Infinite Space 2019: Broken Hallelujah (Vol 3)

VOLUME 3

Infinite Space DEC 2019

BROKEN HALLELUJAH

Editor's Note This year’s edition of Infinite Space is Broken Hallelujah.

If you haven’t listened to Leonard Cohen’s song, Hallelujah, you may not know what this could mean.

Simply said, when everything seems to be going wrong and the shadows are drowning you, you can find a light, and that light is your ‘hallelujah’.

What is your savior? It doesn’t necessarily have to be Jesus or God. For me, one of my ‘hallelujahs’ is writing.

The escape I have found from stringing words into a story has been my support through many hardships in my life.

For Christine Watt, it’s giving back to others. It’s sharing the love the bible preaches. For Dr. Qubein, it was the care of his mother during times of grief.

Every author in this journal has had the bravery to break into those dark parts of them, surrender to vulnerability, and write out their hallelujahs, their lights. The editorial team was honored to have read these wonderful pieces of work, and we hope you enjoy this edition of Infinite Space as well. It may even help you find your Broken Hallelujah.

Sarah Leonard

Pastoral Note A young woman came by my office once and told me her world had turned upside down all in one month. Her grandmother died, the man she loved stopped calling her and a half-sister she knew nothing about came into her life right after her grandmother’s death. She told me she felt the ground beneath her was shaking, and you know what she said to me?

“Somehow, I’m still here.”

You know what I heard? A broken hallelujah. There was not more adornment in her life. It was simply her and the holy.

And praise was on her lips.

Isn’t this backwards?

When I pray with people, rarely do I hear them ask, “Preston, will you pray that my life gets turned upside down?” No, we pray for strength. But why? So that we can climb a rung or two higher on the status ladder? We pray for clarity. But check the intentions. Is it clarity so I get what I want? God’s logic, if scripture is any indication, has little interest in our little interests in us using the holy for our own glorification. God is interested in shifting the world on its axes so that it looks a little more like heaven, and for us bourgeoisie 21st century social ladder climbers, everything is upside down.

Who wants to be last?

Who wants to lose their life?

Who wants to have a dinner with strangers?

Wait, can they give me something? We often calculate our climb only to find out later in life -- and sometimes too late -that the depth of happiness, our own Hallelujah!, rarely comes through calculated climbs. It comes through joy in the valley with all its uncertainty, darkness, brokenness, and beauty.

Wise man Parker Palmer once said that life can push you down to the ground, not by any viciousness, but by the sheer weight of things that we carry. And sometimes, we are forced to the ground, so that we may learn how to press upward again. That’s a broken hallelujah. There is no real experience of love without potential loss. There is no real power, as God understands power, without the possibility of pain. There is no deep joy without the jarring experiences that send us into tailspins.

God’s logic is an inverse logic. The up is only done by going down first. Richard Rohr is right. We might just fall… upward. The order of a well-lived life is not ordered at all. It’s a broken hallelujah.

Or as a good friend, much older and wiser than me, once said near the end of his life: “There are two ways to get to God,” he told me.

“What are those?” I asked.

“Suffering and Love,” he responded.

“Can I bypass the suffering?” I asked.

“Not if you want love,” he said.

That’s … a Broken Hallelujah. May you enjoy these pieces of art by students. They are indeed art—in poetry, photography, prayers and essays. May you enjoy their creativity. May you see them like modern day psalms full of love and lament, prostration and praise. May they all be praise to the one from whom all blessings flow, even as they pour in through the broken cracks.

Rev. Preston Davis

PRAYER Henson Garden Prayer Jacob's Prayer

POETRY The Drive The Fount Black Leaves A Journey Poem Graduation The Lion’s Den

contents

PROSE Dear Sarah My Favorite Verse Why I Sing Christine Watt Please Pass the Tape Hallelujah is a State of Mind Walking Barefoot A Life Lesson Strange Fruit

PHOTOGRAPHY My Father, My Peace, My Africa A Letter to Doug The Need for "The Present" My Thunder Road

Pray

ayer

Henson Garden Prayer

"Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee."

Psalm 143:8

A Prayer for a life led to the center and back again.

Gracious God, Order our footsteps by your Word.

Remind us that you have shown us the path in life through the life of Christ our Lord, Our path is as simple as it is difficult: To walk in and toward The way, the truth, the life.

Slowly or quickly, Short steps or generous gate, Bid us to the center of this life To hear thy lovingkindness that leads us into paths of righteousness Order our footsteps by your Word

Draw us into the heart of your abundant mercy, Nourish us there with such knowledge that passes all understanding Re-new. Re-member. Re-create the soul that is lifted to you.

Speak to us there, but do not leave us there.

Order our footsteps by your Word.

Guide our feet back outward, winding into your world.

Remade in your image, Your hands, Your feet, Ever expanding the circle of your compassion outward.

Our souls expanded by the ever-present knowledge that you walk with us.

Order our footsteps by your Word.

Cause us to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do we trust: cause us to know the way wherein we should walk; for we lift up our souls unto thee.

In the name of the one who walked into our world that we might walk into the kingdom of God, Amen. ~Rev. Preston Davis

Jacob's Prayer Hello, my name is Jacob Lancaster, I am a Christian and the Vice President of the Board of Stewards. I do not know the right words to say but I offer up this prayer as a sign of the empathy for the pain which so many face. Pray with me as you feel led!

God, I follow You and I know You in how You have revealed Yourself through Jesus Christ to your Church. I know You as the God who stood alongside the poor and suffering, who gave rest to the weary, healing to the broken, and peace to the mourning. This day I lament the pain caused at the Tree of Life Synagogue; I see Jesus standing with the victims taking on the pain caused by this attack just as He takes on the pain of all humanity on the cross. I remember the story of Job who after suffering great tribulation, was faced with his friends who tried to offer lofty explanations and instruction. But I don’t seek to offer a prayer of instruction but one of love. My only response is prayer and presence. My only response is a deep empathy which cries out for peace, an end to violence. I lament the suffering of this fallen world and I now lift up this prayer of Your servant, St. Francis of Assisi, who endeavoured to love others and lift up Your name:

“Lord, make us instruments of your peace: where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.�

O Lord, may we live in Your peace and may Your kingdom of peace break into this world that we might have an end to violence and hate.

May we all be overwhelmed in Your love that we might be able to truly listen to the cry of our neighbors and stand with them in violence. O Lord, give us peace!

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we lift up this prayer for peace and for healing.

Amen.

Editor’s note: A prayer offered at an Interfaith gathering in the fall of 2018 following the mass shooting at a synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The gunman killed 11 worshipers in the deadliest attack ever on Jews in the United States.

Poe

try

Jack Bharucha

You are coming down from your sugar high like a stockbroker from a skyscraper.

Your muscles are locked into place like tent supports.

Your eyes flutter like rusty shutters in a rental storage place.

You feel your energy bidding you farewell like so many ex-lovers.

There is a memory. Of fire. An overturned van Car seat inside The jaws of life The color red You press the button.

The window lowers Slapping you with a cold gust of wind.

THE DRIVE

A slap to wake you up Courtesy of the Anemoi You close it after a few seconds.

The cold has done its trick.

Just one more thing To get home Just picture your own fire A warm fireplace to lay down beside.

Everyone has one.

What focus there is left in your eyes are focused on the shining lights illuminating the two-lane country road The sign metamorphoses from red to green You ease your foot onto the pedal.

The car slows It feels like it is taking a breath.

You reach down to this cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee.

A taste like warm milk. A shock like a cold shower. Hallelujah.

The light goes green The engine fires Just twenty more miles to home Down a dark road at night To home Your home Wherever that may be.

A person or a place In time or space We say Hallelujah And drive on

The waterless fountain, cut off From its source, the crowds Still gather seeking the precious Life-giving water.

But it is not here.

The preacher, the prophet, Has left and now Sits in the streets with those who Are poor and despised.

O Lord,

THE FOUNT

I sit, with one foot in

Let me follow You

With Arms wide open Caring for those whom You Love.

Jacob Lancaster

Into the Streets

BLACK

LEA

See now,

Acknowledge descent that took place in this

All shades of brown

family tree

Be black

Create our own collectives amongst

Defined in

minority leaves

Old white man's tongue

Hoping

Yet

That we can bring a bit of mother

We,

to this land

Embrace this melanin

All while wearing

Almost Like it was born here

The sun

wear sun

Mixed in

Bright like accessory

With

Let it beat off skin

hues of green

Till night hit

And red

Then

And blue

Blend in with the stars

And yellow

Eyes bright like Orion

And orange

Against tunnel like

Store this

Darkness

Into your mental

Hearkens

For it

Stories of culture

To be retrieved again

Orations

Yell it

Of homelands

From top of mountain

Once Snatched away

Till heavens blend

Pillaged and raped

Make proclamation

For lighter shade

To forage

yet

Your thought process

we praise anyway

I love my blackness

VES

Doug McCollum

In All aspects

Preach confidence

All cranks

In naps and curls

And shoulder leans

And standout skin

two steps and

And watch how you enter

Finesse

Into a different world

Pintos

Where family matters

Yams

And good times live

And Collard greens See we

Where you can choose whatever you

Were born into this royalty

You want to be

Deemed kings before being crowned

See,

with slavery

The dangerous thing about us

Have history

Is that we wear the sun

Wrapped in our bones

Harness its energy till

As if genealogy knew

We become our own solar entities for

There’s no losing this

With fuller lips, hips, and privates

Astronomy when we wear it

And it threatens

So when we march

The caucus so much they try to

And we protest

suppress it

When we sing

Willie Lynch it’s way back into

And we chant

relevance

When we stand

But

And we fly

What they forget is

We overcome ourselves

No matter how hard you try

For ourselves

You can’t burn the sun

So we can love Ourselves

You won’t burn our sun.

A Journey I sit here after finishing a book,

A book which took me on a journey Of thought, of reflection, and of narrative.

Humans are social; We cannot rid ourselves of the communal way we experience And must experience our lives.

This is why books, why stories are important.

To live a good life, we have to learn from others.

We learn from our communities, our families, our mentors, our friends.

This is why books, why stories are important.

A story, a narrative, is important Because it lets us experience a life, Or a significant part of a life, While sitting, standing, leaning‌ And hearing the words of the other Whose vulnerability contributes to our growth.

Jacob Lancaster “We stand on the shoulders of” friends.

We walk the path started by those around us, Understanding ourselves through the lives of others, Finding our path after walking the paths of others.

This is why stories are important.

We journey onward, ever onward, Following this path revealed through the company of others, Those placed in our lives by the one who loves us.

That we might find rest in the end, In the arms of the one who might tell us, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

The book which inspired this poem majorly, although not exclusively, was Ethics in the Conflicts of Modernity: An Essay on Desire, Practical Reasoning, and Narrative by Alasdair MacIntyre

In the midst of me writing this poem I just want to say

To shout that you all could be here too This story, is not just about me

I was never anyone’s valedictorian This story is for the rest of us living Idly Nor was I salutatorian

Number One

Much respect to them

To whatever the ending may be

Though

We’ve all,

I am

Left our footprint on history

What many would deem,

Gone through different journeys

Average.

To get across the same stage

Even this example of Just making it I was never straight A student.

Have different stories and yet when they conglomerate You get something that's beautiful

Nor was I star athlete

I'm here to tell you, that

I’m just me

This.

Black teen living idly

Is.

Who’d had his share of

Beautiful.

Mental breakdowns

That you could have been another

And Embarrassing scenes

statistic

But the cool thing

That they’ll probably still tell you you

About writing this piece

are

Having this opportunity That after you read this today you’ll still I am just me

be

Despite what many people would claim

Encountered with disbelief, naysayers

me to be

and hate

I could have wilted in the shadows Fallen through the cracks Let hope slip through fingertips

But do not wilt in their shadows.

Cast your own Do not fall through their cracks

Been swallowed up to be another statistic

Fix them

Yet I stand here, in front of you

Refuse to let hope slip through your

Just to tell a tale about an individual that

fingertips and

defied all odds

Keep changing their statistics

To announce that I know what you're

See this poem was not written for

going through

But Written By:

You

Be a dreamer

By the straight A student

A weirdo

The star athlete The middle man And the one at the end This poem Is written by The Minority Student The Closeted Athlete The Differently-Abled man or woman And the ones placed All the way

Change the world Travel to different nations Own a corporation Don’t let anyone give you a definition Be cliche light at the end of tunnel And not so cliche You. Be just You. Because at the end of the day

at the end

That’s all you need to be

This poem was written by

You know why?

A through Z

Because You

You’re going to make it

You is smart

We’re going to make it

You is kind

Now go out and show them that we deserve

You is…

to be here

Good enough

That our voice matters.

We are good enough

That we,

And I'm simply here to remind

You, matter

you

Tap into your talent

That as you walk

Find your special

Refuse to let anyone Make you think otherwise

graduation Doug McCollum

The Lion's Den Our teacher declared I was one of the good ones, That I kept you out of trouble

But every fiber of my being rejected the affirmation as I viewed your lifeless body The cakey foundation, waxy complexion My stomach lurching, picturing a bloody, twisted condition

You are gone I didn’t keep you “out of trouble” No one saved you

I anticipated the brokenness to consume me For the lion to devour my faith

But their mouths clamped shut The lion sat next to me, like a giant house cat Nuzzling my arm in comfort I felt soft whiskers brush my arm as

Raegan Thomas

My knees slammed into the altar Eyes squeezed shut, cheeks overrun with water Fingertips faded into a blush, squished in an embrace

As my mouth opened to form “Dear Father,” The light exploded, dissolving the dark den

You are gone But I’ll go on

I’m out of the Lion’s Den

Photo

graphy

My Father, My Peace, My Africa, Experiencing other cultures has changed the way that I view life as a whole.

Every culture has a very different energy, and that’s what makes society so captivating. The more I experience the more I realize the impact that culture has made on my life.

When I was 12, my dad passed away from colon cancer, and I thought to myself, “How will I be able to regain my strength and fight through these dark shadows?” Nature and traveling have always been my muse and escape from life, and six years after my dad’s death -- and looking for an escape -- I had the opportunity to travel to Ghana, Africa, for a medical mission trip.

This experience last fall changed my life by giving me the opportunity to look at life through a different lens. I encountered a lifestyle so rich and so blessed in love. When I was there, I was taught to love harder than before, and to learn from the happiness of others. I felt so much comfort there because, not only did I find myself, but I found peace with my father.

The Ghanaian lifestyle was significantly different than mine and yet, we shared the same emotions. We related to similar struggles and feelings.

Together, we found our “Hallelujah.”

For me, Ghana was my “Hallelujah.”

Jackie Potter

Doug,

A Letter to Doug

The news of your death sent shockwaves of disbelief and sorrow throughout our small high school during my senior year. How was it possible that you, who had more passion and joy in the sparkle of your green eyes than more people have in a lifetime, took your own life?

You brought music from every corner of the world into our tiny classroom – from the didgeridoo from Australia to the drumming rhythms from West Africa, you taught us that music, much like God, can transcend any boundary we construct as humans and bring us together. Even though your knowledge of music was bigger and more diverse than I can comprehend, your favorite artist of all time was Leonard Cohen. You could go on forever about how his poetic lyrics and the rawness of his voice continued to inspire you. Fast forward 4+ years, and I’m asked to participate in a publication based on Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” and I can’t seem to get you off of my mind.

Sitting in my car listening to this song again, this time as a senior in college, I cried just as hard as I did in the days following your suicide.

Though your death left so many of us broken, I say "hallelujah" when I think of you. It was a privilege to learn from you. I never got to thank you for everything that your love for music gave me.

The Need for ‘The Present’ June 5, 2018, 8:54 am.

A list of 10 errands on my desk, spaces to clean up, meetings to attend, conference calls to schedule. Typical day. Then it wasn't.

My husband of 29 years called and told me that his routine check up had found he had an incurable cancer. A surgery would 'buy' time.

There are moments that crystalize your life. Overnight, the way I ‘spent' my time seriously changed. I now spend more time listening to those I love, less time looking for 'stuff' I can't find; more time sharing moments, less time cleaning.

More hugs, more laughs, more slow meals.

More time photographing and celebrating the blessings in my life that I am grateful for.

You know the old saying: time is a gift, which is why it is called the present. Those words mean more to me than ever.

Benita VanWinkle

My Thunder Road

Lee Adams

It must’ve been the spring of 2014 when I carried a small point-and-shoot Canon and climbed aboard Thunder Road for the last time.

I heard the slow crank of the rollercoaster climbing skyward and, once again, I felt like I was nine.

I grew up in a town that hardly anyone knew existed in North Carolina. But I always felt special every time I rode my favorite roller coaster at Carowinds.

I always rode with my dad. His name was Guy; he was a welder. We lived in Lawndale, a tiny town in the upper corner of Cleveland County, and we’d drive southeast toward Charlotte, pull into Carowinds, and ride a rollercoaster with peaks and valleys that looked like tiny mountains.

You’d go up nearly 100 feet. Then, you’d drop nearly 90 feet. Your only piece of safety equipment was a bar across your lap.

You’d reach the top, pause for a second, start falling, and be surrounded immediately by screams.

Your adrenalin raced, your heart jumped into your throat, and you felt like you were about to fly out of your seat. Once you opened your eyes, you realized how far you could see.

You were on top of the world.

I loved it.

I still ride roller coasters, and these days, I ride with my son, Gabriel. But no matter what rollercoaster I ride, Thunder Road will always be my favorite. It was built in 1976 – three years after I was born – and its wooden tracks straddled the state line of North and South Carolina.

See, you could stand in one spot and be in South Carolina. Take a step over, and you’d be in North Carolina. Always thought that was so cool.

In 2015, Carowinds tore down Thunder Road to make room for more rides. When I heard about it, I knew I had to ride Thunder Road one more time. This time, I knew I had to tuck a camera in my pocket and take a photo of a scene I’ll remember forever.

I shot this photo in black and white, because I knew color wouldn’t do. I wanted to bring out the shadow and light, details and texture, of what I saw as the joy of my childhood.

Those tracks are now gone. And yet, I look at this one photo, and it reminds me of my own Hallelujah.

This Year

in Chapel

Pro

se

Dear Sarah, God’s blessed me with a place to lay my head every night. The thought of you not having the same privilege breaks my heart. The thought of the street as your only companion makes me question God. How do you have faith when everything is stripped from you? Your ability to trust Him makes my faith look like a mustard seed. Yet, I have so many reasons to believe. Why do you believe, Sarah? He’s given you every reason to doubt Him, but you don’t. You don’t even have a place to call home. I guess I should do better.

Sometimes, I wonder how the world looks through your eyes. I wonder if my heart would yearn to do what God’s called me to if I truly knew your story. Would I feel the pain of facing life by myself, if I knew your story? There’s so much I believed I knew about life, until I met you. I knew pain until I looked into your eyes. I knew how to trust Him until you schooled me in authenticity. I thought I was a Jew, but I’m a Pharisee. I thought I was grateful, but I’m selfish, greedy, and entitled. You have nothing. You spend nights alone and mornings wondering where your next meal will come from. You don’t have anyone to call on.

You don’t even have a shoulder to cry on. For that, I’m so sorry.

For some reason, you still press on. You continue to live every day with faith and the love of Christ inside of you. Thank you. I can’t express how grateful I am for your endurance through the storm. You’ve faced the wind and rain without an umbrella. You’ve been patient. You’re content with exactly what God has given you. I pray that I might follow in your footsteps.

Your life is a testimony of God’s grace and provision. Your radical faith has shaken the ground beneath me.

You’ve proven that the vicissitudes of life are terrible, but never too much to bare. You’ve taught me the importance of keeping my head up when it seems like I’m drowning. God is with you and I’ve learned that He’s with me, too. You’re not alone, Sarah. I think and pray for you often.

I wonder how the world looked through my eyes. I wonder if your heart yearned to do what God called you to when I shared my story. Did you feel the brokenness I tried so hard to cover? I thought I was alone, you know. It doesn’t feel like it anymore.

Gabrielle Banks Editor’s note: Sarah is an older woman I met during the 2018 Fall Pilgrimage to Asheville. She was homeless and seemed like she just wanted someone to talk to. The few moments I experienced with her were life-changing.

My Favorite Verse 2 Timothy 4:7 “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept my faith”

Often times people go through seasons of celebration, energy, and fullness. But just as easily as these things come, hard things come as well. People who don’t cling to any sort of faith, religion, or higher power have lots of trouble facing and overcoming the difficult times. For me, my faith has been the focal point of life. It has made overcoming health issues, difficulties with stress and school, and anxiety all seem much more doable. That is why this verse from 2 Timothy is my favorite. It is my guide.

Using my faith to triumph over the hard things has allowed me to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It has given me a perspective of seeing the possibilities, hope, and a future. Knowing that I am not called to face challenges alone gives me the energy to keep going. Seeing the ways the Lord has been faithful in my past--whether that be in healing, providing community, giving peace or strength--has motivated me to stay rooted in faith.

I want to clarify, it is not about what I, as a mere mortal, can receive from God, creator of the universe, but it’s about how I can celebrate his goodness. In God sending his son to die for me and my sins so that I might have eternal life, I am drawn to action. This action is in relying solely on my faith.

When others see me, I want them to also see the faithfulness of God. The way He has so graciously provided a place of hope for me. That is the beauty of faith. Knowing we are so loved and so cared for, far more than we deserve. We have a place of rest, something to put our hope in. I am overwhelmed with thankfulness at the thought that the Lord would choose me. He would reveal himself to me in unimaginable ways so I would feel called to keep my faith. To rest in something bigger than myself.

Lastly, faith keeps me humble. I deserve death because of my sins yet Jesus so graciously died for me. In this I will cling to him, my pillar of faith knowing I am undeserving yet still loved and perused and cared for deeply. For this I am grateful. I will continue to cling to Jesus as the center of my life for all seasons to come as this means I face no hardships alone. I rejoice in this always.

Mallory Roy Editor’s note: Mallory Roy, a 2019 HPU graduate, has had 21 surgeries on her ears since she was 18 months old to help her hear.

Why I Sing “Ain’t Got Time To Die” I grew up in a predominately black Southern Baptist church where it was not uncommon to be singing a Negro spiritual.

I remember my days as a youth singing in the Heavenly Angels choir (for children aged 4-12) and the Youth Choir (for teens and adolescents). I remember singing songs such as “Ain’t got time to die,” “Every time I feel the spirit,” and “I want Jesus to walk with me.”

Because I was young when I first heard these songs, I thought it was a little silly the way some of the words were pronounced, but it was because I wasn’t aware of the songs’ origins. I believe it’s safe to say that we, African-Americans, sing these songs because it reminds us of where we once were. It reminds us of times when our people were oppressed, treated cruelly simply because of the color of our skin, and sold as property.

Another reason why we sing Negro spirituals and why I continue to sing them is because it reminds us of unity. Not only are we unified as a race, or because of our shared history, but we are also unified in the dreams we have for ourselves and for future generations so that we can continue to ascend to the highest of heights.

Probably the most important reason why I continue to sing these songs is that they serve as a personal reminder that nothing can be done without God. He’s the one who brought us through those hard times, and He’s the only one who can bring us to the other side.

I take joy and comfort knowing that the same God my ancestors prayed to while they were out in the fields is the same God who cares for me and is listening to my prayers. So much of our history can be gleaned and learned just from these songs alone.

They remind us where we used to be but also serve as our foundation for where we’re trying to go.

Breanne Linton

"Lord I keep so busy praisin' my Jesus Keep so busy praisin' my Jesus Keep so busy praisin' my Jesus

Ain't got time to die Cause it takes all of my time To praise my jesus All of my time To praise my lord If I don't praise Him the rocks are gonna cry out Glory and honor, glory and honor

Ain't got time to die"

Christine Watt The first time it hit me, I was standing in the arts and crafts section. I don’t know whether it was because I was tired, hungry, or had been in Walmart for seven hours, but I wanted to cry. The name I was holding read “Joshua.” He was nine years old. He wore a size 12 shoe, needed underwear, and wanted Star Wars toys. Nothing new. Indeed, his Angel Tree tag was fairly typical, and I had already shopped for fifteen other kids like him that day. Yet one little detail stood out. “(autistic)”. This parenthetical, perhaps a hasty addition by his mother as she signed him up, stopped me in my tracks.

I think about what “autistic” means to me. I am five years old, sitting on weird rubber tiles in the playroom at the therapist’s office, begging to try the tests meant for my brother, wanting to share in his games. I remember the emotions. So much pain and anger, bursting; so much joy, unadulterated and outlandish. I think of how these emotions swirled and spiraled in a little boy who didn’t understand how to control his thoughts. He is older now, navigating life as an adult with a disability. I think of these things, and I realize I cannot imagine my brother going through his life with nothing. I cannot imagine a world where he has no support, no therapist, no rubber tiles.

I cannot imagine a world in which a nine-year-old boy with autism needs underwear for Christmas, so I stand in the arts and crafts section of the Walmart I have begun to call home. And I cry.

I cannot imagine a world in which a nine-year-old boy with autism needs underwear for Christmas, so I stand in the arts and crafts section of the Walmart I have begun to call home. And I cry.

This work is not noble. It is not “such a good thing we are doing.” It is not pity.

Months later, as I try to reason through the reality of my work on the Angel Tree project, I must make that plain. Pity alone would not carry a project of this magnitude, and my hunger and exhaustion quickly did away with any noble ideals or philanthropic niceties. No, the heartbeat of Angel Tree must be something else. It must be wilder, more voracious, reckless even, something that sees the smallest, most vulnerable person and says “you matter.” It wasn’t until that moment in Walmart that I saw with clarity what it was. Holding Joshua’s tag, I felt the pull of this heartbeat, and found myself face-to-face with Gospel.

Time and time again, the Bible calls on Christians to help the needy. In no uncertain terms, Jesus explains that his followers should feed the hungry and clothe the naked and that “whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” (Matthew 25:40.) This is a radical call, asking for much more than the occasional donation or “good deed.” Yet our response to this passage should not merely be one of duty; rather, it should be remembrance of another, much darker moment in Jesus’s ministry: the cross.

Everything that we do in ministry hinges on this moment. When Jesus was hung, stripped and bleeding, it was not a pretty picture. By all accounts, it should be the most shameful point in Christian history: the defeat of our leader. However, those connotations fall away in the reality of what the cross actually signifies in the lives of those who follow Jesus. The cross becomes not a picture of defeat, but a picture of perfect love. This love is willing to be humiliated and slaughtered. This love is willing to bear broken bones and fluid-filled lungs and an indescribable level of pain. This love is willing to be spat on and despised by the very people it is destined to heal. This love calls us to love as he first loved us. This love is more powerful than seven hours in Walmart. This love is the ink on every Angel Tree tag and the game in every doctor’s office. This love is Gospel. It is for Joshua and my brother. It is for me. It is for you.

Please Pass the Tape When the opportunity presented itself to me, I was worried it would be too much. My mind jumped to a million excuses: you’re too busy, you are not a journalist, you will be so stressed, and can you really handle one more thing? Oh, I had my doubts for sure. I hesitated, and when my head was screaming no, my mouth said, “Sure, I’d love to!” I mentally kicked myself, but looking back I am so thankful my mouth and brain were not on the same wavelength that day.

This semester, I had the honor to interview a few people at the Salvation Army in Winston-Salem as well as meet and tour their emergency homeless shelter, the Center of Hope. Upon my first trip to Winston-Salem to meet with the director of marketing at Salvation Army, I was anything but confident. I was a jittery, caffeinated bundle of nerves. I had never interviewed someone, let alone written an article about them.

However, before I went to that interview, my devotion for the day stepped on my toes and challenged me to think about what I could do for God, even in my day-to-day tasks. I prayed for God to open my eyes. To show me ways I can help people around me now, instead of waiting for a plan in my future career path.

It’s not often that God answers my prayers in a single day. I normally realize the work He has been doing in my life a couple months, even years, after the initial prayer. But not that day. The interview I had left me in tears. I interviewed a woman who crossed the country to escape the father of her son. She ended up at the steps of the Center of Hope, and she and her ten-day-old son were welcomed with open arms. She told me that the shelter gave her an address. A place of refuge while she got back on her feet.

It was just a simple building, but full of opportunities. The showers were in horrible conditions. They had only two washing machines for over sixty-five families. The dining area was small, and the little children were running around in the small rooms.

One of the workers for Salvation Army told me, “It’s not that people don’t want to work. Some just had bad luck and need help standing up. The Center of Hope provides hope to the hopeless.”

My heart was bleeding. After my trip to the meeting at the Center of Hope in WinstonSalem, I called my mom and she answered the call to the sound of my tears.

“Mama, I had no idea.”

“What do you mean?”

Raegan Thomas “Home-homeless people, Mama. They are people just like you and me. I’ve just always passed them by. I’m not a good Samaritan…The Center of Hope is doing wonderful things. They help people who just happened to get a dose of bad luck get back on their feet and be self-sufficient.”

She paused for a moment and listened to my broken sobs and hiccups.

“Raegan, you know we have a homeless shelter back at home. Would you want to try volunteering again?”

She couldn’t see my bobble-head nodding on my end, but I eventually cleared my voice and sniffles enough to croak out a “yes.”

I found my story for the article, and it would benefit the Center of Hope in more ways than just a simple acknowledgement of the fundraiser my article centered on. I always knew writing was the talent God gave me to use, but I had no idea how I would use it besides writing devotions on my faith-based blog.With that article, I would be able to share the story of a survivor of domestic abuse and former resident of the Center of Hope. My article also helped raise awareness for the shelter.

God humbled me that day and showed me that I did not have to wait until receiving a degree to use my talents for His glory. I have known for the past couple of years that I want to work for a faithbased non-profit one day. While I keep a running list of places to get involved with back home over the summers and when I graduate next May, God showed me a way to start now. It was as if he was saying: why wait? He showed me how I don’t need to look beyond the person in front of me anymore. Need is to my left, my right, behind, in front, and surrounding all around me. I praise Him for opening my eyes, humbling my soul, and giving me a heart to serve Him through my words and actions.

If there is anything my experiences have taught me, it’s that God can do some amazing work in the broken pieces of our lives. He can turn your ugly mess, like losing a roof over your head, to becoming a servant for Him, and helping people who used to be in your same situation. My article featured an individual who used to be broken, crying at the steps of the Center of Hope, and now is working there as a case manager. God led her to those steps and he already knew how her brokenness would be fixed.

Jeremiah 29:11 says “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” That verse gives me goosebumps. I feel so blessed now, and I cannot wait to see where He will lead me next. I’m sure I’ll fall down, get bruised, and even break completely sometimes, but I rest in knowing my brokenness will turn into a future full of hope.

God is so good! We are His hands and feet to help piece those broken parts of fellow brothers and sisters back together. Lord, give me the tape, the glue, Your Word, and the strength to help fix the pieces for the ones on my path.

Hallelujah is a State of Mind I’m no psychiatrist or brain specialist, but I can confidently say after 22 years with it, I have a love/hate relationship with my mind, and I think it feels the same way about me. Let me explain. It doesn’t like feeling that I’m happy or at peace, so it will come up with these wild manifestations based on fear, anxiety, and sometimes anger. These manifestations aren’t based in reality and never have been, yet sometimes as they say about bad dreams, “They just seem so real.”

It sounds crazy and a bit worrisome; thoughts like that can have a harmful toll on someone. Myself, many other people, and perhaps even yourself know what it must feel like to be “drowning” in that shadowy negativity which feels like it’s pulling you down. There’s a scary thought, to be pulled down somewhere out in the ocean in the middle of nowhere, and that’s often how it feels. To answer Paul McCartney’s question, that’s where all the lonely people come from. Suffering is so personal and isolating and, as cliché as it sounds, others may not understand it...at least at first. I could be described as lonely for a good percentage of my life and spent some time blaming others and circumstances but really, every corner I’ve backed myself into is because of my neuroticism. I think a more fair definition for neuroticism would be “expecting something bad to happen so much that when/if it does happen, one doesn’t know how to react because they spent too much time expecting it with fearful anticipation.”

I’ve had plenty of those moments. They began as an adolescent, plagued me as a teen, and then seeped into my adult life. But something that’s always remained true about my neuroticism is that it’s always left me with either a lesson learned or a funny story to write about. In fact, my whole college career has been a mixture of both; who would’ve thought that a student placed on academic probation as a freshman would raise his GPA just enough over nine semesters to make the Dean’s List one semester before he graduates?

During that time between then and now, I’ve never been closer to my future career with the journalistic work on and off campus I’ve been doing. It’s also become clear that what the school can give me is beginning to wane and the feeling of accomplishment and urge to move on are brushing against me. With a life full of deadlines and expectations, things can always go wrong and have gone wrong for me. I also speak in terms of my personal life. You see, when something goes wrong for me, everything seems to go wrong on both fronts of reality and mind. It’s inside where the storm really hits with feelings of irrationality, anger, fear, and self-loathing. Like kicking and screaming when going underwater, it only serves to worsen things and blow them out of proportion.

As I’ve become more awake, I’ve come to realize that I don’t have to kick and scream anymore. I simply don’t have the time when I have to keep swimming. Instead, in dark places, I look for light within; how bright it shines and how bright it will continue to shine. It’s hard to take an anxietyinduced manifestation seriously when you know it will just be reduced to a funny story with a little time and intervention.

Hallelujah is a state of mind.

Sam Rakestraw

Why?

Then, a brief intermission.

Why can I be seen walking, almost daily, the

Life getting back to “normal,” but soon it catches

Henson Reflection Garden?

back up!

Barefoot? Really?

Four years later, an “accident.”

Well, in a way, it started with my grandfather, my A truck, a Ford F-150 hitting walking pedestrians hero. With our adventures. With riding, as a four- (me), on the sidewalk year-old, in the front seat of his silver, 1996

Indescribable pain

Toyota Camry, when that was clearly illegal, but

Indescribable confusion

in some way, did not apply to us. It started with

Unexplainable resentment

the first person who truly made me feel like he really cared about me; who showed me what the

Every day, before class, I take off my shoes and

love of Christ is really like.

walk the labyrinth. I take my prized penny loafers off to be barefooted. People see, people stare,

So barefoot?

people giggle, I know.

Yes, barefoot.

Why?

Why?

Bare feet, to me, just feel more centered. They

I take bare feet to earth because, to me, walking the

connect me to my word for 2019: purpose.

labyrinth is a sacred experience. It is holy ground.

They connect me to God.

Perhaps only on holy ground can I truly reflect

Upon reflection, I find, biblically, bare feet-to-

upon my word: purpose.

earth contact is often a sign of great calamity.

Why, though?

Now, I know who I am.

Perhaps it is fitting, then?

I know what I am.

I know why I am here.

Great calamity I have faced!

I know my Christ.

Parents divorcing Grandfather-hero-dying

It’s funny, the power calamities have to set us free.

Hero and grandfather dying, parents divorcing, world collapsing.

Three days.

This all happened in a three-day period.

Walking

Barefoot

Davis Sarrett

A Life Lesson When people have asked me if I have any regrets in my life, I’ll mention my dad.

I lost him when I was six. He had been sick since I was two. That’s all I remember. I never got to throw the ball with him or go to the circus with him or do any father-son things with him. I will always miss that.

But, the older I get, the more I’ve come to understand how loss can give you a better perspective about life and show you the importance of loving your family, serving others, honoring others, and living with purpose.

I learned that from my mother.

After my dad’s death, she had to work two jobs to take care of us. I was the youngest of five, and I saw her work so hard. She had only a fourth-grade education. But she had so much wisdom.

I often tell people she had an advanced degree in common sense. She taught me so many valuable lessons – like who you spend time with is who you become and what you choose is what you get.

She gave me the gift of awareness, and that gift has served me well. I’ve shared her wisdom with audiences everywhere I go, and she has influenced me and thousands of others. I thank God every day for blessing me with such a wonderful mother.

At some point in our lives, we all face heartache. Grief is hard. But grief shows us how much we love someone, and how much they bring meaning to our lives. Those memories will remain in our hearts forever.

So, when the darkness of loss begins to surround you, know your present circumstances don’t determine where you can go; they merely determine where you start. They are a part of you. But they don’t define you.

In Romans 5:4, you’ll read, “Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

Adversity can lead to abundance, and hope can lead to happiness.

I know that to be true. My mother -- and her love -- taught me that.

Dr. Nido Qubein

The Power Of

Strange Fruit

During the prayer, I wept into the pine needles.

When I finished, I felt pulled to stay on the ground. When I could finally bring myself to stand, I started to walk away and, immediately, I felt the heaviness of what had latched onto me fall away -in the same place I prayed.

As I walked back to Hayworth Chapel, I fell to my knees. I began weeping and shouting and praising God. No one was around, but I continued to shout louder. I walked to the Henson Reflection Garden, to the brick ledge and wept.

And in that moment, I remembered what Art, an HPU landscaper, had told me during our weekly communion service on Thursdays. He told us the mustard seed we’d planted had started to bloom.

I jumped over the brick ledge and rushed to the place we’d planted the seeds, and there, I noticed Art had arranged the stones in the shape of a tomb. I was overwhelmed by God’s presence.

I placed my hand on top of the blooming mustard seeds, looked at the sun. and fully welcomed in the presence of God. After that experience, I went back to work.

It was a Friday. My performance was Monday. I was going to sing at HPU’s annual Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Celebration Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit.” It was her song about the sight of a black man’s lynching, and her words and her music shook me to the core.

What I saw in my mind’s eye was more terrifying than any image I’d seen on the internet. What I could feel as I imagined myself there was heartbreaking, confusing, frustrating, sorrowful, and more.

Every note mattered, every pause mattered, and on that Monday in January in the Hayworth Chapel, I could feel every note in my body.

I could feel every emotion, but most of all, I felt control. So I released what I was holding into the expanse of the space and allowed it to flow in and out of me, in and out of every person in the room.

In those moments, I would let the song lead me where it wanted me and others to go. I opened myself up to be used completely. Some of my movements were planned, but most of them were a direct result of whatever emotion was evoked in the present.

I could hear and feel stillness around me. I could see discomfort, panic, longing, and even clarity. I could see people holding their breath, weeping. I could see folks desperately needing each other just to make it through a piece that lasted only three minutes.

Every note, every silence reverberated deeply throughout the space. At the end, I extended my hand to the crowd, palm facing up, and turning my body, I reached up to the cross as I sang a piercing crescendo into the last note.

For me, this was the joining of black bodies to Jesus’ death on the cross. This was our death, the giving up of our spirits to God, our burial, our resurrection, our liberation. Into the cross we went, all in one motion, into the kingdom of heaven, into the arms of God, we released ourselves.

Into the Son’s light, we were free.

Rev. Andria Williamson

EDITOR Sarah Leonard

ASSISTANT EDITOR Ryan Mjumbi

DESIGNER Tessa May

editorial

DESIGNER Gabrielle Banks

ADVISOR

Preston Davis

DESIGNER Gabrielle Banks

team

ADVISOR

Jeri Rowe

Fill your life with adventures, not things.

FINNISH PROVERB