"Our pedagogy must aim to instill humility in the dogmatists who are sure all their beliefs are correct, but also to instill hope in the skeptics and relativists who despair over attaining even a modicum of certitude." 

(Moroney, Phelps, & Waalkes, The Schooled Heart: Moral Formation in American Higher Education)

The past week of events in the U.S., conversations around higher education, ISIS, mass shootings, Syrian refuges, tempts me to despair. The lack of virtue in these conversations, the quickness to react, control, and defend, breaks my heart, such a need for humility, hope, and patience.

God, grant me the ability to listen and hear, seeking first to understand before making my opinions and positions known. Father, remind me your love for each person you created, that you are redeeming our world. Thank you for sending your Son into the world, to be present, to not leave us on our own.

"We may ask why God has sent us into this time, why he has sent this whirlwind over the earth, why he keeps us in this chaos where all appears hopeless and dark and why there seems to be no end to this in sight. The answer to this question is perhaps that we were living on earth in an utterly false and counterfeit security. And now God strikes the earth till it resounds, now he shakes and shatters; not to pound us with fear, but to teach us one thing -- the spirit's innermost moving and being moved....

Here is the message of Advent: faced with him who the Last, the world will begin to shake. Only when we do not cling to false securities will our eyes be able to see this Last One and get to the bottom of things. Only then will we be able to guard our life from the frights and terrors into which God the Lord has let the world sink to teach us, so that we may awaken from sleep, as Paul says, and see that it is time to repent, time to change things. It is time to say, "All right, it was night; but let that be over now and let us be ready for the day." We must do this with a decision that comes out of these very horrors we have experienced and all that is connected with them; and because of this our decision will be unshakable even in uncertainty."

(Alfred Delp, "The Shaking Reality of Advent")

"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us,
and we have seen his glory,
glory as of the only Son from the Father,
full of grace and truth." 

(John 1:14)

Three years ago, we left on the 4th, skipped the 5th, and arrived September 6th in Christchurch. Technically, it was yesterday if you consider time change and all that business. I remember feeling excited, adventurous, full of hope and possibility.

I am notorious for romanticizing an experience after-the-fact, of attempting to assign meaning to even the difficult, so I want to be careful. Even if the moving to New Zealand was good, it also required leaving. With time, that moment became harder -- I didn't know hugging my father-in-law at the airport would be the last time.

I wish I could tell you that the choice to live out nudges from God is immediately rewarding -- it might be but it also might be really difficult. Regardless I'm learning that the reward or harvest is not really the point. The lesson is the living out, becoming thoughtful and aware to wherever the path leads, whether we have little control or complete freedom in where it goes. The journey, in itself, is so important, maybe more than the end.

New Zealand was for me, and still is, a place of learning, a place of believing, a place of letting go. I find myself still realizing ways it changed me. I still find myself rooting for the people I loved and even for those who were difficult. I still pray, letting go of my ability to control, trusting the Spirit to be moving.

Even now, when my heart feels drawn to the people and places I miss -- it was worth it. Even now, as I readjust to this change in path and rediscovering something different -- it was worth it. I believe in the need and power of God's love -- in all things and seasons and places. That's why we went to New Zealand and hoped to give. And that's what we gained, a deeper understanding of his love. It's not finished, it's still playing out as we walk with God.

We did it, four weeks between Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The world feels so small and big simultaneously. I am deeply aware of how overly privileged I am, not everyone gets this opportunity. Like Sao in this photo, my favorite tour guide, who might never visit anywhere beyond her own village. She has never attended school, taught herself English by speaking with tourists, has climbed Mount Fansipan four times, she's incredible. Traveling makes me feel such a responsibility to the world. I'm still wrestling and processing how this experience has or should change me, but more importantly how that can help me give back to others.

For now, all I can say is thank you to the beautiful places and kind people in these countries.

Many goodbyes this past week: work, friends, our church and city. As we left the South Island on the ferry, Picton grew smaller until it disappeared. It just fit. The last two and half years have been a mix of blue skies and grey clouds, it's been beautiful and an hono(u)r to call New Zealand home. The people who have loved us faithfully through beginnings and now leaving, I can't thank you enough.

mt fyffe

We woke early Friday morning and started our two hour drive. Arrived to Kaikoura, pleasantly surprised to find the mountains dusted with snow. Being a holiday weekend, we thought the track would be busy, but found ourselves first to the hut. Alone to rest, read, reflect. The clouds started to clear in the afternoon so we approached the summit. One thousand six hundred and two meters to the tippy top.

Back to the hut, we drank tea, Logan chopped firewood, made dinner. Acquainted ourselves with our roommates for the evening. Originating from Barcelona, Channel Islands, Malaysia, Netherlands, to name a few. Logan and I may have been the only two from the same country. We shared chocolate and exchanged stories, warmed by the fire as the clouds and rain approached, then quieting ourselves to bed, giving our muscles and joints much needed rest.

I woke up freezing, the fire out, moved from my bunk to Logan's in hope of some warmth. The hut in a cloud, no sight of a sunrise. Eventually the clouds cleared, the mountains with new snow, the sun brighter and warmer than the day prior, making a pleasant descent.

This next season is going to be full, busy and different, good and hard. I know we will need to seek similar moments of solitude and rest. I came across a line in my book, seems fitting of our time on the mountain, but also a prayer for the coming months: "Humble joy. Extant gratitude. Active hope. Patient waiting" (Michael Yankoski, The Sacred Year).

"'This attentiveness to the wind becomes the main task---no, that's not the right word---the main art of sailing. We must both attend to the wind and then respond to whatever it is that the wind is doing. We trim our sails, adjust our course, somethings we even exchange one sail for another---whatever it takes so as to be in the most receptive place given what the wind is doing. Our attentiveness to the wind allows the wind to move us.'

Father Solomon was smiling as he spoke. 'And---if you'll indulge me for a moment---this metaphor becomes all the more fascinating given that in Jesus' time there was only a single word for 'breath,' 'wind,' and 'spirit,' 'The Spirit of God,' 'The Breath of God,' and 'The Wind of God' are all accurate translations of a common New Testament phrase, a phrase that basically means Get Ready: God is up to something!'"

(Michael Yankoski, The Sacred Year)