A week of midterms and travels to North Carolina got me behind on these updates, but here are some quick summaries of what I did and how it felt...
Day 5: Attended a political action day organized through Presbyterians for a Better Georgia as well as Atlanta's Central Outreach and Advocacy Center. Around 70 people, mostly members of the Greater Atlanta Presbytery, spent the morning learning about four issues before the state legislature (gun violence, sex trafficking, homelessness, and religious freedom) and best practices for lobbying our representatives. Then, we divided into groups, discussed the issues that mattered most to us, and went to discuss them with our senators and representatives. The church I recently joined is directly across the street from the state capitol, making it difficult to ignore the socio-political systems that affect people in the state of Georgia. I tend to feel overwhelmed by the details of political issues to the point that I don't know where to begin. It's easy for me to make excuses for inaction, and even this morning, I found myself saying, "It's too early," "I'll be the youngest one," and "I probably shouldn't drive there in the sleet." After all, remember that time it snowed in Atlanta? But I'm finding that the things that make me most anxious are the ones that I most need to pursue. Sometimes, taking the first steps is the hardest part. I'm not naïve enough to believe that I affected large-scale, immediate change, but I practiced using my voice and learned something new about a complicated system.
Day 6: Read aloud in Arabic. I've done this more than a few times, but it still scares me. We don't always completely overcome our fears, but we may at least chip away at them. Practice helps. It helps not only with foreign languages, but also with big presentations and weighty conversations and most anything that induces anxiety. If anything, I spend too much time rehearsing for these things when I ought to just go for it, but diving in is often the scariest part. The line between preparation and spontaneity is a tricky one for me.
Day 7: Started an important conversation with a friend, which I'd been anticipating and feeling ever so slightly antsy about for a while. Vague, but there you go. True to above ^^^ notes on preparation vs. spontaneity, over-thinking is rarely helpful, and expectations are only beneficial to a point. In making space for discomfort, I may also be preparing a way for the inherent uncertainty of surprises.
Day 8: Turned off my GPS and drove aimlessly around a city where I haven't lived in over a year. I could draw out some extended metaphors here about life's journeys and about how "not all who wander are lost etc, etc, etc," but instead I'll just offer that getting truly lost was more difficult than I expected. There were a lot of dead ends. I could see the skyline the whole time. My car has a compass, which I forgot about until halfway through my trip. I ended my trip at a Trader Joe's just as I was mentally recording a grocery list. Convenient, I know.
Day 9: Drove 3.5 hours in silence. This, in contrast to the stream of podcasts and full-volume country music that usually keeps me company on my trips between Atlanta and North Carolina. The trip is around 4 hours, but I caved and phoned a friend as I crossed the final state line. I'd like to believe I'm comfortable with extended silence, but Day 2 suggested otherwise. That silence made me especially uncomfortable, so I did it again for the sake of practice. Sitting with my thoughts across miles of Bible Belt highway was alternately pleasant and peaceful, unsettling and boring.
Day 10: Stood vigil with hundreds of other Georgians against the death penalty. The state of Georgia has executed 57 men since the reinstatement of the death penalty in 1976. Two executions have already taken place in 2015, and another is poised to happen soon, as Kelly Gissendaner awaits a final verdict (more here). I'm afraid when political protocol takes precedent over restorative justice and mercy. I'm afraid that my presence alone might not make a difference, but I hope in the community that raises its voice again and again. As a follower of God, who was himself crucified by the state, I hope in Easter morning.
Psalm 146, which was read at Kelly's vigil:
Day 5: Attended a political action day organized through Presbyterians for a Better Georgia as well as Atlanta's Central Outreach and Advocacy Center. Around 70 people, mostly members of the Greater Atlanta Presbytery, spent the morning learning about four issues before the state legislature (gun violence, sex trafficking, homelessness, and religious freedom) and best practices for lobbying our representatives. Then, we divided into groups, discussed the issues that mattered most to us, and went to discuss them with our senators and representatives. The church I recently joined is directly across the street from the state capitol, making it difficult to ignore the socio-political systems that affect people in the state of Georgia. I tend to feel overwhelmed by the details of political issues to the point that I don't know where to begin. It's easy for me to make excuses for inaction, and even this morning, I found myself saying, "It's too early," "I'll be the youngest one," and "I probably shouldn't drive there in the sleet." After all, remember that time it snowed in Atlanta? But I'm finding that the things that make me most anxious are the ones that I most need to pursue. Sometimes, taking the first steps is the hardest part. I'm not naïve enough to believe that I affected large-scale, immediate change, but I practiced using my voice and learned something new about a complicated system.
Day 6: Read aloud in Arabic. I've done this more than a few times, but it still scares me. We don't always completely overcome our fears, but we may at least chip away at them. Practice helps. It helps not only with foreign languages, but also with big presentations and weighty conversations and most anything that induces anxiety. If anything, I spend too much time rehearsing for these things when I ought to just go for it, but diving in is often the scariest part. The line between preparation and spontaneity is a tricky one for me.
Day 7: Started an important conversation with a friend, which I'd been anticipating and feeling ever so slightly antsy about for a while. Vague, but there you go. True to above ^^^ notes on preparation vs. spontaneity, over-thinking is rarely helpful, and expectations are only beneficial to a point. In making space for discomfort, I may also be preparing a way for the inherent uncertainty of surprises.
Day 8: Turned off my GPS and drove aimlessly around a city where I haven't lived in over a year. I could draw out some extended metaphors here about life's journeys and about how "not all who wander are lost etc, etc, etc," but instead I'll just offer that getting truly lost was more difficult than I expected. There were a lot of dead ends. I could see the skyline the whole time. My car has a compass, which I forgot about until halfway through my trip. I ended my trip at a Trader Joe's just as I was mentally recording a grocery list. Convenient, I know.
Day 9: Drove 3.5 hours in silence. This, in contrast to the stream of podcasts and full-volume country music that usually keeps me company on my trips between Atlanta and North Carolina. The trip is around 4 hours, but I caved and phoned a friend as I crossed the final state line. I'd like to believe I'm comfortable with extended silence, but Day 2 suggested otherwise. That silence made me especially uncomfortable, so I did it again for the sake of practice. Sitting with my thoughts across miles of Bible Belt highway was alternately pleasant and peaceful, unsettling and boring.
Day 10: Stood vigil with hundreds of other Georgians against the death penalty. The state of Georgia has executed 57 men since the reinstatement of the death penalty in 1976. Two executions have already taken place in 2015, and another is poised to happen soon, as Kelly Gissendaner awaits a final verdict (more here). I'm afraid when political protocol takes precedent over restorative justice and mercy. I'm afraid that my presence alone might not make a difference, but I hope in the community that raises its voice again and again. As a follower of God, who was himself crucified by the state, I hope in Easter morning.
Psalm 146, which was read at Kelly's vigil:
1 Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord, O my soul!
2 I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my God all my life long.
Praise the Lord, O my soul!
2 I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my God all my life long.
3 Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortals, in whom there is no help.
4 When their breath departs, they return to the earth;
on that very day their plans perish.
in mortals, in whom there is no help.
4 When their breath departs, they return to the earth;
on that very day their plans perish.
5 Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the Lord their God,
6 who made heaven and earth,
the sea, and all that is in them;
who keeps faith forever;
7 who executes justice for the oppressed;
who gives food to the hungry.
whose hope is in the Lord their God,
6 who made heaven and earth,
the sea, and all that is in them;
who keeps faith forever;
7 who executes justice for the oppressed;
who gives food to the hungry.
The Lord sets the prisoners free;
8 the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;
the Lord loves the righteous.
9 The Lord watches over the strangers;
he upholds the orphan and the widow,
but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.
8 the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;
the Lord loves the righteous.
9 The Lord watches over the strangers;
he upholds the orphan and the widow,
but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.
10 The Lord will reign forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the Lord!
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the Lord!
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