goodbye blogspot!

Hello!

It's time for a blog change. I'm hoping that a change of scenery will inspire more writing -- we shall see!

Here's the scoop: alyssacbaker.wordpress.com

Thanks for reading!!

graduation weekend in santa barbara

Two weekends ago we celebrated the most recent Westmont alumnus in my family.

Pride is an understatement when it comes to describing how I feel about Kelsey graduating. I love the mess out of that girl and for a zillion reasons that I don't know how to articulate. I've realized as I've gotten older how much I treasure my two younger sisters as friends as well as role models -- birth order not really seeming as indicative of who is the wisest/most knowledgeable about things. Kelsey has become like an older sister to me over the years and I am so proud of what she has done at Westmont: the friendships she has made, the people she has touched with her smile and laugh, and the positivity and kindness that guides the way she lives her life.

And I sat next to Libby, my youngest sister, as we watched Kelsey graduate. And I'm so proud of her too -- making it through her first year of college and the friends she made, the choir she joined, the dorm life she participated in, the major she has embraced and taken on as her own, and the ways she is becoming independent and more confident.

I came away from the weekend thankful for two of the biggest gifts in my life -- my sisters. Words don't do justice to what the two of them mean to me.

Congrats to you, Kbakes!

the small as the big

There isn't a chapel talk that captures what we do on Sundays, or Tuesdays for that matter. The beauty, the messiness, the complicatedness, the discussions about how to organize potluck dinners and what to do about kids running around dumping bubble solution all over the paddle balls and "carritos".

I find myself immersed in a culture obsessed with big-ness and success and grandiose plans to change the world, and sometimes that makes me feel so small and insignificant.

I want to change the world, too. Believe me, I do. I want immigration reform to happen so badly, I want to be the tough lawyer fighting for human rights in Los Angeles or the history teacher who helps her students learn about the huge failures of our history and where we went wrong and what we can do to make it right. I want to be in the college alumni magazine of "50 Inspiring College Graduates Who Are Making A Difference!!"

But I'm learning that the difference isn't always from the CEOs and the executive board of directors and presidents.

The difference is the woman who paid for a mariachi band to play a mexican happy birthday party song for me at the park two weeks ago.

The difference is playing the Ellen De Generes heads up game in the park with kids who don't know the Madonna songs but give themselves the points anyway and who will always guess your age as somewhere between 45 and 52.

The difference is homemade pozole, shared together. A red velvet cake that couldn't stay glued together because I put too much cream cheese frosting. A table filled with rice, and beans, and tortillas, and homemade guacamole.

If I were to give the chapel talk about what a difference all of these small and seemingly insignificant things make, I would say this: the mariachi band showed me love in a different language, the heads up game gave me the gift of laughter and connectedness, the food shared together is a taste of the Kingdom and proximity to Jesus....and to me, it's all profound.

So, I cling to that profound-ness. As counter-cultural as it may seem -- I proclaim it as profound and meaningful even if the stories aren't told in the newspapers or chapels or newsrooms. I claim this truth that there is much sacredness in my life right now, specifically in that place called the park on the westside, and it's nothing close to being small.

easter selfies

these two.

i'm really, really, REALLY glad we're related.

some kind of faith reflection

they said i had to draw a line in the sand: in or out; biblical or unbiblical; all or nothing.

the words sting. something inside me aches.

i want to take this book with me to all places, let it breathe freedom and hope and love and peace over me and over everyone i meet. i want it to be a beacon of hospitality, without lines and labels and in or out.

my hands held this book as a little girl in sunday school who won the sword drills and memorized so many of its verses. who read it to herself, heard its words after dinner, sung its poems on Sundays.

on some days this book is held with shaking hands, hands that are angry, or frustrated, or weary. some days this book is held by a tired twenty-something getting out of bed twenty minutes late thinking about what she's going to wear.

this book has been held in the classroom -- in the debates and class discussions, the one on one meetings with professors, the quiet stillness around Coy Pond. the verses have been worded, the messages interpreted, the comfort spoken.

for me, this book has been a source of stress too -- it held tears and confused thoughts, scribbled verses written in journals with question marks and pleadings for clarity. it is beautiful, yes, but equally puzzling, sometimes terrifyingly puzzling to me.

i love this book, this B-I-B-L-E-yes-that's-the-book-for-me. i struggle with it, wrestle with the meanings and the contexts and the high callings and the stories it tells. i haven't studied it enough to make sense of levitical laws and why patriarchy lasted for so many years, i still skip over passages of the Old Testament when given the choice, and i've never read the full book of Revelation from beginning to end.

Sarah Bessey, in her work Jesus Feminist, says:

People want black and white answers, but Scripture is rainbow arch across a stormy sky...I want you to wrestle with the Bible. Do it. Wrestle until, Jacob-like, you walk with a limp ever after, and you receive the blessing of the Lord.

i like the idea that we're supposed to limp a little in this faith journey.

i don't want a fear based faith. i want one rooted in love -- love for self, love for others, love for this Jesus that gave everything up to be with me, with us. and in this love based faith, there's room for questions, room to interpret experiences, room for doubt and tears and loneliness, for triumph and joy -- it's all embraced, all understood, all valued.

Bessey says it again best:

Choose freedom. Choose the freedom of living loved, far from their debates and fence lines and name callings, and the belittling, divisive stereotypes. Extend the gift of freedom and grace, second chances, and more grace, just as you have received them.

i stand here, and i want to shout from the rooftops that this is what i choose: freedom of living loved. freedom to live loved: with this book in hand, as well as experiences and conversations and people-made-in-the-image-of-God manifestations of his Kingdom.

i choose freedom in the complex answers, the paradoxes and most difficult passages. i choose to read this book with eyes pointed towards love and justice and peace, and nothing less. i choose to live in the tension of wrestling and walking with a limp (and i write that knowing that it is hard, and sometimes so scary).

in choosing this, i leave the lines in the sand behind and i don't look back, i just run forward.

none of it goes to waste

Maybe the discovery happened during the years I spent working at a senior retirement community. Maybe after the many repeated conversations, answers to questions, looks of confusion and frustration...maybe that's when I started to fear forgetting.

Or maybe it's because of Latin America -- a semester there that had such a significant impact on me, so many relationships and stories that I didn't know how to fit into a less-than-fifty-pound suitcase or in a 60 minute coffee date with a friend. I knew I was going to forget some things, and that thought was a little terrifying. I journaled constantly -- and on one occasion when walking home by myself and considering the risk of getting robbed, decided to take my journal out of my purse in case it was stolen. Money seemed frivolous compared to the thoughts and words my journal held.

I came across my Nicaragua journal the other day and remembered something I hoped for -- I don't say prayed for because I don't know if I ever did actual pray for it. I would like to think I did but I hope for a lot of things that I don't bring to God, so I'm not going to give myself the benefit of the doubt on that one. I wrote that I wanted this experience to be a part of who I am.  I didn't want it to make me act in a certain way necessarily, but that it would influence the ways I think, how I relate to people, how I see differences and commonalities in which to connect. I wanted to remember the people and what they taught me, remember their laughter, their straight faces or blank stares. I wanted to remember those conversations.

And three years later...part of the fear is realized: I have forgotten parts of Nicaragua. I don't remember all the names. I don't remember all of the emotions, or the conversations that led to the tears or to the laughter or to the smiles. I don't remember each day's activities like I had wanted to.

But three years later...I think God answered the prayer that Nicaragua would be a part of who I am. Maybe I don't remember every conversation, every song we sang in Spanish, every miscommunication. But it's because of Nicaragua that I spent time last week researching immigration reform, it's because of Nicaragua that I view the nature of immigration and deportation differently. It's because of 10 days there and three months living abroad that I want to speak Spanish and engage with a community that comes from a different culture than my own.

I'm thankful that three years later I know those conversations still matter and they're still informing the way I see the world and how I invest in the things I care about. I wish I could hold onto all of the details, but I'm realizing that's less important than letting the details do the work that they already do: shaping and paving the way ahead.

Latin America is only part of my life experiences (which is not a huge number considering I'm a twenty-something), but I hope and pray for the same result from other experiences in my life: how I grew up, my family, my education in California and Massachusetts, my work now in medical billing, the relationships I'm building here. I hope three years from now I can also reflect on how today's experiences shaped me for the future.

I fear forgetting, obviously. But I'm more committed to giving up that fear and allowing experiences to shape me into the kind of person I want to be. When my faith feels small, I cling to this kind of God: one who works in mysterious ways and is committed to his people and that nothing in his kingdom goes to waste -- even the little details like pick up truck rides on a starry-night and the way laughter came after stumbling through verb conjugations. I believe that none of it goes to waste.

a prayer (of sorts)

I want to live a faithful life.

I want a life of community, deep investment in relationships and people, learning new things and digging into new places and listening to stories.

Sometimes in the midst of that I get discouraged by what I am giving up in this pursuit of a faithful life. 

I'm giving up simple answers, planned itineraries, 

I'm letting go of certain expectations,

I'm hoping and trusting that desires and dreams will be answered -- but giving up the idea that they'll happen in any of the ways I have envisioned they would.

I forget, or don’t always acknowledge that there is sacrifice, and there is the constant nagging of comparison towards others’ whose faithful lives look dramatically different from my own. And sometimes I feel like I’m caught in a race going the slow and steady pace while others are on the sprint course.

The thing is, deep down I know we’re all on a similar course – even if it doesn’t feel that way.

I wonder..

What is a faithful life? What does it look like?

"Your decrees have been the theme of my songs wherever I have lived.

I reflect at night on who you are, O Lord; therefore, I obey your instructions. 

This is how I spend my life: obeying your commandments.

Lord, you are mine!

I promise to obey your words!

With all my heart I want your blessings. Be merciful as you promised.

I pondered the direction of my life, and I turned to follow your laws"

[Psalm 119:54-9]

The laws, I remember, are good. The laws are the Sermon on the Mount, the touching the bleeding woman, the resurrection that happened one Sunday morning, the breaking bread and drinking wine together. 

And I want that for my life: for resurrection to happen, for community to be fostered, for healing to transform. 

Some days I need to remind myself of that -- and remind myself that I believe in a God who knows and does all those things and got ahold of my heart with his pursuing love and kindness. I must remember that when the trusting is difficult and the questions are complex and I'm disappointed in the unmet expectations.

This is how I spend my life: obeying your commandments

I'm grateful that obedience is creative -- it's expressed in the most mundane parts of life and the most exciting. I want a faithful life of creative obedience, colorful obedience, authentic obedience -- seen in all the different parts of my world. 

what I think about on tough work days

I think there comes a point after being on hold for over an hour with health insurance only to realize you don't have the right information to inquire about in the first place, after being talked to in a condescending tone, after listening to your coworkers get snapped at by rude patients, and after leaving many a voicemail with no response...there comes a point where you want to give up.

On Friday, I was done with the excel worksheets, done with people demanding things from me within 20 minute time frames, done with long hold times. It was a real TGIF kind of Friday.

It's in these kinds of moments where it's easy to doubt the value of my work -- easy to say that none of it matters because you're so quick to be hung up on, easy to say it doesn't matter because you'll always have the chance of being snapped at, so why even bother trying to be nice? It's easy to say it doesn't matter because you finish one stack of paperwork only to watch more of it flood in within minutes, and realize that the same process is about to start all over again.

So, as I'm sitting at work on this particular Friday, playing Katy Perry's Prism album in the background to give me some peace of mind as I type insurance ID numbers and calculate Blue Cross and Blue Shield contract rates, I'm simultaneously thinking about a book I'm reading and a movie I'm about to go see. 

I'm obsessed with the term "bravery" ..it's my mantra for the year and I think about it often. I'm in the midst of reading the "Divergent" series by Veronica Roth, which tells the story of a girl named Tris who lives in a futuristic society where you have to choose which faction you belong to based on the results of an aptitude test. Each faction stands for a value, like bravery, honesty, selflessness. This girl is brave and awesome -- she fights, she messes up, she forgives herself, she keeps moving forward. She jumps across trains and survives fights and stands against corrupt leaders. I want to be like her.

The movie I'm waiting to see is about Cesar Chavez. America Ferrera plays Chavez's wife in the film and she has a line (from the preview) that still rings in my ears: "I'm standing up because somebody has to!". She's fighting for rights for her friends who work picking crops but can't feed their families, she's standing up against systems of oppression and she's fighting for what she believes in. 

This week, this past Friday, I wanted to be Tris, I wanted to be America Ferrera. I wanted to throw out the insurance contract notes and the excel spreadsheets and be in the dauntless faction that stands for bravery. I wanted to fight for food-worker rights and protest corrupt systems. 

The thing is: the books, the movies -- they have the music in the background, the dramatic statements, the emotion and the heroic moments of bravery that are perfectly captured with that kiss on the mountaintop or statement crafted by the most beautiful weaving of words. 

My life, my work, my job, my day to day...it doesn't have the dramatic background music and I don't look brave in my job as I type emails or answer phone calls or make my lunch or go to the park or hang out with new friends. There's no music to that and it looks pretty ordinary -- sometimes, like this particular Friday at work, it looks kind of low and dull.

But I think the point of the books and the movies is to bring the drama to the ordinary. The ordinary is us: but the what we're doing, who we are being, who we are becoming -- is anything but ordinary. It is dramatic, it is exciting, it is exhilirating, in its own way. Maybe I'm not that different from Tris, or America Ferrera, or anyone else even as I sit at my desk sometimes feeling like a little speck in a very large universe. 

I want to keep finding the brave, keep finding the meaning, in my work and in my day to day: even when I do get hung up on, even when I get snapped at, even when I wait on hold for endless minutes. I have to believe that my work and how I do it matters, I have to believe that the relationships I am forming are of greater significance, and are beautiful and brave, with or without loud music and big screens. 

Here we go, Monday. 

MLK work day

"But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice."

--Martin Luther King, Jr. "I Have a Dream"

On Monday, I got to be a part of an amazing project collaboration through my work at MedBridge. We organized a day of service project at the Westside Boys & Girls Club and re-did their back patio space which they will use as an outdoor classroom. Lead by our awesome contractor, Dan Ribbens, we put pavers to create an outdoor space where kids can play, as well as assembling planter boxes for decoration and for the gardening club (with the kids' hand prints as a colorful addition :)). During the afternoon, a group of MedBridge staff also got to organize MLK activities with the kids and we enjoyed a lunch together catered by a local Westside restaurant, Super Cucas (delicious Mexican cuisine!). As the paver crew was working hard, the Westside Initiative group (which I'm also a part of) was busy re-vamping the garden area that is being used for a weekly garden club. They dug out old plants and put in new planter boxes, dirt, mulch, and new spaces for edible plants to grow.

I walked away from Monday so thankful to be apart of a company that gave up significant financial resources and allowed our employees to give up half their work day to come serve on the westside. I'm also thankful to be a part of a faith community that is engaging in a neighborhood that I am growing to love. A lot of people gave up significant time and energy to make the day happen -- cheif among them our contractor! -- and it was a blessing to see community and service happening on this day.

I love the quote "we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt". There are times where that bank does seem bankrupt or running on low funds. Days like Monday prove it wrong and encourage me to keep seeking out the people and organizations who care about justice and change within our community. 

books, books, and more books

Blogging hasn't been consistent for me for some time now (2013, what happened?) While I'm not sure if things will change significantly for 2014, I do think it is worth it to blog periodically about some books that I'm reading.

So, here's a good one that's worth a read (a little dense, yes, but so worth it): Divided by Faith: Evangelical Religion and the Problem of Race in America by Michael Emerson and Christian Smith.
The book introduction begins with this:

This book is a story of how well-intentioned people, their values, and their institutions actually recreate racial divisions and inequalities they ostensibly oppose. It is a narrative of how some of America's core values and assumptions and its reliance on market principles contradict and work against other esteemed values. To tell this tale of paradox, we explore the connection between two of the most dynamic, controversial, long-standing, and unique aspects of American life--evangelical religion and black-white relations. (1-2)

And that's exactly what the book does -- it explores how "well-intentioned people" (white Evangelical Christians) recreate racial divisions and inequalities. The first few chapters of the book take a look at the  history of slavery and how many Christian groups believed this was biblical and were afraid of changing the status quo for fear of chaos (fear, there it comes up again...), as well as the Civil Rights Movement and Evangelical attitudes during this time. The authors are fair in their assessment of Evangelical perspectives on race attitudes throughout history -- there were many Evangelicals opposed to slavery and many who fought for African Americans' civil rights -- but I wouldn't say that they were usually the majority.

The larger problem that the book addresses in understanding how Evangelicals often perpetuate racial divisions is their misunderstanding of structural and institutional racism. For the majority of Evangelicals in the US, their understanding of racism is individual -- if you are kind to the black man/woman on the street, everything is fine and there is no "problem of race" in society. The oversimplification of racism to individual interactions is plaguing larger comprehension of racial injustices.

I learned a lot about institutional and structural racism in a sociology class in college and it reshaped the way I think about racial issues in the US. What's been interesting to continue to learn post-grad is how structural racism affects the church, and this I find even more depressing and disheartening.

What I took away the most from this book, however, wasn't the discussion of Evangelical Christians' misunderstanding of structural racism, but rather the last chapters that discussed how like-minded groups bond together and what this means for bridging the divide between races within the church. It's easy to demonize modern day church in America as being intentionally divided, but I think there are reasons for why we are divided that are worth considering.

"Birds of a feather flock together" Simple, yet true. We like being with people who are similar to us. In one aspect, church is a place that we go to pursue a relationship with God in a community of people that we like and who share a common understanding of faith and life practice. In the US, we have significant freedom in choosing the faith community we wish to be a part of (a major point made by the authors) and we like to be with people who understand and are similar to us (totally natural and understandable). The authors helped me to better understand why the Church is so divided -- and that it's not necessarily malicious intent.

Evangelical Christianity is in my blood and is a part of who I am. Having said that, the reality of Evangelical Christian attitudes towards race is really upsetting to me. I'm also not naive to the desire for community, relationships with people who are like me and who "get" me. I think one of the biggest desires in all human beings is for connection and love between one another. With that in mind, I believe bridging racial divisions within our society and churches is going to be really hard work. In my own limited experience of being a part of church communities and cross cultural relationships, I see messy-ness and misunderstanding and confusion and chaos: words I usually try to run as far away from as possible. It's funny to me that those are the words I think we're supposed to be more familiar with (messy, chaotic, misunderstanding and then re-understanding). Those are the words that will draw us into community with people who come from different backgrounds and share unique circumstances. If church wasn't a little messy and chaotic, something might be missing.

I'm thankful for this book as it helped give me context for better understanding racial divisions within the church in America. The challenge the authors give at the end of their work is for readers to think about how we can change the reality of this division (quite a big question). Maybe they'll write a "part II" with their suggestions?

Sweet things

Christmastime was a sweet time for me because I got to hang out with these special people.

I got to watch the sun rise over the Pacific (sort of...you can ask my dad the specifics about that):

I learned how to make tamales with this wonderful woman and new friend (a few of us got together saturday morning to start the process of making tamales -- and altogether we made about 150!! It was an awesome experience!)

I laughed a lot because of these two: 

We got a little dressed up for a (HOT!!) Christmas day at Grandpa & Grandma's

I'm thankful for short breaks...just a few days off work, time to enjoy my sisters being in the room next to mine, delicious food to be eaten together, time under the Christmas tree, laughing together over Brophy's shenanigans, playing cards, wrapping Christmas presents while watching Gilmore Girls and trying to keep the dog from getting into the gifts. (etc., etc., etc.)

I'm really thankful for my family and simple, sweet time with them.