Recasting

1955-1990                                                          1990-2017

It has been a while since we talked Muppets on the site. And it just so happens there is Muppet news that I have thoughts on. It was announced on July 10th of this year that the current performer for Kermit the Frog, Steve Whitmire, would be stepping down.

Much of the noise around this announcement as boiled down to age old troupes of Creator vs. Corporation. And in my humble opinion there is no clear good guy in this announcement.  From what I have heard and read I believe both parties actions led to this divorce of artist from the business of the Muppets. And I am not really interested in declaring a winner. What follows are just some of my thoughts and reflections on the news.

Muppet performers are more than voice actors. While there are times where one person will puppeteer and a voice is dubbed over, the standard for the Muppets has long been that movement and voice originate from the same performer. This marriage of movement and sound leads to character. More than that it leads to a character. Fans of the Muppets often refer to the performer as the soul of the character. So when these characters change hands, they do more than change voice actors. A recasting for the Muppets isn't simply a matter of inflection or pitch that is changed, the character themselves undergo a change.

And yes, I did just use the words character, soul, and self to describe two half ping pong balls glued onto a scrap of green fabric. But that is what makes the Muppets so great. At there core the Muppets are a magic trick. I know that they are felt and foam. I know that there is a rod holding their arms up, and a human being manipulating all of it just below frame. However, like with all good magic, it is not a matter of suspension of disbelief or nostalgia or even a sense of imagination that causes me to care about these characters. It is the fact that I forget that they are just foam and felt. I forget that they aren't real. My mind is taken to a place where reality is bent and pigs can sing, bears tell jokes, and frogs can dance.

The first time Kermit was recast was in 1990 following the death of Jim Henson. Jim's death led to questions about the future of the Muppets. News then came out that the Muppets would continue. This led to the question whether the character of Kermit would continue. News then came out that Kermit would be recast. This led to the question of whether Kermit would be the same if someone else preformed him.

Now various Muppets have changed performers in the past. And for the most part, even when it is different, the trick is still pretty good. But this news in not merely about a new performer hoping to recreate the same magic. This is about Kermit.

If the performer is the soul of the character, then Kermit is the soul of the Muppets. And this reason is simple. Kermit was created whole cloth (if you will excuse the pun) by the man who created the Muppets. I am referring of course to Jim Henson. And to many fans, Kermit wasn't just a creation of Jim, but a reflection. Jim didn't find the character of Kermit. Rather Kermit reflected the character of Jim.

Steve's interpretation of Kermit was rocky at first. And fan debates about the quality of "Jim's Kermit" vs. "Steve's Kermit" continued for many years.  (and still do). For me personally, Steve's Kermit recently became simply Kermit. Character and performer had found their groove. In the midst of the changes brought to these characters over the last two plus decades, Kermit was just finally Kermit again.

And now we move to a new era of the Muppets. Soon we will see the third version of Kermit.

This transition in many ways mirrors my own. I too am stepping into a new role.

I am five weeks into my role as Coordinator of Ministries to Children, Youth and Families at California Heights United Methodist Church.

I am also stepping into the role of caretaker for my mother (her doctor is still trying to find the right balance of meds to keep her heart rate, heart rhythm, and blood pressure all in working order, while also working to maintain blood flow through the stint in her right artery.)

And like Steve, I step into these roles not as originator but as follower. At Cal Heights I follow the person who held the position before me. And in my role with my mother I follow myself. For once my role as son was to be cared for, and now it is to care for.

Next time I will reflect on where I have been and how I got here.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Recasting Jim's charcters

Meanwhile...

Seven Years Ago while sitting in LAX, the idea of the hero's journey as analogous to my own journey began to take hold for me. Since then it has been a major filter for me as I process the events of my life both large and small. It certainly has become a recurring theme for this blog.

My last entry dealt with the in-between place I found myself in. I anticipated this entry to be about waiting and choice. I thought I would be writing about how the hero's journey ends when the hero returns home (or at the very least finds a new place of rest). I expected to be writing that now rather than seeing my journey like Frodo returning to the Shire or Alice finding her way back to the tree by the river bank, I felt my journey had become a series of quests with rest still far in sight.

This would be true Sunday to Thursday.

Two things happened on Thursday.
I received a text asking if I was available for a phone call with Pastor Doug of Cal Heights United Methodist Church here in Long Beach, and my mom started to feel feverish around 11:00 pm.

Friday morning two more things happened.
My mom woke me up at 1:10 am complaining of fatigue and shortness of breath and asked me to dial 9-1-1. The ambulance arrived shortly thereafter. From the emergency room my mom was wheeled directly into surgery to have a shunt placed to flush out a 99% blockage in her right artery. By 5:00 am my mom was in the ICU and allowed to get some rest. I went home and slept for a couple of hours.

At 9:00 am my phone rang. It was the call from Pastor Doug. We discussed the denomination and the position they had available. We talked a little shop. He asked if I could come in on Monday for lunch. He then went on say "after that I will show you the church, I will take you to where we do our background checks, and then we can get you started." I realized that with no formal interview I had just been offered a position at Cal Heights United Methodist.

Obviously I needed time to think.
I truly had no idea what was going to happen from day to day. Some days my mom was fine and being discharged the next day looked hopeful. Other days I was asking the doctors if my brother should be buying a plane ticket to come see her.

The position that was offered was for a part-time interim Youth director. Not exactly what I was looking for.

In the midst of all this, there was also a lack of clarity as to what my mom would need when she left the hospital.

Then I had the hero's journey redefined for me.
Above I spoke about the hero's journey being one of returning home. In fact I wrote something very similar before I left for Copperopolis. Yet somewhere in the last six months I had grown a desire to be great and important. To have others know of my work and my calling. To have others know of me. I had defined for myself the hero's journey as a quest of greatness, a proof of my value and worth.

Somewhere underneath my desire to be present, to make a difference right where I was, I had grown restless and allowed outside voices to be the barometer for my worth. I had allowed others view of my calling and work to be the definition of those things.

To be brutally honest, I am still processing all of this. 
Still looking to find meaning in it all.
Still trying to find the balance. Not wanting to make this last month one of fate, seeing these events as necessary for God to work. And yet, not wanting to make them mean nothing seeing them as pure happenstance.


--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Tune in Next Time.. When our hero has some distance and clarity on all this to share with you all, or simply uses this space to rant about Kermit the Frog.

Now what?

Let's just cut to the chase.

I am no longer employed by CCBC. June 25 was my last day of service for that congregation.

I found out that I would be leaving the church the same week that I posted my previous blog. And for now we are going to let it serve as the recap of my time there. It will serve as my public thanks for the opportunity to serve that congregation.

Which leads us to the titular question, Now What?

I'm not totally sure. I have some irons in the fire as they say. More on those when I can talk about them.

Beyond where I will land next, I still find myself asking the question, Now What?

When I began this blog, I saw the goal of arriving at the destination as the purpose of life.  I was never one to enjoy the trip itself. While working at ARCG I began to see this life we live as a journey. I learned to stop and look around. To appreciate where I was in the moment. I began to notice and learn from where I was, rather than needing to spend all my energy worried about where I was going or why I wasn't there yet.

However, where I have been lately hasn't been all that enjoyable. I left three places of employment that I truly enjoyed (one of which I never even began), broke my elbow, and had my car of seven years finally stop working. All of these experiences have left me wanting to end the journey to finally arrive somewhere.

And yet, in this same time frame I found two churches that taught me about community and communion, I have seen my gifts and talents married to a calling that impacted my life and the lives around me, and I got a front row seat to the first year of the life of my niece.

When I see everything on balance I am called back into an understanding of life as journey not simply as destination. I am called back into trusting that God is present with us. I am able to once again stop and look around. To appreciate where I am in the moment. I begin again to notice and learn from where I am.

What this all means about the direction I am walking in, I am not yet sure. I am still reflecting on all of that. But if my current understanding holds, next time we will get back to mixing over analysis of superheroes with my personal theology.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away

--Jesse Letourneau

Romans 12:15

So what have I have I been up to?

Before I left Houston, I bragged that I could make twenty hours of ministry work look like forty. I figured that life would be simple and easy. I thought I would find time to substitute to make more money and that I would have time for all the leisure I could afford.

I thank all of you who knew that to not be true, but allowed me to find out on my own. There are days now where I feel like I am making fifty or sixty hours of work look like twenty. But even more importantly, I am learning that this job isn't about leisure or money or even the hours.

In the last seventeen weeks,

I have had to stop my car to allow quail, wild turkey, and the occasional bovine to cross the road.

I spoke at a local Christian Elementary Chapel.

I transported four car loads of 6th to 12th graders to an establishment known as John's Incredible Pizza (think of Chuck E. Cheese's for older kids or Dave & Busters for younger kids) and back without loosing anyone.

Attended volleyball and basketball games, as well as the occasional school play

Found Target, Trader Joe's, and In-N-Out

Sold fundraising tickets outside of the local grocery store

Witness to the adoption of a child into his new home

Set-up and tear-down for the church's clothing give away ministry

Participated in the church's food pantry ministry

Found respite at a local coffee shop (that serves amazing deli sandwiches) and even made it to the movies on occasion

Countless games of Uno

Helped repaint and redecorate the nursery space

Participated in two Easter Services and an Easter Potluck Brunch

Found two Bible studies (one where I am the oldest and one where I am the youngest)

Attended the world famous Calaveras County Jumping Frog Jubilee

Planned and executed weekly Elementary School Outreach, Sunday School, Junior High, and High School Ministry, as well as getting to preach twice

What I have found through all of this, is that ministry isn't even about the doing. It is about being. 

What I have been is teacher, chaperone, local sports fan, witness, cheerleader, supporter, encourager, creator of space and a servant to set the table, testifier, preacher, and participant.

I am grateful each of these opportunities and anticipate what the ones that lie ahead.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Some pics of the doing/being

Two Years Ago

The fact that when we view things from a new location  it causes us to see things differently fascinates me. The relocation caused by time is one of the most poignant ways this occurs (at least in my own life).

Time creates such a new perspective.
Sometimes nostalgia clouds reality.
Other times the distance of time gives one the space to see things clearly.

And then there is the work of reinterpretation. Last time I wrote about how one particular day was understood differently once time had added new experiences into the equation. A day that started in sharp pain and ended in faint hope has become a day of clear hope and distant pain. This shift of perspective was sparked by the "On This Day" feature of Facebook.

Once again, Facebook has brought me memories whose meanings have been refracted through the funhouse mirror lens of time. Two years ago I lived in Chicago. It was less than two weeks from graduation. I had zero idea of what the future held.

I did not know where my journey would take me after walking across the stage to receive my diploma. I was doing my best to remain present. To take in all the things that I would encounter in those last weeks in Chicago. I began to post on Facebook a list of the things that I would miss the most.

On April 27th, 2015 my Facebook status read, "I'm gonna miss doing something two years in a row and calling it a tradition. #ThingsIllMiss #NPTS #13days" The initial meaning of that sentiment dealt with where I ate Thanksgiving Dinner or attending Great America's Fright Fest. It referenced who I spent time with after church on Easter Sunday, and most importantly what film was viewed later that day.

The idea was that my journey through seminary was limited from the very start. I entered into that season knowing that it was going to end and it was going to end soon. There would be only four Thanksgivings that would be celebrated in that community. Only four Easter Sundays. The tradition of attending Fright Fest didn't begin until my second year at North Park. It only happened three times.

I turn 40 this September. Being born in the fall, I have already celebrated forty Thanksgiving meals and forty Easter celebrations. How could a mere ten percent of those ever truly be called traditions? But that was the fun of labeling any repeated annual activity a tradition. Knowing that time was limited and calling anything a tradition was a way to mark that our time was fleeting. It was a way to lament that this community would not last. And it was a way to celebrate the fact that while we were still together we could find celebrations and rhythms to call our own.

Yesterday, I attended a meeting of volunteer parents to plan a Fun Day at the local elementary school. Bounce Houses, Photo Booths, and Organized Games were all discussed. We spent several minutes discussing what worked in the past and what we should replace. We discussed the idea that the kids might be bored with the craft that has been done the last two years. The counter to that was that because we have already done it two years in a row the kids might be expecting it (i.e. it had become a tradition).

At North Park the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition was encased by the idea that these rituals would not last. The concept itself was marked by irony.

Now the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition is encased in expectations and marked by the reality of this new community.

As I read Facebook this morning, I was struck by the fact that two years ago I viewed time and tradition as fleeting. I didn't know what would happen next. I couldn't even really imagine a time and place grounded and enduring.  And now?

Now, I have entered a season where time and tradition are the bedrock of my community. They are the foundations of the ministry I find myself a part of.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
(The preceding blog was written on 4/27/17, and published on 5/8/17)

The Song Goes On

I have written briefly about my struggle to find my footing in the early parts of 2016 as well as the challenges faced that summer. Today, I would like to focus in on one particular day. February 10.

Quick background: In January of 2016, I had a phone interview in Houston that led to an in person interview in Chicago, that led to the words, "You are the candidate, if you don’t accept the position we start over." What I understood that to mean was that I had been offered a job. I was flown out to Washington to see the church and meet the congregation. I attended and participated in meetings casting vision for the second service they were starting in six weeks. I left to the words, "There is a vote on Tuesday, and we will call you Wednesday."

I understood the vote to be a formality. I understood that I would soon be called to serve at that church. Over the next two and half days, I packed up and fit everything I owned into my Honda Civic.
Wednesday morning I placed the last tub into the Civic, and came back in to check my email. A member of the search committee had just sent an email that simply read, "Is now a good time to call?" I replied that it was. During that call, I was told that the vote had not gone in my favor. I no longer understood myself to be called to serve at that church.


That was February 10, 2016.

My body honestly went into shock. I didn’t know what do or say. I had clothes and toiletries set aside for the anticipated drive to Washington, so I didn’t need to get anything out of the car right away. I left everything in my car and went into my now empty room and laid on the floor.
While I didn’t feel like hope was present, I knew I wanted to act as though it was. I went to my car to retrieve a single item.





The first item I retrieved from my Honda Civic on 2-10-16


That item was a present given to me Christmas of 2014 by my (soon to be) sister-in-law. Readers of this blog will know that I have a fixation on Gonzo from the Muppet troupe. Sara (my now sister-in-law) painted me an image of Gonzo taken from the final moments of the old Muppet Show. Each week, Gonzo would appear at the end of the theme song and attempt to play the final note. He never succeeded. He was beset by a series of malfunctions, interruptions, and explosions.


That depiction of such a futile attempt may seem like a poor totem of hope. However, my painting shows Gonzo playing that elusive final note and many more. I don’t believe Sara intended any deep meaning to be infused into her work. But on that day I found in that simple gift what I needed: hope.
I needed to know that the despite the evidence to the contrary, I was worthy. I needed the assurance that God was still good. I needed to believe that I was still called to serve the Church. I didn't have any of those truths within me.

Faith is the evidence of hope. Faith can be individual. Faith can be corporate. Faith can be held.
I have been privileged to have been a part of several communities who have held my faith for me. I have been surrounded by those who knew that I had worth even when I didn't (especially when I didn't.) I have been in communities that proclaimed God's goodness over my life. I have been assured and reassured that I am called to serve the Church.

On that day, I needed a reminder of all these things. I needed a reminder of all those whose lives have touched mine. So, I went to the car and grabbed the painting.

This blog was inspired by an "On This Day" post from Facebook. Not only did I retrieve the painting from my car, but I snapped a picture of the painting, posting it in my 2016 Picture a Day album. By doing so, one year to the day, Facebook reminded me of what took place on February 10, 2016.
Now, February 10th is a date that when it appears on my Facebook feed I will remember as the day I received that phone call. And yes, I know that I can tell Facebook to no longer bring that memory to my feed, however I don't plan to do that.

Facebook reminds me that February 10 is also the day I took 5th and 6th graders on a night hike in the Bay Area. February 10 is the day when I was in Chicago and I was able to bring provisions to a friend who was sick. Facebook reminds me that I am not just that one day. My story didn't begin on that day, and it certainty didn't end there.

In 2016, I received a phone call, photographed a painting , and clung to hope that was most definitely unseen. In 2017, I had accepted a call to work at Copper Canyon Baptist, photographed that same painting now hanging in a fully furnished room, and clung to the hope that I was serving where God would have me.

We are so much more than the individual days that build our lives. We are so much more than one phone call. We are so much more than one rejection, one disappointment.

On February 10, 2016, I entitled my painting "And the Song Goes On".


--Waiting in hope alongside you, just from father away
--Jesse Letourneau

Blogs mentioned in this week:
WAVES
BONES
Gonzo in action

Bones Always Heal

Seminary was rough. But it was the good kind of rough. The kind where you come out on the other side knowing more about yourself. The kind where you experience God.

After seminary, I desired a time of healing. All I wanted to do was rest. To relax. To give my heart and my head time to process all that happened to me.

After a summer saying goodbye to the people and places that I loved. I moved to Texas.

I searched for what God had for me next. I was convinced I had landed a dream position. I hadn’t (I will talk more about that next time).

There are those who say that God causes everything that happens to us. There are those who say that God causes nothing that happens. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. God is not waiting on the other side. He is not waiting for us to succeed or fail. Nor is he waiting to give us comfort when we have finally overcome.

Rather I believe that God is present in the midst of our lives.

After losing the position, I went numb for a while. Sleep occupied my days. Well, sleep and Netflix. The fog began to lift in April. In May the skies were clear again. I felt confident that I knew what was needed. I felt confident that I could do what was needed.

On the twenty second of May, I tripped while in the front drive way. I accomplished this feat while stepping over some twigs that were roughly six inches high. As I stumbled face first, I reached out with the palms of my hands to catch myself. The impact of the fall traveled up my left arm and shattered the head of my radius (arm bone on the “outside” if your hands are by your side).

Shattered is not hyperbole.

There were shards of bone now floating in arm. Surgery was the only option. Surgery was a success. My elbow is healed and my arm is rehabbing nicely. But we need to back up.

After the initial break, my arm was in a sling for a week. Then surgery. After surgery, my arm was in a brace for a week. This was followed by three weeks of slow gradual improvement in my range of motion coupled with six weeks in a brace that prevented me from turning my arm so that my palm was facing up.

I felt helpless. I felt useless. I wondered where God could possibly be in this time.

However, I was forced to slow down, and in that slowing I found again how to rest in God’s strength.

The healing I experienced during my time at seminary was an active one. I was in engaged in learning. I was in engaged in stretching myself beyond my comfort and ease. I was engaged with friends who taught me more than words can describe.

The healing I received while in Texas was a passive one. I didn’t have the money for the surgery. I didn’t have the strength to serve. I didn’t have the faith to believe that God was present in my pain. I didn’t have the faith to believe what I was seeking was worth seeking.  I had to ask. I had to receive. I had no other option than to be passive. I had no other option than wait. I had no other option than to heal.

Dear reader, I am sure you have noticed that I have moved from speaking of the physical healing of my bones to speaking of the spiritual healing of learning to receive from others. Learning to be a piece of a whole. However, it was my broken bone that allowed this lesson to be received.



X-Ray 3 months after surgery

My injury provided not only the space to heal but the analogy of healing as well. Bones will always heal. No matter what happens bones will grow back together. The nature of my injury was such that without surgery the shards of bone in my elbow would have grown into a single mass severely limiting the use of my left elbow.

Things had to be put back together the way they were meant to be. Time had to pass. I had to wait. I had to be passive. I had to let the bones do their work.

To receive the healing I sought, things had to be put back together the way they were meant to be. Time had to pass. I had to wait. I had to be passive. I had to let God to the work.

 

--Healing as a part of a whole, along side all of you,
Just from father away

--Jesse Letourneau

113 years ago today

Dr. Seuss was born a 113 years ago on this date.

Moana and Me

I have written before about how the themes of Pixar seem to be following my own personal journey. I wrote that initial blog tongue firmly planted in my cheek. I didn't truly believe my life was fodder for computer animated films.

That was until I went to see the Disney animated film Moana. 

The Chief Creative Officer for Pixar (Joh  Lasseter) holds the same title at Disney Animation. Under his watch Disney released the CGI animated film that seems to share very little with my life, yet echoes the latest piece of my personal hero's journey.

On the surface, Moana is the story of a Polynesian Island girl on the cusp of womanhood who must find her own strength, her own voice, and her own way of leading before she can blossom into adulthood and claim her role as chief of the island. Along the way, she is aided by her ailing grandmother who understands more than anyone gives her credit for, a demi-god with magical tattoos, and the very sea itself.

On the surface my story does not parallel that of Moana. But the core of her journey mirrors the core of my own. To explain how this I need to discuss the plot of this movie.

So if you haven’t seen it and don’t want to be spoiled stop reading now.

The plot of Moana is a straightforward hero’s quest. She must find a guy, get a thing, and put the thing back to save the day. As in all good hero quests her parents are against her taking on the task. Think Marlin and his fear of Nemo going beyond the reef. Here is where the similarities begin to come into focus.

The central question of Moana is that of calling. Who is Moana meant to be and how is she to become that person? Is she to be the chief like her father before her? Is she to become a great explorer as her grandmother wishes for her? Moana must decide who she is and what she will become.

The choices laid before her seem to be at odds. 

Stay home or leave. 

Become the chief of island dwellers or become a great explorer?

Moana’s island home provides all anyone could ever need. There is even a song about how great the island is. Her people have been farmers and fishers as far back as memory holds. There is no need for Moana to leave home.

Until of course there is a need. The island begins to die. Quite literally the island begins to decompose as if the Nothing from The Never Ending Story has found this realm as well. (And in my head cannon that is the case.) But there is still a fear of the sea, and Moana’s Father tries to stop her from sailing off on her quest.

Moana learns that her people have not always been island dwellers. She learns they were once great and proud explorers. Moana finds an abandoned ship. And her quest begins.

Moana has chosen to leave home. 

She has chosen to become a sea farer and not an island dweller.

Moana’s quest includes finding her requisite Disney princess animal side kick, matching wits with the Rock, an encounter with a very sparkly crab, and the final battle where she uses wit and empathy to literally bring life back to her world.

But the story doesn’t end with Moana learning she had the power inside her the whole time. The story ends with Moana returning home to become the new chief. Moana had to leave in order to return. Moana was called to be a chief, but could only become that if she first left home.

If Moana had stayed home she would have lacked the ability to fulfill her calling. For it was only in the questing that she found the source of life not only for herself but for her people as well.

If Moana had become a sea faring adventurer finding her own way in the world but never returning home she would not have fulfilled her calling.

I grew up in Northern California.

I left home and explored my own seas. 

I was convinced I wouldn’t ever return home. There was no need. That is of course until there was one. 

God has called me back to California. If I had stayed home I would not be who I am today. I would not be who am I am called to be. If I had not come home, I would not be where I am today. I would not be where I am called to be.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Next week God uses healing to teach me about healing.

The Changing Seasons

When I wrote "WAVES" (see previous entry) I had already been interviewed and was soon to go visit a church in northern California that was considering me for Children and Youth Ministry Pastor. As confident as I was in the position I was no longer the kind of person who counted chickens that were not yet hatched.

As of this writing I have been the Children and Youth Pastor at Copper Canyon Baptist church for three weeks. I will write more about that in the weeks to come. For now I wish to reflect on what it meant for me to leave Houston.

I was an active member at two churches. CANVAS and Kindred. This week I reflect on my time with Kindred. Next week we will look at my time with CANVAS.

I first arrived at Kindred in the summer of 2016. I was promised there would be food. I was told I would be fed. Instead, Pastor Ashley explained that this evening we would be doing something called worskship. For the next hour or so I helped sort clothing donations for an outreach named Grace Place. The evening ended with Communion. “All are welcome. Sinner and Saint, Child and Skeptic” These words intrigued me.

I returned to Kindred a few weeks later. I attended services on a semi-regular basis. That summer Kindred alternated between workship (mostly sorting donations for various groups) and meals. (Kindred is a dinner church). Pastor Ashley often spoke of building Kindred together; stating that Kindred is made up of all who are present.”

I have been a part of Church life since I was born. From nursery to high school group, young adult to not so young adult, my life has centered on the gathering of God’s people. What Kindred offers, what Kindred is, is unique to each of these experiences.

Summer turned to Fall and weekly meals resumed as the steady rhythm of Kindred. Soon I found myself attending weekly, as gathering around the Table became a steady rhythm of my own. I had become a part of building Kindred each week. Fall became Advent and I was asked to lead Kindred in the sacred story of the Magi, the Shepherds and all the rest. The story of Advent is the story of Emmanuel. Kindred had become for me a place where Emmanuel was experienced each week.

Kindred became for me a place that is “made up of all who are present.” It is place where God is felt not merely in songs and sermons but in the presence of each member gathered around the table that evening.

I have experienced God at Kindred. I have experienced God in Kindred.

I have experienced God in the smiles of those who greet me each week, in hugs and in prayers, and in good food shared with good people.

The Advent season soon became the Christmas season. Next the Church calendar entered into the Great Green Growing Season. In this time of transition, I find myself in transition as well. My time with Kindred has come to a close. God has called me to serve a church in California. A new personal weekly rhythm will emerge. A rhythm I have no doubt where I will still find Emmanuel. But it will no longer be in the physical company of Kindred.

I first arrived at Kindred expecting to be fed. Seeking out physical food.

Kindred has been a place where I have been fed and have been fed well. However, I was fed not only with the meals that were served, but with the presence of God experienced through all who were present.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Next week: I take out a restraining order on John Lasseter