Time to Party

I was well into my teens before I realized that the Bible sitting on my bookshelf could be opened more often than once a week at youth group. At some point I decided that I should probably read every single word of this book I claimed to believe, and so I set out to read it from start to finish.

As I began reading straight through from front to back, my progress naturally slogged during the Leviticus-Deuteronomy-Numbers cluster. Even the second half of Exodus is pretty dry, after the excitement of the Israelites fleeing from Egypt (spoiler alert-they escape). I mean seriously, how could one God have so many weirdly specific rules to share with these people?

What struck me as even odder were the number of festivals God commanded the Israelites to hold every year. It seemed like every other day they were supposed to stop working and eat special food together. How did anything get done? I wondered to myself. Not wanting to prolong my time in these tedious verses, I shrugged and flipped the page, deciding that God just really likes to party. And for the record, I still believe that.

To be fair, humans like to party too. We have parties for anniversaries, holidays (like Thanksgiving!), birthdays, weddings, baby showers, or for no reason at all. If you can put it on a cake, you can definitely have a party to celebrate it. My friend Shelby and I were once volunteers together at El Sembrador, and we somehow managed to throw a party at least once a week while we were here for one reason or another. That was a pretty great summer.

It wasn't until I moved to El Sembrador a few years ago that I started connecting our tendency to throw parties with God's mandate for specific festivals thousands of years ago. Every year, El Sembrador celebrates Donald Hawk's birthday (the man who started the school in 1954) in July as our school anniversary. For two or three days, everyone stops their normal activities and we spend it together playing, celebrating, and of course, eating special food (usually a water buffalo feast-if you haven't been here for one, it's worth the trip!).

The first time I took part in the anniversary celebration as an employee, I remember standing in the chapel with all of the staff and students singing the school hymn together as one body. I remember looking around at all of the faces who make up El Sembrador, and reflecting on the thousands of people who have stood in this very chapel before us, singing this same song, and celebrating the same God for his faithfulness to us. It reminded me of my small place in this long history, and that I am a part of something bigger than myself.

I should have been working that day. I should have been in my office on my computer, trying to raise more money for our students, or thanking a donor for their support. But our leadership decided that this moment, together, in the chapel was more important than any classes or work that we would have accomplished that day. And they were right.

By establishing this day as a celebration day, the space was opened for us to stop, reflect, and participate in a moment that I would dare to call sacred. From the outside it might look like we are just taking a few days to compete in fun games and relax a little bit, but there is so much more going on.

I finally understood why God told the Israelites to have those festivals. We need those regular opportunities to stop our everyday tasks and remember what our labors are for. It is in those moments that we can be renewed, and return to our work afterward with a fresh enthusiasm. Tears come to my eyes during every anniversary at El Sembrador, because I remember what all of this work accomplishes, and it makes me proud to be a part of it.

Maybe I'm being overdramatic. But maybe I'm finally understanding that our hearts are beating to an ancient rhythm of life-a rhythm of regular work and celebration, a rhythm of family and community. Remember that God didn't tell people to observe the festivals alone in their homes. They were supposed to gather together as one people for days at a time. We are no different today.

It's hard for some people, in the US culture in particular, to stop working, especially to do something as frivolous as celebrate. But sometimes it's good to take a pause in order to take joy in an important milestone. Sometimes it's good to get up from the computer and just sit with others, sharing stories from the past. Sometimes it's good to look up from the well-worn path you've been walking and watch the fireworks your school director set off for the occasion, together with your dear friends and coworkers.

The celebration of hard work and accomplishments is just as important as the accomplishment itself. Can you imagine how dull life would be without it?

I hope you take time, today and every day, to celebrate the things happening in your life and in your community. And if it's been a while since you've celebrated anything, maybe it's time to buy some fireworks and buffalo meat to enjoy together with your friends and family.

P.S. I wrote this a while ago but it seems appropriate to share today. I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving!

P.P.S. My team (the red team) won first place during the anniversary celebration. I’m just saying.

The Power of Words

I remember one day when I was pretty young, my mom and I were in the car and she was telling me about the women's retreat where she had been a speaker for a group of ladies.

"For my talk, I decided to share one thing that I've learned from each of my kids," she said. Naturally, the first thing I asked was, "What did you say you learned from me?"

She smiled and looked at me as she said, "From you, I've learned compassion."

As she continued to explain why she chose that word for me, my little soul was quietly glowing. My mom thought I was compassionate! What a lovely thing for a mom to see in her daughter. Little me thought I was just hearing nice things about myself from my mother. I didn't realize until much later what was really happening.

My mom was speaking identity into me. She was telling me who I was, and for years I defined myself by that word, compassionate, and the many other words that my mom (and others) shared with me as I grew up. I've never forgotten that conversation even though it happened so many years ago. 

Do you know what that means? It means it was really important to me. Looking back, I see the power that word had on me. Though in reality, it wasn't the word specifically, but more the decision of my mom to speak it over me. My mom had the power to help me define who I was, and to figure out who I wanted to be.

Why has that long ago conversation been coming to mind recently? It's because I'm realizing that I have that same power my mom had, and still has, in my life. The older I get, the more I realize that my words mean something. I see the same group of kids every day, and I have the unique opportunity to speak identity into them. This year more than any other, I've tried to be very intentional about the words I speak over the students here at the school. I make sure to tell them how much their smile shines, or how I love to see them happy. I tell them thank you for their kindness, their willingness to serve, and for their friendship. There are so many wonderful things I see in each of them, and I want them to know it!

It took me by surprise to find that they were not only listening to my words, but that they were starting to see themselves how I see them. Obviously I am just one of many people who are speaking identity into these students, but I was blown away that my words had any power at all.

God gave us all an incredible power, the power of words. Think about it: we all have the power to make or break someone's day. We can smile and share something kind and good that we see in someone else, or we can be short-tempered if it hasn't been the best day and we decide to take it out on someone else. Or we can simply be silent, and miss an opportunity to be used by God to share some truth and joy.

And the craziest thing about all of this is that it's so easy! It took basically no effort for my mom to explain how she saw compassion within me, and her words have stuck with me for close to twenty years. To this day I still strive to be as compassionate as I can be, because that word is ingrained in my identity. There are other words, some hurtful words, from other people that have stuck with me for just as long. Words are a simple power to wield, and that's why we should take special care to say things that matter, things that inspire goodness and not bitterness.

So let's all be more like my mom today. Let's all pick at least one person in our life to uplift with our words. Because whether you believe it or not, the people around you are listening, and your words have power. So go use it!