your’s, I want to be real with you and say, “hey, I disagree and here’s why, but I love you and I'm not going anywhere.” I want to be unashamed of what I believe to be true. Not my truth, but the truth. So, I’m letting you in and holding myself accountable to a standard I hope you’ll share with me, because I got hit with a little holy conviction this week and I’m not ok with staying the same!

I don’t want to get to the end of my life and realise I didn’t say anything of any eternal value. 

So, this is my public declaration to choose freedom over fear, to choose honesty over shame, to walk in love and to speak the truth, to raise that standard a little higher and welcome you to rise up with it, because it just ain’t worth living any other way. 

Will You Sit With Me?

Will you sit with me?

I know I’m not that fun to be with right now. I know my silence feels too big to handle, and it  might leave you feeling awkward, but will you stay a little longer? I don’t want to be alone. Your presence is so comforting and it eases the pace to which memories and emotions are crashing through my brain. 

I’m having a day of ‘I miss you’s’. 

I miss my babies that were never born. I miss being a mother before I even got to really be one. I miss the fulfillment of my promises. I miss watching my husband be a dad. I miss baby cuddles and family days out. I miss birthdays and holidays full of children’s giggles. 

I miss the intimacy of friendship, of calling up a girlfriend just to chat or hang out. I miss the nearness of people that I’ve done life with, that I share a long history with. I miss feeling known. I miss my home. 

I miss the simplicity of childhood and having the biggest concern be whether or not your crush liked you in return. I miss not paying bills and having the security of parents who always made sure everything was ok. 

I miss dreaming wild and crazy dreams, because nothing used to be impossible, but now realism seems to have found its way into my psyche and shrunk my ability to ‘go big.’ I miss being where I thought I’d be.

I promise I won’t stay here forever, or even for that long, but I just need this moment to acknowledge those that are absent; the season that I’m not in; the life that isn’t mine - yet. I’ve never been very good at hiding how I feel. I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, so before I carry walking on I just need this moment to sit and be. 

Will you stay with me?

I hope you don’t write me off because of this moment; I hope this doesn’t disqualify me. I hope my emotions aren’t too much for you. I hope you won’t roll your eyes at my heart, or try to placate me with a nice cliché. I know my life is wonderful. I know I am beyond blessed. I know the promises will be fulfilled, and I do know how to push past doubt and reach for the impossible. I do know that I am loved, surrounded and far from alone. I do know that life is good, but right now I am just feeling all the feels and I would love not to feel them alone. 

I don’t want to rush past this moment, bury my emotions, plaster on a smile, and post my best ‘Insta-ready’ self in order to summon up the world’s approval. I want to be real and honest and say that today I cried; today I missed my family and the city I grew up in; today I’ve felt the weight of disappointment as I remembered who isn’t here and what isn’t happening; today I’ve felt a little bit further away from where I wanted to be - but that’s ok. 

It’s okay to have one of ‘those’ days, to feel your heart ache for more, to long for those you love and adore, to wish things might have turned out a little bit differently by now. It’s okay to not have all the answers or the ‘happily ever after’ yet. It’s okay to take a second to grieve and acknowledge how your heart is feeling.

So, thank you for sitting with me. Thank you for holding my hand. Thank you for hearing my heart and not turning a blind eye to my tears. Thank you for staying when it was easier to walk away, and thank you for not silencing all that I needed to say. My heart feels a little lighter, hope that bit nearer and truth that bit closer, for there’s power in sitting down as much as there is strength in choosing to stand.

How to be Content with being Uncomfortable

The last year and a half has been anything but safe and comfortable, and oh how I’ve wished it would be!Our season of transition began on June 6th, 2017 when we literally lost everything that we had been building towards. We went from finally feeling set up and established, to packing up everything and moving our belongings into a storage unit. Since then, our life hasn’t really fit the quota for ‘normal’. In fact, there have been some days where the plan for the next few months has changed several times, only to conclude in the original, ‘I don’t know’ summary. For the most part I’m pretty okay with leading a life that not many people understand, it was kind of how I was raised, but there have definitely been days where all I’ve wanted was to be ‘normal’. To have the security of our own home and for our pregnancies to have gone full term, to have a regular job with regular hours and a regular paycheck, to be able to say, ‘this is where I’m settled, have built my home and will one day pass it on to the next generation.’ In essence, ‘this is how I’m comfortable.’In one of mine and Phillip’s many conversations about this season, he said, “Babe, I think our Western desire for comfort is being challenged.”There’s nothing wrong in wanting to provide a home and security, to plan for the future and desire to steward your finances and possessions well, to hope and dream for your family to grow and thrive, but have we somehow rewritten the definition of comfort and called it wisdom? Do we actually give people room to walk out the faith they profess, or do we try and stunt it with our own fear? I was recently reading a book by Tim Keller called Center Church and something he said stood out to me:

“Jesus did not live where he was comfortable, he went where he was useful.”

- Tim Keller

How often do we want to live where it’s comfortable though? I know I do. That’s ‘the good life,’ the American dream, the Instagram perfect set-up that we are constantly encouraged to pursue. That is the Western definition of success. As much as I would love to be comfortable, I desire more to be useful, to be present for the needy and to be able to give my yes when I hear the word, ‘go!’ I would much rather not have a home and be living life 100% in faith, than have it all and not need to put my faith in anything.I wouldn’t say that we’ve conquered this by any means. If circumstances outside of our control hadn’t played their hand and forced us into a corner, we may not have voluntarily given it all up. But having found ourselves here, there is so much we’ve learnt and freedom we’ve gained. 

‘…I’m not telling you this because I’m in need, for I have learned to be satisfied in any circumstance. I know what it means to lack, and I know what it means to experience overwhelming abundance. For I’m trained in the secret of overcoming all things, whether in fullness or in hunger.’

- St Paul the Apostle

There is nothing wrong in having the house and garden, the 9-5 job, the kids and routines, promotions and bonuses. All of those things are gifts - well-earned and a huge blessing. But would we still thrive without them all? Would our faith remain unshakeable, or would we find ourselves denying the God we love to profess when we have it all? Are we willing to move beyond lists, goals and ten-year plans and step into the unknown of faith?In the words of Swithfoot:

‘I dare you to move

I dare you to move

I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

I dare you to move

I dare you to move!

The Gift of Friendship

I boarded the crowded Megabus headed for Scotland and made my way to the top deck in search of a seat. The air was warm and stale, potent with the aroma of hot bodies and well-traveled feet. I decided not to try too hard to sit up there and made my way back downstairs. An aisle seat was open at the back of the bus, unfortunately close to the toilet, but I looked to the lady sat by the window to see if it was okay if I occupied it. Her little face immediately lit up, filled with childlike joy at gaining a companion.Settling myself and my overloaded handbag into the chair, I started to get to know my neighbour, or really I should say that she started to get to know me. She had been traveling for the past several hours and clearly had been desperate to talk to someone. She had a thick Indian accent with a Birmingham twang which required all of my attention to take in her questions and stories. Her face was lined with the evidence of her years but her deep brown eyes reminded me of a child, full of innocence and care. I liked her.We had probably only been chatting for about ten minutes when she then removed one of her diamonte studded bangles and handed it to me. “This is for you. I would like you to have it. Friendship is more important than things. Everything is expensive, but friendship is not. Friendship doesn’t cost anything.”Stunned, and to be honest a little embarrassed, I tried to refuse. I didn’t even know her name at this point!“No, it is for you! I give it to you. You are my friend.”I let her put the bangle on my wrist and we sat there like two high-schoolers, our arms now sparkling in unison.“Don’t throw it away,” she suddenly charged me, “it’s precious. Don’t get rid of it.”“Oh, I wouldn’t do that! I love this gift, thank you.” I smiled at her reassuringly, deeply touched by her radical expression of love to a stranger.“Ok,” she seemed satisfied with my response and settled back into her seat, smiling and nodding. “Friendship doesn’t cost you anything.”Sometimes it takes a random encounter with an Indian lady from Birmingham, England whilst riding the night bus to Scotland, to remind you of the beauty and simplicity of relationships. I will probably never see her again but she will forever be my friend, and her generous bracelet gift will forever remain with me. We’ve become very good at applying monetary value to almost everything now, we’ll even pay someone in order to gain more followers online, but true relationship doesn’t have a price tag; true friendship is a gift.

Beautiful Hindsight

It’s wild the difference a year makes. There are some dates in the diary that stand out above all the others - anniversaries, birthdays, holidays or memorials. They cause us to stop and reflect, to rejoice or grieve as we remember what we’ve lost or celebrate how far we’ve come. They are markers of our journey, our history, our walk. Today is the anniversary of when we miscarried our second baby, Victor Peace. It’s a solemn moment, thinking about what could have been, what has been lost. Memories of that day trigger sadness, and a realisation of how different life could have been if that little heartbeat had just lived. But they also awaken a deep gratitude that I didn’t fully have before walking through such loss. I’m grateful for the community that swept us into their arms in such a profound way, and went from calling us friends to adopting us as family. I’m grateful for my husband whose dedication and love for me and our family has fought for us in our hardest season to date, teaching me so much about what it really means to lay down your life for one another. I’m grateful for those two little heartbeats that I carried in my womb, if only for a short while, as they taught me like no one else before the preciousness and beauty of life. They’ve changed me, stretched my heart wider, caused me to see clearer, and marked me forever with a mother’s love. I’m thankful for God’s grace which carried us through grief and has brought us out into a wide open space to dream again. I’m grateful for the fresh hope we have, for the promises that have been spoken over us, and for the family that will yet inhabit the earth with us. I’m grateful for God’s faithfulness, His love for us, and His radical blessing on our lives. I’m so beyond thankful that God does not waste a thing, but everything is redeemed in Him and nothing is lost. When I sat down to write this all I knew was that I wanted to share this anniversary with you all. I wanted to acknowledge the date, June 6th, and share what this calendar marker will always mean to me. I didn’t know quite what would flow from my heart, but as I sit here typing I realise that it is all thankfulness. This might seem like an odd response on the anniversary of a death, but I share this because I believe it shows the power of what God can do in our lives. I believe it shows the enormity of what is available to us if we have the courage to let God into those most broken of places. He gives us beauty instead of ashes. This past week, I sat with a dear friend who, just a few days prior, had miscarried their baby. In that moment, as we looked into each other’s eyes, we sat in the silence of loss and yet also found ourselves comforted by the presence of the other. Maybe you find yourself on the eve of an anniversary that isn’t ‘Facebook sharing appropriate’, or you haven’t even found yourself able to share with anyone at all. Maybe you avoid those dates in the diary that cause you to look back and remember because they’re too painful or uncomfortable to do so. Maybe you haven’t yet encountered the redemption to that lost dream or relationship and so you’ve stopped searching for fresh hope. I just feel to say that your story matters, your journey matters. Every loss is redeemable and not one life enters this world without leaving a mark. Whatever this day means to you, whatever season you find yourself in, or whatever state your heart is in today, you are not alone. May you be drawn into family, may you find the ones that you can both weep and rejoice with, may you be able to remember without pain and dream with renewed hope. May you find yourself in love with the one who loves you the most, and be overwhelmed with the goodness of God in seasons of loss and of new life. May you be able to look back over the journey of your life as you continue forward, and see how God has always crowned you in beauty and removed all of your ashes.  

"Ready, Set, Wait!" - The Cry of the Waiting Room

I’ve been wanting to write a blog on here for several weeks now, but every time that I’ve sat down, plugged in, and turned on Ludovico Einaudi - my favourite musical accompaniment - I find myself staring at the blank page on the screen and racking my brain for the words to fill it. Today, as I started this process again, I realised that I have been waiting for things to resolve before I tell you about them. I’ve been hoping that the testimony to my waiting would have surfaced in between my ‘writing sessions’ so I could give you the completed story. But so far those time periods have just been additions to my waiting season, and on paper my life is no further along than it was last week.Do you ever find yourself in that place of wanting the ‘picture perfect’ life, but instead feel like you’re living out a hand-me-down version? Do you cringe every time you’re asked, ‘So what are you up to at the moment?’ because you don’t like the sound of your answer? Do you find yourself, like me, in the midst of a waiting season once again?Welcome. It means so much to know I’m not alone.I realise that this could easily sound like I am very dissatisfied, or even miserable, with how my life looks like right now. That is truly not the case though. I actually love the simplicity of my days at the moment - getting to be present with my husband and community on a daily basis, saying yes to opportunities as they arise, having the space to dream, travel, and invest in others. But the thing is, I know there is more and that is what I am hungry for.I’m turning 30 at the end of this year and with that looming celebration has come a process of reevaluating my life so far. Truth be told, it looks a little different than I thought it would 10 years ago. Certain things that I had hoped for by now are still in my box of dreams, waiting to be realised, and others that I had never imagined could happen are now my day-to-day reality. Life is a funny thing and the time line we create to map it all out on rarely matches the way things end up being.The word waiting is defined as, ‘to look forward to eagerly; to continue as one is in expectation of; to be in readiness for’.‘To be in readiness for’ implies that we are still fully present in our current circumstances but our gaze is fixed on where we are heading. I am reminded of the image of a runner poised on their starting block, waiting for the sound of the starter gun to release them forward. Every sense is heightened to their present position, straining to receive every signal around them which will inform their every move and response, but they are obedient to only go when they are instructed to.In the midst of being ready for what is still to come, we must learn how to receive from the present.Recently, during a worship time at our church, the worship leader, Brianna Barnes, paused and said something that truly resonated with my heart, ‘God isn’t just at work when the mountain moves or the healing comes, he is at work the whole time that you are waiting.’ It is easy to write off a ‘waiting season’ as this excerpt of time that we just have to endure until the breakthrough comes - the new job, the dream home, the birth of a child, marrying your long-awaited spouse or finally being debt free - but this is not an empty time zone, rather it is full of revelation, gifts and understanding that we would never gain had everything been handed to us the moment we clicked our fingers. I know this isn’t easy. These words probably won’t make the longing in your heart any less real or desirable, but I do believe there is a gift for you today, right now. There is peace that will still your anxious thoughts and joy to strengthen your heart, there is hope that will breathe fresh fire in your bones and there is faith to steady your gaze once more on the vision before you.This season is not empty or barren; there is fruit still for your enjoy. You have not failed and your dreams are not a lost cause. Your adventure is just wilder than you had imagined!