legacy

but in the end, I'd like to hang my hat on more besides the temporary trappings of this world.

I want to leave a legacy - how will they remember me?

If I've learned one lesson over the last two years, it's this: growing up is hard.

I say this as someone who, in many ways, had a pretty seamless transition from university student into life as a "young professional." A lot of things came easy to me, like managing money, grocery shopping and caring for a life other than my own (albeit, a furry one). These things aren't always fun - I don't think I'll ever enjoy watching most of my pay disappear within minutes on bills - but I've always looked a them as part of being an adult. I came complain all I want, but it's not going to make the power bill go away. 

Career-wise, I'll be the first to admit I've been incredibly lucky. I started working for the newspaper about two weeks before graduation and after 16 months of interning, I was offered a full-time position. I often joke that I'll be the junior reporter for my entire time at the paper - I slid into my position just before the hiring freeze in my department and although many editorial positions have been vacated over the last year, that freeze has stayed in place. My company isn't the only one not hiring, either - to say it's challenging to get into the media industry in this province would be an understatement. That's something I'm keenly aware of.

My personal life isn't too bad, either. I have a lot of really amazing friends, a fantastic boyfriend and overall, I'd say I live a pretty comfortable life. 

Which is why I always feel a little foolish admitting I have a lot of anxiety about growing up.  I have so much I am grateful for but I've also been experiencing a tremendous amount of personal dissatisfaction. I struggled for a long time to figure out why - that didn't seem to make a lot of sense to me, taking everything above into consideration - but over the last couple months, I've figured it out.

For so long, my focus has been on the now - what I'm doing to advance my education, my career, my social status, etc. - that I haven't put any significant thought into what I want to leave behind. I've spent a long time working on myself and not nearly enough time serving others.

The problem became clear to me in the spring, when I was in Halifax for the Atlantic Journalism Awards. I was nominated alongside four of my colleagues at the paper so a whole crew of us made the trip to the city for the award banquet. We stayed in a hotel paid for by the company, got dressed up and had a fancy dinner. 

 The awards were on a Saturday night but we went up on Friday and made a weekend of it. Halifax is a great city, easily one of my favourites on the east coast, so it was a lot of fun. I did some shopping (oh boy, did I do some shopping), got to sleep in and generally had a chance to relax.

I also drove about a half-hour outside the city to go to an event at a church. Jason Gray was the musical guest and Shane Claiborne was the guest speaker. He talked about working with Mother Teresa in Calcutta, spending time in Iraq during the bombing in 2003 and the general idea of rejecting materialism and nationalism and living in loving, close community that looks out for one another based on the idea of loving God and loving others. 

I had meant to write about seeing him speak but truth be told, it took me a long time to process what he was saying. I read a few of his books afterward - I was halfway through The Irresistible Revolution when I saw him and I picked up Red Letter Revolution at the event. To say those books struck a chord with me would be an understatement. The messages made so much sense to me. 

They also made me think about my own life, the things I think are of value and, perhaps more significantly, the things that matter a lot less than I once thought.

Like material items.

Like a big balance in my bank account.

Like applause and accolades and plaques to hang on my wall.

That's not to say those things aren't nice - I'm certainly not complaining about being able to have nice things or a little financial security or being recognized for hard work. But in the grand scheme of things, they're not all that important - and they're certainly not what I want to be remembered for.

How do I want to be remembered?

I want to be remembered as someone who saw the things in my life as blessings - who trusted God to give me the things I needed and didn't fret too much for the things I didn't have.

I want to be remembered as someone who thought helping others was more important than hoarding my good fortune. 

I want to be remembered as someone who looked for ways to show kindness - to everyone.

I want to be remembered as someone who constantly chose love over hate, peace over war and speaking life and mercy and grace. I want to be remembered for walking my talk. 

And I don't want these traits and qualities to only be attached to my memory. I want to live them now. 

I didn't win the award for my category. In fact, despite having several nominations as a company, we only walked away with one gold at the award ceremony. But while winning would have been nice, losing was OK, too.

Because ultimately, all I want is the kind of legacy that will lead to hearing Jesus say the words "well done, my good and faithful servant" one day.

Earthly awards of silver and gold can't compare to recognition like that. 

well, I don't know about you but I'm sick and tired 

of life with no desire - I don't want a flame, I want a fire.

I wanna be the one who stands up and says 

"I'm gonna do something!"

wanted: community

I don't wanna ride on somebody else's passion

I don't wanna find that I'm just dry bones. 

Truth: I haven't gone to church in years.

Actually, that's not true. I've gone to services on Christmas eve in Moncton, been to a few special events like concerts and speakers and even covered a few different events which have brought me into a place of worship. 

One Easter, I spent the morning in a gymnasium, covering a Catholic service for a church that had burned to the ground in December.  During the local music festival, I went to recitals held in church halls and I've gone to the local synagogue every year since I started working at the newspaper to cover the Holocaust remembrance service. 

But I haven't attended a Sunday service since I stopped going home to Nova Scotia during the summer. 

If you know me from home, this might come as a surprise.

I started going to my home church when I was about eight or nine years old. It wasn't a family thing -  my brother and I started going to youth group with the kids next door and over time, several other kids in the neighbourhood started going, too. The pastor, his wife and a few others at the church would come to our place (no one in the neighbourhood had a car and the church was the next town over) and we'd all pile into the cars for the trip. And when I say pile, I mean pile - we likely broke some occupancy rules making those trips from Porter's Lane to Munroe Avenue. Eventually, the group had grown to such a size that it merited purchasing a 15-passenger van and driving home, there were so many stops to drop people off that it was like riding a transit bus. No one complained, though.

I met Jesus through youth group. I'm not sure exactly when I decided to start going to Sunday services, but it didn't take long for the church to become a big part of my life. I went to teen group, started teaching Sunday school, sang in the choir and became a regular volunteer at vacation bible school. It got to a point where if I wasn't at school, at work or out with friends, there was a pretty good chance I was at church. My church community was really important to me - it still is, even though I don't get home all that often.

For a lot of the friends I've made in Fredericton, this is surprising for a different reason. The first time I talked about teaching Sunday school or singing in church choir, the response was to the effect of "wow, I never would have guessed you were into that." Sad as that is, though, it's not surprising given  the season I ventured into when I went off to university.

Not to mention even if I wanted to go to church, it would have been a challenge - I worked every Sunday, first at the grocery store and later at the campus paper. Between work and travel time, Sunday services haven't fit my schedule in years.

For the body is not one member, but many.

1 Corinthians 12:14

  

Why write about this now? Why does this matter? Because for the last few months, I've been feeling a little stalled and the more I think about it, the more sure I am it's the result of a lack of community.

Since last spring, I've done a lot on my own to encourage spiritual growth. I didn't just start reading my bible - I started studying it. I started taking prayer seriously and actually thinking about what being a follower of Christ should look like.

And it's been great. My commitment to Jesus and his Kingdom is stronger now than it's ever been. But there's only so much you can do on your own.

I just finished reading Shane Claiborne and Tony Campolo's Red Letter Revolution. I've had the book since May, when Jeff and I saw Shane speak at a church in Bedford while we were in Halifax for the Atlantic Journalism Awards, but my to-read pile has been pretty big so it took a while to get to it.

One of the things Shane talks about - when he speaks and in his writing - is the importance of community, which includes the church. The third chapter of the book with Tony addresses the church and essentially says while it's more important to be a follower of Jesus, the church is still a valuable institution despite it's flaws. Although the two men point out the fact that many young people attracted to Red Letter Christianity see this as a reason to turn to "religionless Christianity," they argue it's more beneficial to work toward creating the church we want than complaining about the one we have.

"God is restoring all things. Institutions like the church are broken just like people, and they are being healed and redeemed. So I think of the church kind of like a dysfunctional parent. It's been famously said, "The church is a whore, but she's my mother."

The church needs discontentment. It is a gift to the kingdom, but we have to use our discontentment to engage rather than to disengage. We need to be part of repairing what is broken rather than jumping ship. One of the pastors in my neighbourhood said 'I like to think about the church like Noah's Ark. That old boat must have stunk bad inside. But if you try to get out, you'll drown.'"

Red Letter Revolution, Dialogue on the Church, pg. 22

I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to address my situation yet. The nature of my job means planning is a little more complicated and I haven't spent enough time looking at what my area has to offer yet.

But while I haven't worked through the fine details or logistics yet, I do know what I want. I'm not just looking for a congregation where people come together on Sunday morning, spend a few hours together and go their separate ways until next week. I want people who take what Jesus had to say seriously and who speak life and look for ways to bring their faith to life in a way that shows Jesus to others.

What I don't want is lukewarm fellowship with lukewarm people. I want a place where people are passionate about loving Jesus, loving others and loving well.