Listening with grace

On Sunday, I attended a relatively new Sunday School class at my church, called Rewilding the Way. It's essentially a discussion of Todd Wynward's new book Rewilding the Way, which I highly recommend. To begin the discussion hour, the facilitator read aloud a passage from the book.

One of the topics mentioned in the passage was climate change.

The grim future that [Roy] Scranton had witnessed in Iraq had come home -- not through enemy attack but through social collapse in the face of an extreme and unpredictable climate. (p.165)

The discussion facilitator suggested we go around the circle and respond with our thoughts about the passage, or about the book in general. Many of the responses touched on climate change, and the perspectives ranged across the spectrum -- from "The facts are clear, and the situation is dire" to "I know I should do something, but how much can one person do?" to "The experts disagree on this subject so I don't think it's a big deal."

If you know me at all, you know how I feel about this. As my blood began to boil at certain comments, the urge to spout factual evidence at the people who were so blatantly wrong grew and grew.

A quick side note:
I have often cited with pride Beth-El Mennonite's theological diversity. As the only Mennonite church in a city of 440,000 people, it makes sense that our congregation would be more diverse than most. Our people are all across the board on social, religious, and political issues. And somehow, through the grace of God and the hard work of the pastor and worship leaders, it works.

Conversely, I spent most of my childhood in Harrisonburg, a small city of about 50,000 people that supported nearly thirty Mennonite churches. In that kind of setting, why bother having contentious conversations when you can easily surround yourself with people who agree with you?

Here we don't have that option.

While sitting in that classroom listening to my fellow Christ-followers talk about their beliefs, I realized something important: I can't claim to value theological diversity without practicing grace myself. In order to fully participate in being church with people who disagree with me, I have to be willing to do the messy work of having conversations about difficult things. I have to extend grace and love to my neighbors who disagree with me. I have to prioritize relationships over being right.

It was an important reminder that what I claim to value in my church is not something I am actually used to participating in.

Sitting there, together with twenty-odd other people who chose to be there that morning -- just to show up regardless of conflict or contentiousness or controversy, and to leave the room still full of love --
I was grateful.

Winter shenanigans

Last weekend we had the absolutely delightful experience of being at Rocky Mountain Mennonite Camp for one of their snow camp weekends.

I am now convinced that snow camp is the best thing to ever happen to winter. It is SO MUCH FUN.

For starters, I'm sorry, but I'm obsessed with this frozen pond. I grew up in Virginia. We didn't have these.

Snow camp was everything that winter should be: Piles of snow everywhere. Sunshine and rosy cheeks. Sessions with a great speaker. Tubing down a giant hill. Singing. Sports that don't require you to be athletic. New and old friends.

 Human curling.

Semi-captive audience.

This is broomball. It's like a primitive version of hockey: an old volleyball, some duct-taped brooms, and no skates. Also tons of fun.

It didn't take me long to figure out why I liked broomball so much. After an unusually warm week, the top of the ice had thawed and re-frozen multiple times, creating an especially slippery surface. So, while playing broomball, staying on your feet was the number one challenge.

Which completely levels the playing field. I grew up with gym class as my arch-nemesis, and it took me years after finishing high school to realize that what I hated was not the physical exercise. Rather, what I hated was my own lack of hand-eye coordination. And even more so, the people who made me feel bad about it.

So when the naturally athletic people were handicapped by a slippery pond, I quickly realized my opportunity: I just had to learn how to keep my balance more effectively than they did, and then I might actually be good at a sport.

This weekend was short and sweet. Physically and mentally stimulating. It fit perfectly in my Lenten intention of spending more time outdoors. I can't wait to go back.

I'm telling you -- if you have any opportunity whatsoever to go to RMMC for a snowy weekend -- DO IT.

Garden of the Gods: Winter edition

As you've probably figured out by now, one of my favorite things about our house in Colorado Springs is that we live on the west side, thus extra close to the mountains. And one of the best outdoor features of the city is Garden of the Gods, a free public park with incredible views and a lot of great hiking trails, only a ten minute drive from our house.

It's always swarmed with tourists in the summer, but not so the rest of the year. Especially on the Saturday after a large snowstorm.

Despite the snow on the ground, the temperature was close to fifty degrees, so it was the perfect morning to explore.

I struck out with no particular destination in mind, and discovered this gorgeous trail.

And while traipsing through the park, seeing only one other person the entire time I was on this trail, I began to realize what was so wonderful about this experience. It was the feeling of being completely alone, held in juxtaposition with the sense of being one part of the collective.

It was an aloneness that had nothing to do with being lonely.

The aloneness was a blissful solitude, knowing that the only sounds I heard were the crunch of my boots on hard-packed snow, the chirping songs of birds in the nearby trees, and the occasional breath of wind.

And the powerful sense of the collective came from the knowledge that the snow had been tamped down by dozens of boots before mine, by other souls seeking that perfect solitude of nature.

Every inhale was energizing, every exhale a prayer of gratitude.

May you find reassurance today in solitude, while feeling a profound sense of being held up by our collective humanity.

A week in photos

Taking advantage of an unseasonably warm -- and windy -- afternoon in Garden of the Gods. Excuse the squinty faces.

Snow day that basically became snow week.

My view from the parking lot of the doctors' office. I don't think I'll ever get used to this.

Here's the setting of my first concert with Chamber Orchestra of the Springs.

And the rest of the gang as enthusiastic listeners!

Six Months of Life in the Centennial State

I have now been living in Colorado Springs for just over 6 months. To celebrate, I've compiled a list of things I now know, or observations I've made, about the Springs -- things I probably wouldn't have realized when we first moved here.

1. More transplants. When I lived in Virginia, almost everyone I knew was from the East or the Midwest. In Colorado, people come from all over. Lots of people grew up in Virginia or Pennsylvania, came to Colorado, and never went back. For example, there are five people on our Service Adventure Support Committee at church. One of the five is a Springs native. However, of the other four, there's one from California, one from Kansas, one from Maryland, and one from Pennsylvania. And Daniel's from New York and I'm from Virginia. Seven people, seven home states.

2. Distances seem shorter. Maybe it's the 75mph speed limit on the interstates. But I also think people are just used to traveling farther to get from one place to another, and it's not as big of a deal. Wide open spaces are the norm in the West, unlike living among the crowded cities of the East.

3. As far as cities go, the Springs is pretty spread out. It's not at all uncommon to travel up to 30 minutes just to get across the city. Going north or south is easy because the interstate runs straight through, but east and west can take a lot longer. We do have a decent number of bike paths and lanes, but the lack of public transportation infrastructure still leads to an unfortunate dependency on cars. Luckily, a lot of the places I regularly go (library, bank, grocery store, thrift store) are within two miles of our house.

4. The Broncos are everything. I'm sure I don't need to explain this one.

5. Fitness reigns. According to this map of most frequently Googled questions, everyone thinks of Colorado as a remarkably fit state. By some rankings, Colorado Springs clocks in at the second fittest city in the U.S. The Springs is best friends with the Rocky Mountains, so it naturally draws in a lot of sports and outdoors enthusiasts. People mountain bike on their lunch hour and run half marathons on their days off. Every time I go for a hike, I am inevitably passed by at least one person who is running the trail. And, perhaps as a result, Colorado is the state with the lowest obesity rate, at least as of 2014.

Living here, I'm a little embarrassed to admit I've never been skiing. (Though we have plans to go in a few weeks.) And before another six months passes, I want to check off another Colorado Springs rite of passage: hiking the Incline, a one-mile hiking trail that ascends 2,000 vertical feet.

6. There's a relationship with the natural world that's unlike anywhere else I've lived: a beautiful, sometimes whimsical, blending of urban industrial commerce with a passion for nature. Hiking boots are pretty much the standard footwear at my church on Sunday mornings. There's a sign in the parking lot of a Costco/Lowe's/huge shopping center that says TRAIL HEAD THIS WAY. (Where else can you find that??) And although we live quite close to downtown, we routinely see deer walking through our yard, thanks to a forested block nearby.

All in all, there's a lot to love about Colorado Springs. I'm excited to see what else I learn in the next six months!