Tag Archives: work

what are we doing?

what-are-we-doing-

In the middle of multiple meetings lately, either starting with coffee because it is far too early or in the morning, or starting with coffee because it is far too late in the evening, I find myself in the middle of multiple meetings.

There are papers and computers and skyped-in video faces and clicking pens and reshuffled papers and dogs under the table because that’s the way it works when we are meeting whenever and wherever we can.

And I find myself often in these meetings wondering what in the world I have gotten myself into. I will either have a dining room filled with two bodies and one skyped-in face arguing and agreeing and praying our way through to a more hopeful and sustainable work in another country with real people with real skills and dreams and aspirations, or I will find myself in a dining room looking across a kitchen, a living room and a den filled with students and adults who are learning what it means to follow Christ into their own city. We talk about what truama-informed care looks like, what it means to view others through a lens of strengths instead of through a lens of shortcomings, and what we are actually doing when we are serving in low-income, high-crime neighborhoods a few miles from my home.

And I look at both of these groups, all people I am falling deeply in love with and flying highly in respect with, and wonder what in the world we are doing. Who let us be responsible for these tasks, and who knows we are learning as we go? I often feel as though I snuck into a grown up world, and the bouncers didn’t catch me, the Deans didn’t notice, and the bosses didn’t pay attention before putting me in these positions.

So knowing that I am leaning into the work at the same time as I am learning it, I find myself most amazed at what God insists on doing through my own ignorance, unpreparedness, and incompetence. We take seriously the discipline of learning and asking and pushing and working, but the generosity of God is the only thing which actually moves us from point A to point B.

And so we keep moving. From dining room table to living room floor, we lean into whatever it means to live out the kingdom of God in León or in Jackson or in wherever in God’s name we end up living something out. We pray we do it well knowing all the while that we are quite a mess.

I went to the grocery store last week in my pajamas and saw three people I know, but not well enough to make a joke about being in my pajamas. I went to a service with church two weeks ago and in a rush had only trimmed half of my beard.

I am what I am, and we are what we are, and while we don’t know exactly what we’re doing, we are doing what we know to do and working to do it better, more effectively, more educatedly, more honestly, more humanly day by day. We are reading and studying and listening and praying our tails off, but we have to move now. It’s worth filling up dining room tables and living room floors for, I would say. It is in breaking bread and coming together that God let’s us know what is next.

We don’t know what we are doing, but he does. And as long as we are diligently working to learn and seek and know more about what we’re doing, he makes the kingdom come. We merely jump in.

djordan
Pine Tree

Donald is privileged to work with a ridiculously awesome staff at Area Relief Ministries, a local non-profit in Jackson, Tennessee working to alleviate suffering, promote dignity and foster hope in a multitude of ways. He also serves on the Board of Directors with three other very talented and influential individuals for El Ayudante, Nicaragua who seeks to work with the Nicaraguan people to transform the nation. These meeting often end up happening in Donald’s living room and dining room, which make living at Pine Tree worthwhile in and of themselves. Check out Area Relief Ministries and El Ayudante | Nicaragua online.

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worth more than a lazy saturday

more-than-lazy-saturdays

I won’t lie. To all my friends with children, jobs that carry them into the weekend, life that carries them over the edge…I wont lie. I usually sleep in on Saturdays. If I’m in town, which is becoming less and less, I don’t think twice about the thrill of sleeping in till nine or ten on Saturday mornings, waking up then only because the dogs begin to insist on it. And I wont lie that most Saturday mornings it’s the perfect thing for me to do.

Be jealous, if you wish.

Today, however, is worth more jealousy than sleeping-in-Saturdays.

This morning at eight I’m ringing the doorbell to meet for a few hours and discuss the art of counseling, to be given encouragement in y wise steps and wisdom in my ignorant steps. And coffee. To be given coffee at eight in the morning since I usually sleep in on Saturday mornings. For two and a half hours beginning at eight in the morning there is discussion over what it means to listen well, to practice well, to watch well and to craft well. Counseling is, as I’m learning, more the art of listening for what the person speaking has known all along but can’t hear himself say, can’t hear herself know. until someone shines it back on them, both sides becoming changed. This morning at eight in the morning, cup of coffee soon to be in hand, I’m ringing the doorbell ready to discuss the art and privilege of therapy.

This morning at ten-thirty, or a few minutes late because the first conversation went long…but we knew that it would…I find myself walking through another door to another meeting. I find myself, new cup of coffee in hand sitting around a huge kitchen table with people I know and people I don’t know. I find myself sitting with people who share, above all, a heart not for names or labels or agendas but a heart for the kingdom and all it involves. I find myself sitting, a little late for a ten-thirty meeting, around a table with people who have won my respect and people who quickly earned it talking big and thinking hard and dreaming wide about what it means for business and food and health and poverty and community to get smushed together in one hopeful spot. Passing the brownies, the hope of a community sitting around tables together having a party as we were this morning. This morning a few minutes after ten-thirty I find myself in the middle of a moment I wont soon forget because a little piece of kingdom come happened around that table this morning while brownies were being passed.

And at twelve forty-five I find myself sitting across the booth from a good friend for late lunch. Laughter and hats and glasses and jeans because it’s Saturday morning after all. The questions thrown out over salads and salmon about what it might mean to follow Jesus beyond harmful clichés or ceramic crosses and into the streets and the cubicles and the living rooms where vengeance is king and jealousy rages and a feeling like maybe we’re a little behind pushes fast and furious into our hearts. Passing the crackers and stacking the napkins, questions thrown out about where we went wrong or where we went right and how we might learn to tell the difference between the two, how we might assume there’s a difference at all. Back to our cars and back to our homes for errands and work and a little time for play, because it’s Saturday afternoon of course.

And then in the evening, a last minute text. Dinner around the table, prepared as we chat. Children run wildly with giggles and stories and hopeful surprises of what it mean to see their eyes and takes on the world. Sitting down in those familiar seats we find ourselves between laughter and tears because so much is known and so much has been seen. Together. There’s no catching up so only the present is told: where we are, what we wonder and what we all hope. Sweats and pullovers, secrets unhidden, because after all it’s a lazy Saturday evening dinner.

And so most Saturdays I don’t think twice, when I can, to sleep late and give thanks that I have the weekend. But today, in the hustle and the few minutes late, I give thanks that I’m surrounded by people pushing well and pushing hard and pushing often into the thin space where we’ve been taught to pray and taught what it means for his kingdom to come and his will to be done on this dusty earth now as it is in his heaven.

djordan
Pine Tree

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small circles

small-circles

I sincerely hope for good results,
but I have become a good deal disillusioned
over ‘big’ conferences and large gatherings.
I pin my hopes to quiet processes and small circles,
in which vital and transforming events take place.
+ Rufus Jones

Over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself in small circles,
I’ve been sitting around high-top tables and around piles of plastic bottles and stickers.
I’ve been sitting around conference room tables and around coworkers’ offices.
I’ve been kneeled around communion rails and sitting around workshop training rooms.

There has been good intention in planing and good work in presenting
There has been insight and growth

But the magic happens after
in the conversations we find ourselves stuck in
the new acquaintances who will become our partners in the work
the faces paired with names who will become our collaborators
the other small circles on whom our small circles will become dependent.

And in this magic
there’s the promise of
the upside-down kingdom
lights out
curtain closed
microphones off
ties undone
shirts untucked
shoes kicked off
clinking of glasses and
laughter that steals our breath

And in this magic
there’s the promise of
the upside-down kingdom
and what has
always been done like only God does
when the small circles take on
the principalities and powers
the systems and the injustices
the sicknesses and the ignorances
in ourselves and in others
and we see
a little bit clearer
the reflection in the mirror of who we’ve been made to be.

In the small circles and quiet processes
we pin our hopes.
This is what we’ve always done.

djordan
Pine Tree Dr.

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when christmas is over, the work begins

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When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart.

“The Work of Christmas”
Howard Thurman

 

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this is happening

The church calendar calls into consciousness the existence of a world uninhabited by efficiency, a world filled with the excessiveness of saints, ashes, smoke, and fie; it fills my heart with both dread and hope. It tells of journeys and mysteries, things “seen and unseen,” the world of the almost known. It dreams impossibilities: a sea divided in two, five thousand fed by a loaf and two fishes, a man raised from the dead. My daily calendar reminds me that what I experience in the wold of faith must be measured against what I see, what is happening around me. + Nora Gallagher

The last two or three weeks have found me enslaved to my calendar. The calendar, however, has been filled with meetings and classes and groups and sessions that often find me wondering afterward if there is any reward in seeking and more so doing justice. But there is a rhythm to it. This past Sunday, visiting a church that has grown fond to me for multiple reasons, I found myself partaking of the bread and the wine, and the moment froze in time, or at its fastest began moving in slow motion.

+++

I totaled my car several months ago in transit from my great grandmother’s funeral to the graveside service. I remember as the car began spinning and flipping. I took my hands away from the wheel and put them in my lap. There was no screaming, no cussing, no praying, no yelling. I remember seeing slowly, the way movies freeze the frame for scenes like these.

And I remember thinking nothing other than, “this is happening.”

+++

Last Sunday morning was much the same. I was kneeling, looking three people over at the two boys of close friends kneeling also with their parents, and I felt the thickness of tears flood to my bottom eyelids. I grinned, and time slowed down. I kneeled there, participating in a kind of holy moment that I’ve participated in for more than twenty years. I had no control, no wisdom, no input, no heavy thoughts.

And I remember thinking nothing other than, “this is happening.”

These last several weeks have found me feeling slave to my calendar and slave to my intentions. I’ve wondered if the things I hope for and the things I end up being willing to stick my neck out for are actually worth it. I’ve wondered if it’s worth seeking justice, because the strong are louder and find immediate reward. I’ve wondered if doing the right thing, while potentially unpopular, is ultimately the right thing. I’ve wondered if my personal reputation is worth the suffering of a nameless person. I’ve wondered if a paycheck that brings more stress than income is worth whatever work I hope I am doing.

But when I knelt at that rail to take the bread and wine, and join in histories of men and women across the globe doing the same thing, and wondering the same things, and especially looking three people over to see my little buddies kneeling at the same rail, I remember thinking nothing other than, “this is happening, and I give thanks. And ask for courage.”

djordan
Pine Tree

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some days we open our eyes

 

 

Some days we open our eyes

and can tell immediately that we are filled with wonder and excitement.
Other days, we open our eyes
and call tell immediately that we are fill with grumpiness and boredom.
And yet the task is at hand
regardless of the way we see the day at hand
in our rolling-over, getting up state.
And you are the maker of all things new,
and we are a vessel of all things new,
Whether we wake up in the mood or not .
Be our coffee.
Be our tea.
Be our reason to start wide-eyed.
And be our reason,
when all is said and done,
to sleep soundly
knowing that all is not well, and all will be well.
djordan
Pine Tree

 

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roasting dad | sailing in a new direction

Dad was roasted today, his last official day at Rainey Kizer, by the firm and partnership he has been a part of since I was born. He is beginning (continuing) a career as a professor, and today he was roasted by the firm, and his two boys, in celebration of his leaving Rainey Kizer and moving forward as professor. Here are my brother’s words, which I read since he couldn’t be there, as well as my own.

From James

  • He somehow managed to sit behind a computer for the last 35 years and never learned how to type.
    • 8-year-olds can type.
    • He taught himself Greek.
    • He put himself through law school.
    • He taught himself guitar and bass in a very small and impressive amount of time.
    • Can’t type.
    • And refuses to learn now, for some reason.
    • He’s like a duck: capable of graceful, migratory flight, but holds up traffic to walk across the road.
  • For a man with such an organized mind, able to hold fast an organic thread of truth and draw it out of anyone in a legal setting, he’s almost completely devoid of social discretion.
    • He spaces out during conversations, then chimes in with something you just said like he thought of it himself.
    • He stares at cute babies until everyone’s uncomfortable.
    • At a restaurant, try to discreetly point out someone behind him: “Okay, Greg. Don’t look yet, but—“    “WHERE!”
    • And my personal favorite: when he unwittingly says something impolite and then goes, “OW! Someone kicked me under the table!”
  • He once challenged me to a foot race when I was 15. He claims to have won in a “photo finish” (of which there are none). Whoever won, at least my back wasn’t messed up for three days.
  • He used to ask Donald and I for fashion advice. We always agreed his pants should ride a little lower. And he would always say, “This. Is where. I wear. My pants.” Whether he thought he looked good and just wanted someone to agree with him, or he was teaching us a lesson about what it’s like dealing with teenagers who don’t take your advice, his pants were always too high.
    • For further evidence of untaken fashion advice, wander casually around our home and you’ll find beach photos of shorts too short riding too high, compensated by gym socks pulled to their utmost length.
    • You’ll also find an almost infinite number of outdoor photos where he’s wearing sandals and socks.
  • He used to say, “Be careful,” every time I left the house, as if I might not think to do that otherwise.
  • I looked out the back window once while he was working in the yard. He was silhouetted against the setting sun holding the weed-eater above his head with both arms. Then he smashed it on the ground.
  • But he’s a great guy, and we all love him. Here’s to Dad. Cheers.

From Donald

We’ve never wanted to dress like him, but we’ve always wanted to resemble him.

We’ve never wanted to tell jokes like him, but we’ve always wanted to laugh often like him.

We’ve never wanted to drive off-route on the way to the beach to find some arm from the civil war buried somewhere in the woods, but we’ve always wanted to learn and keep learning like him.

We’ve never wanted to become lawyers––no offense to everyone in the room––but
we’ve always wanted to grow up to be like him.

He’s one of the only two people I know who––as he gets older––keeps getting younger and younger, and cooler and cooler.

We love you Dad. Congratulations.

***

While it’s always a gift to have a father whose reputation of integrity, gentleness and generosity precedes him, I will never forget what it means to turn 60 and decide you have something new to do and a new way to play to enjoy meaningful work. Thanks, Dad. From both of your boys.

djordan
Pine Tree

RELATED POSTS | If you need anything… | To Dad on Father’s day | failure of imagination

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in the middle of a meeting

we often find ourselves in meetings
sitting around tables
clicking keys on laptops
and scribbles of doodle and words soon forgotten
written on pads and scraps and notebooks
we find ourselves in meetings all the time

and we love our work
and we are used to being tired
and we are used to being grateful
and we are used to working hard
and we are used to hoping our hard work is a part
of something that looks like the kingdom in our midst

and we are used to sitting in meetings
sitting around tables
trying to plan and execute.

What we are not used to, though
is the every now and then meeting that leaves
our hearts thumping louder than the keys,
scribbles and doodles and imagination racing
through our minds too fast to come out of our mouths
we are not used to these kinds of meetings
even though they happen all the time

with new partners and new friends
with new dreams and new imaginations
with new needs and new visions
with new prayers and new hopes

where we realize, for those brief moments,
the rules have changed
the ideals have changed
the agenda has changed
the reason has changed
the meaning has changed
the implications have changed

the group of women and men sitting around the table realize
together
that something from another realm is happening
smack dab in the middle of a meeting with
clicking keys
scribbles
doodles
pads
notebooks
and ourselves.

the kind of meetings we often find ourselves in.
And so smack dab in the middle of a meeting
we give thanks.

djordan
S Church Street

RELATED POSTS
in the shadows of great ambitions | failure to imagine | crack our great ambitions | calling out in the darkness

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monday mornings are the clearest view

Monday mornings are the clearest view

of the sharp contrast in which

we live and breathe:

the ideals of the weekend

Saturday and its rest

Sunday and its ethereal musings.

And then Monday morning;

push comes to shove

injustice comes to work

greed comes to pocketbooks

arrogance comes to interactions

distraction comes to dinner tables.

And instead of pushing to bring

the truth of the weekend into play on Monday morning,

we are tempted to

wait for the weekend

and curse the week.

But the week waits desperately.

djordan
Pine Tree

RELATED POSTS: the way a snail carries his shell | the presence of absence

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