Watch the video above or read the transcript below:

Who Is Your Neighbor?

A few weeks ago, at 7:48 in the evening, I received a text that caught me off guard:
“Hi Derek, sorry to bother you, but I鈥檓 not feeling well. I鈥檓 sitting on your neighbor鈥檚 steps to the right. Would you walk me home?”

The message was from our neighbor Sadie, an older woman who lives just around the corner. Over time, we had become casually acquainted鈥� thanks to my wife, who walks her dog and visits with her regularly. Sadie lives alone and is battling cancer, and my wife has made it a point to be present for her in small but meaningful ways.

That evening, though, my wife was out of town鈥擨 had just dropped her off at the airport鈥攁nd I was expecting a quiet, uneventful night. Instead, I rushed outside to find our neighbor sitting on the steps in the dark, exhausted from her trip home from the hospital.

Sadie had just started a new treatment, and the effects were debilitating. Weak and nauseous, she鈥檇 made it only a block from the bus stop to our house before having to stop. I tried to help her to her feet, but she immediately doubled over, clutching the tree in front of my house, vomiting. Every few steps triggered another wave, and she needed to stop again and again to regain her strength.

At one point, I brought out a chair so she could sit on the sidewalk, but she insisted she needed to get home because her dog was waiting for her. I asked her repeatedly if I should call an ambulance for her but she said no. The short walk to her house鈥攗sually just a few minutes鈥攚as beginning to feel like a challenging journey.

As the situation unfolded, I became increasingly aware of the cars passing by. I couldn鈥檛 help but wonder what they thought of this odd scene: a Black man and an older white woman stumbling along the sidewalk. Truthfully, I felt uneasy.

As a Black man in a predominantly white neighborhood, this didn鈥檛 feel safe for me. I was raised to avoid situations like this鈥攐nes that could easily be misinterpreted. A part of me wanted to call an ambulance right then and step back, to let someone else take over. Another part of me felt frustrated鈥攔esentful, even鈥攖hat I was in this position.

But as the minutes stretched into an hour, one question kept repeating in my mind:
“Who is your neighbor?”

And the answer was here in front of me.
Sadie is my neighbor.

It is amazing how much care and love you can gain for someone when you enter into their pain and allow yourself to know their struggle.听

This whole experience with Sadie of getting her back settled in her home was three hours of what normally would have been less than a 5 minute walk, and it profoundly impacted me. I was being invited, in that moment with her, not just to be a neighbor but to become a neighbor.听

The Gospel of Luke tells the story of Jesus sharing the parable of the Good Samaritan. It begins with a lawyer asking Jesus a profound question: 鈥淲hat must I do to inherit eternal life?鈥�

Jesus, not fully trusting his sincerity, turns the question back on him: 鈥淲hat does the law say?鈥�

The lawyer answers confidently: 鈥淵ou shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.鈥�

Jesus responds. 鈥淓xactly. Do that, and you鈥檒l live.鈥�

But the lawyer pressed further, asking a provocative follow-up: 鈥淎nd who is my neighbor?鈥�

When the lawyer asks, 鈥淲ho is my neighbor?鈥� he鈥檚 pressing Jesus to clarify something important: What are the limits of my moral and social obligations? In other words, he鈥檚 asking, Am I only responsible for people like me鈥攖hose within my group, my community, my comfort zone? Or, Does my responsibility extend beyond those boundaries to include people I鈥檇 rather avoid?

It鈥檚 a question that cuts to the heart of how we draw lines around who matters and who doesn鈥檛.听聽

Jesus answers the lawyer with a parable.

A Jewish man is traveling when he鈥檚 attacked by robbers. They leave him beaten and suffering on the side of the road. Two men鈥攁 priest and a Levite鈥攑ass by without helping him. Finally, a Samaritan comes along. He sees the man, has compassion, and cares for him.

This part of the story would have been shocking for Jesus鈥� audience. Jews and Samaritans had a long-standing feud, deeply rooted in political and religious tension. They didn鈥檛 just dislike each other; they were enemies.

When Jesus finishes the story, he asks the lawyer, 鈥淲hich of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who was attacked?鈥�

The lawyer answers, 鈥淭he one who showed him mercy.鈥�

And Jesus closes: 鈥淕o and do likewise.鈥�

These days I find myself asking the question: how do I love someone who doesn鈥檛 really care for me or even wants my destruction? What limits can I have to protect myself?

Jesus鈥� response doesn鈥檛 just redefine who is my neighbor鈥攈e redefines what it means to belong to one another. He shifts the conversation from determining the limits of my obligation to embodying the agency of love, one that acts in the world to dismantle barriers and insists that we all are interconnected.

This response, for me, is a hard saying: 鈥�go and do it.鈥� It鈥檚 not abstract. It鈥檚 not distancing. It鈥檚 not an idea. He鈥檚 saying do it.听

I have decided the only way to hold on to this is an embodied conviction that love is the decisive force that transforms the story of humanity鈥攆rom one of enslavement to one of redemption. This is a fierce loving, one that takes on fears with an unrelenting determination. A love that endures all, bears all, hopes all, and perseveres through the crushing weight of fear, self-loathing, and the fragmentation of shame. To hold an embodied conviction means this is not just mental assent, but something that shapes your choices, relationships, and presence. We must know this love ourselves to believe it is possible, that it has touched us in the midst of our fragmentation and shame鈥攖hat it can give us a future and a hope. Without this embodied experience it is hard to believe or trust.

That night with my neighbor Sadie, I realized being a neighbor isn鈥檛 always convenient. And in these times it asks us to face fears we鈥檇 rather avoid, to press through discomforts, and to step into situations that hold risk. At times, it will even ask us to love those who were formerly our enemies, because in becoming a real neighbor, one doesn鈥檛 turn away 鈥� it asks us to love ferocity.听

This fierce love brings us full circle to Jesus鈥檚 story of the Samaritan: to move toward our neighbor with compassion, even when it costs us, even when our fears threaten to hold us back. It is the love that sees the wounds of another and refuses to walk away, a love that understands our shared humanity and calls us to belong to one another. But it is more than just individual action鈥攊t is a communal response, a commitment to the restoration of all things. This love binds us together, heals what is fractured, and invites us into God鈥檚 grand story of redemption鈥攁 story where our neighbor or our enemy, their well-being is inseparable from our own, and where love transforms not just relationships, but our world itself. This is the love that restores, renews, and fiercely insists that we all belong. It is a love bigger than ourselves.听

This love reminds us that God鈥檚 work is always about restoration through the sacrificial love-work of Christ. It鈥檚 not just about being helpful in a singular moment; it鈥檚 about participating in something bigger鈥攖he healing of relationships, communities, and even creation itself.

So, I鈥檒l leave you with this question:
“Who is your neighbor?”

And when you find your answer, step toward them with courage, compassion, and a love that refuses to give up. Because that鈥檚 how we participate in God鈥檚 story of healing and renewal.

So, as Jesus says, 鈥淕o and do likewise.鈥� Embrace the story that God intends.

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The timeline doesn鈥檛 start with us, it began with people named Hudson, Webb, Wilson, Hutchins, Atchison, Allender, Lynk, and Grenz. And Peter, Paul, Priscilla, Lydia, and Mary.
– Keith Anderson, President Emeritus, Convocation 2015

At 天美视频, we celebrate story and honor narrative. And as we mark and celebrate our 25 years, we are looking back from where we鈥檝e come and we are looking ahead to where we imagine we will go. The narrative below explores some of the milestones and stories since 1997. As a companion piece, take a look at a visual representation of 25 milestones from these 25 years.

How the Story Started: Kitchen Tables and Living Rooms

The story of 天美视频 that has become lore, the story as it is told, started with a few dreamers gathered around a kitchen table envisioning new training and education at the intersection of theology, psychology, and culture. Around this almost-mythical kitchen table, these passionate founders imagined and asked questions together. They wanted to expand the table, to invite more voices into the circle of conversations and discourse, always looking from these kitchen table conversations and these living room dreams into an innovative and interdisciplinary community of faith, always looking into the future. 鈥溙烀朗悠� was started. . .in the living rooms, kitchens, classrooms, and offices of people whose vision was pointed to the future,鈥� said President Keith Anderson. More than twenty-five years ago, these dreamers sought to create a diverse and inclusive community of healers and change-makers, a community of people serving God and neighbor through transforming relationships. Bringing hope and light into places of darkness and trauma, this community would gather around the pursuit of three understandings and narratives: the Bible, the human soul, and contemporary culture. And so with these convictions and passions, the dreamers and their families soon found themselves in Seattle beginning a bold adventure.

Humble Beginnings in Bothell: 1997 – 2007

What we know today as 天美视频 of Theology & Psychology offered its first classes under the auspices of Western Seminary in 1997, finding a location at first in the suburb of Bothell, Washington. That fall the first classes of Western Seminary, Seattle as it was then called, were held in a variety of spaces, including a church nursery, students and faculty gathering around children鈥檚 tables in children鈥檚 chairs, eager to learn from each other, many of whom had moved to Seattle for this dream. The list of founders includes Dan Allender, Liam Atchison, Don Hudson, Kim Hutchins, Christie Lynk, Heather Webb, and Kirk Webb. The first class graduated in 1999. After an incubation period, the school launched in 2002 as an independent institution named Mars Hill Graduate School (MHGS), with Dan Allender becoming the first President. At that time, three degree programs were offered: Master of Arts in Counseling (MAC), Master of Spiritual Nurture (MSN), and Master of Divinity (MDiv).

Shaping and Marking Culture: Creating Rituals and Gatherings 2002 – 2007

In those early years, the community of students, faculty, and staff shaped the school鈥檚 culture, creating invitations for gathering together, beginning traditions and rituals that have continued into the present time: Spring Banquet, student groups, Convocation, and Commencement. The tradition of offering Hot Tamales candies at the front desk began at this time, as a playful reference to the 1999 film 鈥淭he Matrix鈥� where a red pill symbolized a character鈥檚 courageous choice to understand the truth about reality. The first time Convocation took place at St. Mark鈥檚 was in 2004. A few years after becoming MHGS, additional space was rented in Bothell for a prayer chapel. Soon the community rhythm of the nine noon three chimes began, reminding us, disrupting us, and calling us together. Our library grew extensively thanks to our staff and a grant from the M.J. Murdock Charitable Trust. Each year the school hosts theological leaders and thinkers for a lecture series in memory of Stanley Grenz, a passionate professor with a pastoral heart and deep intellectual presence, who passed away in 2005.

New Location, New President, New Name: 2006 – 2011

In January 2007, classes began at the new home of 天美视频, a campus now known as 鈥渢he red brick building鈥� in Belltown, an area of the city along the Salish Sea just north of the downtown corridor, a building that was a former luggage factory and fish cannery, on land where the Duwamish people had once lived. In 2002, student leadership selected Henri Matisse鈥檚 La Danse painting as a symbol of who the Spirit was calling us to become. In the Commons of the Belltown campus, a reimagined version of this painting, 鈥淟a Danse Revisited鈥�, reminds us of our desire to be 鈥渁 diverse community struggling to learn, labor, love, and serve together鈥� and the beauty and brokenness as we dance with God and each other and the world. Our scholarship deepened through the work and expansion of our faculty, through the continued development and evolution of our degree programs including the enhancement of the MDiv program through an additional Murdock grant, and through the 2007 acquisition of which had been founded independently in 2003 by alumni.

In 2009, Keith Anderson, who had joined the school as a dean and faculty member a few years earlier, stepped into the role of President. At his inauguration, the sextant became the official symbol of the presidency, 鈥渁 symbol of leadership that looks ahead, to read that which is to come and to see what helps to guide the ship to its destination鈥�. After much discourse, the Board of Trustees voted to change the name of Mars Hill Graduate School to 天美视频 of Theology & Psychology in 2011. This name change continued the work of weaving our mission and identity with context and culture in the city, locating our story and ministry in time and place, while also establishing ourselves as leaders at the intersection of theological and psychological thought. The 鈥�&补尘辫;鈥� would officially be incorporated into our name in 2014 although the symbol was immediately adopted internally, emphasizing our culture of inclusion and interdisciplinary thought.

New Centers & New Opportunities: Extending the Table 2011 – 2021

In 2011, 天美视频 founded the to steward the legacy of Dan Allender and the narrative-focused work of healing for individuals, families, and communities, equipping people to engage their own stories so that they can bring healing to others. More than ten years later, Allender Center remains committed to training people to work through narratives of harm to find beauty and goodness in relationships, creating a wide range of resources so that healing can be accessible and holistic.

Keeping the dream and the mission ever in mind, the school continued to develop coursework and degree programs relevant to context and culture. The Master of Spiritual Nurture degree program became the Master in Christian Studies, and then in 2013, the school created the Master of Arts in Theology & Culture (MATC), offering a formational education at the intersection of theology, psychology, and culture. Around this same time, scholarships also expanded, with staff and alumni creating new resources and adding to a pool of scholarships that had existed from the Western Seminary days.

The Resilient Leaders Project team began in 2017 and has impacted hundreds of ministry leaders as it has developed. Supported by grant funding, the team鈥檚 research and work with leaders鈥� resilience and team formation grew into the foundation of , launched in 2021 to equip adaptive leaders with tools from the social sciences to lead communities of faith, hope, and love.

In 2019, Fuller Theological Seminary gifted the journal which then became the second publication housed at 天美视频. With its integrated focus on context and culture, Christ & Cascadia publishes articles exploring the innovative, imaginative, and redemptive work of communities and leaders of faith in the bioregion from the Pacific Ocean to the Continental Divide, from northern California through southern Alaska.

This time of growth and expansion was also a time of leadership transitions, beginning in 2017 when Keith Anderson said goodbye, becoming President Emeritus. Craig Detweiler served as President from January 2018 to February 2019. Derek McNeil stepped into interim leadership and was voted in by the Board of Trustees becoming President in October 2019.

Accreditation & Expansion 2003 –
The school first received accreditation from Transnational Association of Christian Colleges and Schools (TRACS) in 2003. In 2013, the Association of Theological Schools (ATS) Commission of Accrediting voted to grant 天美视频 of Theology & Psychology full accreditation for seven years, the longest period allowed for initial accreditation. Reaffirmation of accreditation for 10 years was granted in 2021. In February 2020, the Northwest Commission on Colleges and Universities (NWCCU) granted 天美视频 accreditation [image: 天美视频 team including President J. Derek McNeil after hearing that the school would receive regional accreditation with NWCCU]. Months later in October 2020, NWCCU officially approved 天美视频 to offer distance education. In June 2021 ATS approved 天美视频 to offer comprehensive distance education. As an institution looking into the future, leadership had already been considering offering distance education, and the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown situation beginning in spring 2020 provided the opportunity for developing pedagogy and tools for a new and accessible modality.

Looking to the Future: 2021 –
In September 2021, 天美视频 officially launched the first low-residency cohorts. All MATC students and a number of MACP students (the Master of Arts in Counseling became a Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology degree in 2005) engage with faculty and colleagues through online coursework, traveling to campus a few times each year to participate in residencies. This expansion into distance education is allowing 天美视频 to flourish into the future, as our innovative programs become more accessible to students across the country and around the world. We plan to continue to expand online offerings for degree and non-degree learners at the intersection of theology and psychology.

Looking to the future, in 2022, 天美视频 created three Master of Arts in Theology & Culture degrees: MATC: Community Development, MATC: The Arts, and MATC: Ministry. The MDiv program was sunsetted. In this same year, Esther Meek became our inaugural Senior Scholar, emphasizing our focus on theological scholarship.

Twenty-five years after the founders gathered in living rooms and kitchens, now students, faculty, and staff continue in conversations, sometimes at the campus in Seattle, and sometimes from kitchen tables, living rooms, and home offices, crossing distant regions and countries through 2023 technology. Twenty-five years later, we continue in faith and in hopeful imagination. We continue in “La Danse”: asking questions, in dialogue and discourse, expanding the table and inviting more voices. Looking toward Jubilee, we imagine how we will continue to expand our community of healers and practitioners, therapists, pastors, leaders, and artists bringing hope and healing through scholarship and practice throughout our communities and into the world.

Join the celebration! and learn more about our 25 Year anniversary. See the visual representation of these milestones in a timeline.

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Advent.

A season of looking forward to the Earth鈥檚 restoration through the remembrance of Jesus鈥� birth –
that moment of divine interruption. That moment when the Heavenly realms and the Earth met in a beautiful collision only previously known in the Garden of Eden, the innermost room of the tabernacle and temple.

And as we remember that moment, we enter a season of anticipation. Hopeful anticipation in the midst of cold days and long nights. While every year has its fair share of each season – reminding us of the life, death and new birth cycle that our Creator invites us into – this year seems to be presenting us with a particularly long winter. I鈥檓 not sure what a hundred year long winter without Christmas feels like, as the Narnians experienced in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, but it might be safe to say it feels like this: ongoing despair and more than enough reasons for hopelessness.

It鈥檚 so much easier to anticipate in hope when we know that winter will cease and the cold sting of death will subside to make room for an empty tomb. It鈥檚 exciting to plant trees when we know they will bear fruit. Calming to pray when we know there is relief ahead. But oh, how difficult it is to hope when winter has taken over and our Advent season continues without respite. When the White Witch has a hold over the land and we find ourselves in constant states of confusion and pain, we wonder where Aslan is… the battle rages on but… where is our King? So many hearts have been turned to stone. How can we keep fighting when our world seems to be solidifying into emptiness and hatred and fear? How do we journey onward in hope?

It is here that I am reminded of my Breath. Our collective Breath.

This year has revealed to more Americans than ever before the preciousness of the inhale and exhale sustaining our lives. Finally, the cries of suffocating Black and Brown image-bearers are reaching past the ears of many White Christians to penetrate the Soul. We are realizing that any asphyxiation is an atrocity. Such a disregard of the Breath of Life鈥檚 sanctity is sacrilege, ruthless, and heartless. Eyes that did not wish to see this are opening. Ears that did not wish to hear are listening. And the whole Earth, both oppressed and oppressor, seems to be howling out: 鈥淟ord, save us!鈥� This lament, this cry, this 鈥渕oaning too deep for words,鈥� seems to fall on deaf divine ears.

But it is not so. YHWH has breathed into our lungs the Breath of Life. And so in the harshness of winter, when the sun has hidden herself from us and the land is bare, we recall that there is a healing power, a 鈥渄eep magic,鈥� flowing through us: for the reviving breath that Aslan breathes onto lifeless statues is the same breath in you and me.

Yes, like Lucy with her cordial, except that our power does not come from something outside of us and in small quantities. Bestowed on us from our Creator, it comes from within – that which sustains us and permeates our entire being. We are intrinsically co-healers with the divine, able to reclaim our hearts of stone and bring our seemingly dead world back to life. No, we cannot do it alone: we need one another. But all of us can go out, trusting that our work is good. Our work is holy. Our work is bringing about that 鈥淏eloved Kingdom.鈥�

Work that is far from being over – for winter is still fighting back the forces of spring – but the ground we tread is thawing. The White Witch鈥檚 control is slipping, the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve have awakened to their own life-giving power and Aslan is on the move. So we journey onward鈥� with renewed hope, knowing that the hold of Winter is weakening.

Behold, spring has come.

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Laura Wade Shirley鈥檚 post on “Running as a Spiritual Practice” has been on my mind a lot this year as I picked up running in preparation for a trip a few years ago. In December of last year, I was invited to sign up for a half marathon, which I did in hopes that by mid-June I would be ready.

I took off for my first training run in early April in the mountains of Leavenworth and returned with a new pain in my shins and right foot. Rather than rest, I upped my mileage again, and again. I was training, I told myself, I had to push through. Even with late-night googling of stress fracture symptoms that seemed to closely resemble the pain I was in, I didn鈥檛 want to stop. I had to keep going.

And then I couldn鈥檛.

I knew I had pushed too hard. And I knew I had to stop. In an expensive and painful series of weeks of seeking healing and crying in many waiting rooms and doctor鈥檚 offices, I was told that this might be the end of my running career.

There鈥檚 something so vulnerable about physical pain. In my time at 天美视频, I鈥檝e become well-versed in emotional and spiritual agony. But this was different, it wasn鈥檛 something that I could hide. Rather, I had to ask for help to do even the tiniest of tasks that I normally wouldn鈥檛 think twice about. It was a gift I was angry to receive.

I realized, though, that thankfully I had not yet created new injuries but had merely started applying pressure to old ones. In my 29 years, I鈥檝e gotten hurt in some significant ways (that I鈥檝e generally ignored) and I鈥檝e adapted to living with these hurts in ways that have allowed me to pass as healed, both to myself and others. But with the increase in pressure through training, the injuries refused to remain hidden and demanded attention.

Everything I had done to prop myself up, to convince myself that I was okay, was no longer working.

I had shaped my body and my life around two ideas: I was frail, in need of protection, and that I could not show this to anyone. My chiropractor looked at me and told me to stop protecting myself. He put me in front of a mirror and showed me that I was caving in on myself, trying to diminish my injuries. The way forward in health was to stand upright and unprotected, no matter how much it hurt. In standing up straight I would have to relinquish my attempts to hide and to protect my heart.

Instead of ignoring my pain and pushing through, it is through attention and devotion to nourishing my weaknesses that a way forward is possible.

Slowly, carefully, intentionally, I鈥檝e had to tend to these old wounds and ask for what they need in order to heal.

I was commanded by a trainer that if I was serious about remaining active throughout my life and about healing, that there was no going back. For the rest of my life I was going to have to work on maintaining my weaknesses so they would not cause injury again. I can blame the shoes I had (and I do) but I also have to reckon with how I pushed past all the signals that something was wrong. I had begun to prize my toughness over my tenderness. I was praising my own destruction by valuing my intensity and strength over my pain and weaknesses.

Learn more about and the .

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Delirious, we stumble over the crest and onto what feels like another planet. There is no other way to describe this first glimpse of The Enchantments than otherworldly. Suffice it to say, there is a reason that I submit myself willingly to such physical and mental agony to be in that place. I have yet to find anywhere like it, and they lay hidden in the very mountains that I am now observing, the same mountains that watched over me as a child in the Leavenworth Valley. I completed my first through-hike in 2016 and have returned every year since. It鈥檚 as if I didn鈥檛 have a choice. I would beg my sister to never let me do this again while on the punishing ascent of Asgaard and be choosing which month would be best the following year by the time we were in the parking lot waiting for our uncle with melon as a treat for our struggle.

But this year was different.

We hiked mostly in silence. My sister stopped and took in views longer than normal. I was antsy, hiked ahead, waited, and looked around quickly.I just wanted to go home, to be done.

I realized that we were saying goodbye.

We dropped out of the Core Zone and started our descent, expertly navigating the trail and avoiding the accumulated mistakes of past years鈥� mishaps and wanderings. We plunked ourselves down for our ritual of whiskey, gummy candy, and lightening our pack of remaining snacks before the grueling plunge back to the valley floor.

鈥淒o you want to do this again next year?鈥� she asked in between gummys.
鈥淵ou know, I鈥檝e been thinking that I鈥檓 done,鈥� I replied as I sipped whiskey.

We were ending.

Of course, we told each other we would return again one day, but in our silences, we had come to a mutual understanding that something was different. There are myriad of reasons why this year was the last for a while: the high amount of traffic on the trail, the familiarity of the sights, the absence of mistakes, and therefore, challenges. Personally, too, my mind was no longer challenged in the same way. The past had absolutely been a physical challenge, but also a mental one as I learned to quiet my mind through the 14 hours and get back into my body. I looked forward to this time to reset every year鈥擨 needed it. This time, though, I was just present to what was around me.I had come home to my mind.

As I sit now, I realize that I had thought that this meant the mountain had nothing left to teach me. I had learned my lessons, I had passed the test.

But this, now, is the final lesson: To leave, to end, to finish, to say goodbye.

It seems no coincidence that in the same year that I end with The Enchantments I am also ending my time as a student. I am no longer being called back to the mountain in the same way that I am no longer being called back to the red brick building. Or, if it is a calling, I am refusing to go (sorry, John Muir, but I鈥檒l keep listening) because I know how important it is to end now.

In my final month in the building, I had written an essay about endings. I meant to submit it to the blog; it was a eulogy to my time as a student and employee at the school. I wrote about how frantic I had become at the end, trying to prepare for the future after school while missing out on what was in front of me. I was antsy, like I had been in the Enchantments, just wanting to skip to what was next and avoid the pain in front of me. The way forward, as I learned in the mountains, was to slow down and be present to the wonder around me. So then I wrote about how I would see groups of friends together around the old coffee-maker altar (how many times have we fellowshipped there?) and how I would have a jolt of awareness that this would no longer exist in a few months. It was ending. I was leaning into savoring the precious moments I had left.

We all know what happens next: COVID-19. We have all collectively had the breath knocked out of us in our particular griefs that have opened up from this pandemic. I feel speechless and gasping still, all of the words I had wanted to say feel empty and painful. The old essay is full of hope and goodness and poetry. It is not wrong, but it is no longer representative of what this particular ending means to me, to many of us.

So instead, like I do every summer, I return to the mountain which remains steadfast and faithful in a way only nature can right now. If I can summit that mountain in search of beauty despite the pain, I know I can end my time as a student and the plethora of endings and meanings that come with that simple act. And I can say: thank you. Thank you for allowing me to tread on your sacred and fragile terrain so that I may become whole again. Thank you for letting me fall in love with the world and myself again. Thank you for teaching me about my strength. Thank you for allowing me to curse you and stomp on you and still be welcomed into holy places. Thank you for being my prayer when I could no longer pray. In the words of the President of 天美视频, 鈥淭hank you, thank you, thank you.鈥�

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Along with many households, we too have spent much more time cooking and cleaning than in springs past. And these quotidian tasks have helped to bring a sense of rhythm and calm in the midst of crisis. I began this 鈥渟tay at home鈥� order with the hope or na茂ve expectation that we would be back to some sort of normal in a matter of weeks. After that initial period there has been a strange distortion of time, in one moment compressed, other times elongated. It is hard to tell one day from another, hard to remember if that conversation or event was yesterday or last week. We have been in a state of perpetual waiting.听

The Oxford dictionary defines waiting as:聽

Noun: the action of staying where one is or delaying action until a particular time or until something else happens. Origin: Middle English: from Old Northern French waitier, of Germanic origin; related to wake. Early senses included 鈥榣ie in wait (for鈥�), 鈥榦bserve carefully鈥�, and 鈥榖e watchful鈥�.听

Like the rest of the world, our work and social lives have been curtailed. We have delayed most of our usual actions, cancelled trips and refrained from our typical spring hiking, biking and paddling鈥攚aiting for the 鈥渟tay at home鈥� order to be lifted. But we have also observed, watched more carefully鈥攂oth the natural world unfurling in all its spring glory鈥攁nd one another. I have observed and inquired how it is for my son to be living at home again after six years away. I have seen him not as my boy, but as an independent young man in all his strength, kindness, wisdom and grace. We have been together every day. And I have loved that part of this otherwise unsettling pandemic.听

Emotions too have been both expanded and condensed鈥攄ismay, anger, fear, joy, loss, uncertainty, grief and delight. They will come suddenly and at times in a confusing mix; tears followed by joy, anger replaced by grief, the monotony of bad news met with the delight of simple pleasures shared. Without the distractions of the world鈥檚 busyness, my family has known one another in a fuller, deeper way. I have received help and containment in the frustrations of online teaching and unreliable internet聽 connections. My son has taught me new computer skills and technology tricks. My husband has moved furniture and built me a standing desk for my makeshift classroom. I have been free to laugh and cry and worry with them. I have shared their burdens, and they have shouldered mine.听

And I have baked pie. I enjoy cooking and baking, but experienced bakers will tell you鈥攑ies are a lot of work. The first night of my son鈥檚 homecoming, I had a pecan pie waiting for him. Then there was a key lime pie to celebrate the warm weather and completion of a huge yard project. Next came a deep-dish apple pie, because I had the apples in the fridge and it鈥檚 his favorite. And finally, on his last night home before starting his firefighting job鈥攕trawberry rhubarb鈥攂ecause the rhubarb in the garden was big enough and it seemed like the proper ending to a spring meal in the backyard. My son said, 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know we had rhubarb.鈥� 鈥淵up, growing behind the kale.鈥� You see, I rarely make rhubarb pie鈥攏o wonder he wouldn鈥檛 know it grows in our garden. As we were talking, it occurred to me that through our pies, we had experienced a year鈥檚 worth of pie in our forty-something days together. In these weeks of quarantine鈥攊n this space of compressed and distorted time鈥攚e had covered all the seasons with our pies. Apple pie for fall, pecan for winter, strawberry rhubarb for spring, and key lime pie to represent summer.听

In this season of waiting, observing and watching鈥攚e have tasted goodness. We have eaten from the natural world and partaken in its rhythms in a more mindful way. We have felt God鈥檚 presence as we wait for relief, redemption, and restoration of something we have lost. And we have been more mindful of each other. We have been there for one another, held each other in the uncertainty as we watch and wait for what is next. What鈥檚 next? For me, that will be a blackberry pie in July. I hope to share it with many, many people I love.

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She didn鈥檛 plan to build, there was the hope that maybe she could inherit the family home, the one that鈥檚 been passed down through generations.

But the thing is…the home is older and wearier and rotting out. There are deep cracks in the foundation, the kind that make the house lean into the dusty earth a little more each day. Really, it鈥檚 not even a house anymore, just some hollowed out and ancient ruins on a lonely ground.

There鈥檚 sorrow here. Hope feels it burning through her hands as she runs them along the battered stones. , too. Maybe you feel it. I do.

As we move into this new year and decade, your anger is welcome. These ruins are here but we can see them, glory to God. It鈥檚 okay to weep with Hope as we tear down something that might have been beautiful in its time. This is dangerous work, it鈥檚 gonna make our hands bleed and our feet ache. But it鈥檚 good work, the kind of work for the courageous and desperate ones. It鈥檚 work for those of us who are done with putting up with, those of us who are cold and wet from living in old homes where the rain gets in the cracks and the foundations tremble when the thunder comes. It鈥檚 for those of us who have a fire burning in our bones that no longer lets us remain silent or cry peace when there is none to be found. It鈥檚 for those of us who long to dance on the ancient ruins and play in the broken places because really, we鈥檙e just little ones looking for home.

Hope can remind us that within the grains of these old walls, there is the possibility for something new.

If within the broken places, then here is where we can make a home. We can plant a garden. We can root our bare toes into this soil, and tend to baby trees. We can join together with the friends of Hope to build communities where our children can play in the streets. We鈥檒l sit on our doorsteps with our lovers and wine and say this is home, this is home, this is home.

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Maybe you鈥檝e just begun your time in Seattle or at the School, and are facing our Winter 鈥� and shedding your leaves of identity 鈥� for the first time here. Maybe you鈥檝e heard tell of our relentless rains, but you鈥檙e now finding the shell you own isn鈥檛 in fact as leak-proof as you thought, that you鈥檙e taking on more water and sooner than you ever imagined, frantically
battening down the hatches.

Or maybe you鈥檙e midway through your studies. You鈥檙e no longer a stranger to the inevitable darkness, but feeling it in your bones with a new heaviness, weighing down under it even as you need to run some gloomy gauntlet, unable to imagine the dawn of a spring graduation ever appearing on the horizon.

Or maybe you鈥檙e a Seattle and 天美视频 veteran. You鈥檙e hoisting your collar against the crisping wind, layering linings against the seeping damp, cocooning yourself in comfort, but still unable to escape the question that gnaws like frost: why you linger at a latitude of months-long sleet and twilight. Or maybe like most Cascadian born-and-bred, you鈥檝e actually grown fond of Winter here after all these years.

After living here for 3 years, I find my own disposition somewhere in between these two 鈥� sometimes dreading the dreariness, disruption, and doom of Winter, but more and more able to welcome it. This heartening in me is partly just the fruit of experiencing the tread of time though multiple cyclings of seasons, seeing them shift every year just as surely into Spring as they did into Winter. But it鈥檚 also a product of practices learned in an aspiration to embrace the movements of Nature, a simple strategy crafted of equal parts effort and equanimity. (And a dash of unabashed and indulgent alliteration, if you haven鈥檛 noticed already.)

Embracing the cold is a matter of mustering the gumption to venture boldly into Winter鈥檚 gusts. Of pressing on with a needed walk or run or bike ride in spite of the elements, using exercise to fuel your body鈥檚 natural furnaces, so you can lean into the chill wind and dampness. Of sailing with them come what may.

And it鈥檚 also a matter of making frequent berths at cozy ports of call, of which the 天美视频 will always be one, thanks to the unsinkable mirth and merriment of fellow students, faculty, and staff. Each thawing person is always a reminder that the cold does indeed end.

Embracing the darkness is a matter of, despite the drudgery or disdain, entertaining the truth in what may feel threadbare maxims: trust the Spirit, trust the process, trust that we will crest out of the valley of night into a breaking day, that beyond the mountains of shadow are sunlit pastures, that Winter accedes to Spring鈥檚 flowering.

And it鈥檚 also a matter of forsaking Winter鈥檚 clouded and concrete landscapes for woodlands and wilderness, forsaking gray canopies for green. Here brushes of moss-chartreuse and cedar-ochre flourish for those willing to get close enough to touch the artwork. Here fermenting memories of fallen leaves and branches nourish the roots of their origin. There are many such gardens and groves even within the four corners in the city: northerly Woodland Park with its old-growth elders, southerly Seward Park with its contemplative coastlines, the easterly Arboretum with its Pan-Pacific panoply, the westerly Me-Kwa-Mooks Park with its hillside secrets. Each green place is always a reminder that it is a veil and not a wall separating life and death 鈥� and that it is natural that we, like so many others of God鈥檚 children of the Earth, hibernate in between these two ways of being in accordance with the seasons. Each green place is always a reminder that the darkness does indeed end, or at least hibernates peacefully.

And embracing the rain is a matter of remembering that, again like all God鈥檚 creatures, we are born and made of the waters. And so we can remember how to swim 鈥� if we only let sinking ships sink, not going down with them, but letting them find rest among the reefs, and coming back in our time to dive for their treasures.

And it鈥檚 also a matter of letting the tides in their time carry us as they always do to dry land, a new continent where people have been calling our names out to the stormy sea, praying that it delivers us to this hopeful home. Here we will remember that, with each Spring, the new leaves of iterated identity emerge even healthier than the old leaves. Here we will remember that those pieces we have shed retain their own beauty, and fall to feed our new growth. Here we will remember that, again like all the Spirit鈥檚 creatures, we are born and made of fresh clay, and so, ashore, can walk again.

This birthing and making Spirit knows 鈥� is 鈥� both sea and land, both treasured ship and treasured reef, both the calling from the shore and the delivering tide, both the storm and the rainbow reminder that 鈥� always, even in Winter 鈥� the rain does indeed end. This Spirit welcomes our dread of the dreariness, disruption, and doom, even while it welcomes, and helps us welcome, Winter.

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When Heather received her cancer diagnosis, she knew this was not a road that she could walk alone. So, somewhat on a whim, she got a Wonder Woman costume to match her daughter鈥檚 Halloween costume, and she wore it to her first day of chemotherapy. A friend, Bridget Beth Collins ( on Instagram), created a plant-based portrait of Wonder Woman for Heather, and #chemowonderwoman was born.

Soon, Heather鈥檚 friends and family were spreading the word and wearing Wonder Woman shirts in support, along with teachers from her kids鈥� school and strangers from around the country鈥擧eather shares in particular about a grandmother in Ohio who prays for Heather every day even though they have never met. Even Gal Gadot, star of the hit Wonder Woman film, for Heather.

鈥淚 just felt really carried, I felt really held by hundreds of people I鈥檝e never met.鈥�

Heather tells Shauna that while she was grateful her journey could inspire and encourage so many people, she also launched out of her own need for support. 鈥淚 need people alongside of me, to cheer for me, to be with me in this,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 do this alone. I can鈥檛 do this even with just my small family tribe. I really need to, in some ways, open myself up to receive more help. I need connection and care.鈥� In that spirit, her friends told her, 鈥淵ou鈥檝e got this. We鈥檝e got you.鈥� It鈥檚 a truth that flies in the face of our cultural 鈥減ull yourself up by your bootstraps鈥� mentality: We need each other.

Shauna: 鈥淵ou allowed us all to experience something of your beauty in the midst of this seemingly daunting race鈥攖he way that you鈥檙e able to go after the experience of suffering with such play is profound to me.鈥�

Shauna shares that she can feel joy in her body, almost to an unfamiliar degree, when she鈥檚 with Heather, when she witnesses Heather鈥檚 鈥渃ome with me鈥� posture that is vulnerable, courageous, and infectious. Heather reflects on the intentional choice to hold onto her hope in beauty and goodness, even in the midst of darkness鈥攏ot in denial of the darkness, but in defiance of it. She shares how that posture is informed by the world around her, including the beautifully stubborn life in her garden, and by her eschatological hope in a new heaven and new earth.

Heather: 鈥淥ur body wants to heal. I really, really believe that, even more strongly after all this treatment than I did before. I talk about that as a gardener too: the plants are on your side, they want to live.鈥�

Shauna: 鈥淚 feel like the hope isn鈥檛 just optimism. It鈥檚 rooted in your theological framework, but it鈥檚 also rooted in your trust of creation鈥攖he plants want to grow, your body wants to heal. There鈥檚 this sort of rooted hope and trust in the evidence of life always moving toward goodness or growth or healing or wholeness.鈥�

Heather: 鈥淚t doesn鈥檛 mean that I believe with an optimism that every single story ends in healing and being alive here until you鈥檙e 95. That鈥檚 what I want my story to be, and I want that for everyone, and yet also knowing that we don鈥檛 have a guarantee of that. But we do have a guarantee that God is good, and that he has created us, and he has made us for more than we realize.鈥�

Heather shares how, at the time of this recording, there was no longer any evidence of cancer in her body. The journey of healing now offered a new challenge: The sprint for survival was over, and now she was facing the marathon of the rest of her life鈥攖he hard work of emotional healing after being so close to the experience of human fragility and finitude.

鈥淚鈥檓 going to have to suffer through being faithful here on this broken and beautiful earth.鈥�

Heather: 鈥淭hat鈥檚 what it means to be vulnerable. This is what it means to be human. I鈥檓 going to sit with that, and I鈥檓 going to accept that God, in all his goodness, is with me in the middle of the vulnerability, in the middle of when it鈥檚 scary, in the middle of when you feel blindsided by something.鈥�

Resources to Go Deeper

• You can follow the next chapters of Heather鈥檚 journey on Instagram 鈥攌eep an eye on , too!
• Shauna mentions that this conversation reminds her of the work of writer Annie Dillard. For a hauntingly beautiful example of Dillard鈥檚 writing about how the chaos of nature confronts us with the deepest parts of ourselves, check out her 1982 essay
• Parts of this conversation bring to mind the work of artist Makoto Fujimura, who wrestles with the role of beauty in the wake of tragedy and destruction. We鈥檇 especially recommend his inspired by Shusaku Endo鈥檚 book of the same name, and his , which 鈥渞eflects my journey with T.S. Eliot, and Dante, to recover my imaginative vision during the aftermath of 9/11/2001, living in ground zero, New York City.鈥�
• At the end of this episode, Kate Fontana, a Master of Divinity student, shares her poem 鈥淎n Imbolc Call.鈥� This poem is part of the latest issue of LIT, a student-run literary magazine that gets published here at 天美视频. You can read the full issue at .

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I breathed myself to life, and so can you. My own recovery from the trauma of sexual repression drew me towards the healing medicine of yoga. I am a psychotherapist and a yoga teacher. My passion, obsession, and saving grace is embodiment鈥攖he experience of inhabiting the home of your body. Social forces and generational/personal trauma split the psyche into compartmentalization and dissociation, which inhibit us from fully inhabiting our own skin. I came into this work by following the golden thread of aliveness that vibrated inside of me whenever I stepped towards an act of embodiment.

My journey towards my profession and passion began by confronting my own pain of living in a deadened body.

鈥淢y journey towards my profession and passion began by confronting my own pain of living in a deadened body.鈥�

As a girl I was steeped in an evangelical church that was emotionally and sexually repressed. I was taught to dissociate from my emotion and sexuality. Eager to perform for my community, I was one of the 鈥榞ood鈥� ones. My dissociative abilities grew stronger as they were reinforced and praised. I swallowed my emotions and wore my pledge of virginity until marriage like a badge of honor. I committed to these ideas with resolve, to the point of receiving a purity tattoo鈥攁 dove on my hip that I wouldn鈥檛 allow anyone to see until my wedding night.

As a child I was tirelessly praised for my goodness, my ability to follow all of the rules set before me. The only price I had to pay for this endless stream of praise was my unwavering compliance with the group norms of emotional and sexual repression. As long as I agreed that the impulses of my body were wrong and should be ignored at all costs, I was given power, respect, and trust from a group of people I deeply respected.

As a 3 on the Enneagram, 鈥渢he performer,鈥� my disposition lends me towards being preoccupied with how others see me. 鈥楪ood鈥� became my identity, and my value was centered around how well I could perform to the expectations of those in authority around me. My obsession with blamelessness made me feel afraid to consider my own right to connection and desire.

It is painful to realize I was brainwashed out of connecting to my own sensuality. Over and over again I kissed my college boyfriend (who is now my incredible, gracious husband) while willing myself outside of my body and interrupting our connection if we got 鈥榯oo close.鈥� For years. For five years. That is too many years of not surrendering to the wisdom of our bodies. Our super power, being deeply present with each other, was shadowed by shame and secrecy. By the time we decided we had waited long enough to have sex, I had retreated so far from the felt experience of my body that I didn鈥檛 know how to enjoy it.

Dissociation is the psychological process of blocking out what an individual considers to be harmful. What is defined as 鈥榟armful鈥� within an individual is often the parts of self that may inhibit a sense of belonging to a particular community. I was taught that my body was bad and not to be trusted, so I spent the vast majority of my life ignoring what it was saying to me out of an ethical duty to be 鈥榞ood.鈥� I鈥檓 not the only one. The bodies of countless people growing up within Evangelical communities have been affected by the shameful rhetoric of purity culture.

The trauma of neglecting and shaming my body during vital years of sexual development caused a severe split between my mind and my body. We don鈥檛 learn how to be in our bodies unless we are taught how to follow sensation. In order to keep my purity pledge, I did everything in my power to sever myself from sensation, and in the process inadvertently sent the message to my brain that connection to my body was not to be trusted. My evil body tempted me into sexual sin鈥攁n age-old fable more concerned with power than with sex.

Yoga was the first place I learned how to inhabit my body intimately, in a way that wasn鈥檛 overtly sexual. Yoga was a neutral environment I could enter to learn how to de-thaw my body, without having to hold the emotional complexity of sexual shame that would often come up during sex. It has been through my own yoga practice that I鈥檝e learned that there is ancient medicine in using breath and movement in order to bring bodies back to life. What has historically been my biggest weakness is turning into my biggest strength because my pain forced me to look so closely at my body.

鈥淭here is ancient medicine in using breath and movement in order to bring bodies back to life.鈥�

While I was still dry humping Ben in church parking lots (#wheatonlyfe) in 2006, I attended a 鈥榮tretching and breathing鈥� class (yoga, in disguise) that changed my life. My body, which I had spent so much time trying to separate from and control, was now being gently paid attention to. I learned how to use movement as prayer, and for the first time I began to see how being with my body was a worshipful experience. It made my heart burst wide open to pay attention to myself in this way. Each time I laid in savasana, the final resting pose at the end of a yoga class, I came into direct contact with the weirdness and goodness of my body, the pure delight of feeling my own aliveness. These magical experiences in my body drew me to enroll in a yoga teacher training the summer before I started class at 天美视频. Immersed in the world of body wisdom I began, piece by piece, to land into a body I wasn鈥檛 fully aware I had disowned.

After I graduated, I spent four years working at , a local eating disorder clinic that was my therapeutic boot camp. Working with clients with eating disorders is a minefield of body hatred and dissociation, and I needed to learn quickly how to help my clients tolerate being in bodies that felt deeply unsafe to inhabit. I voraciously read books on embodiment and somatic healing from trauma, and I realized as I read that I needed to heal myself. The deeper I dove into healing my relationship with my body, the more I could teach my students how to find islands of safety within their own skin.

Dissociation is a form of trauma that leaves the body frozen, numb, and unresponsive. When trauma and neglect happen, we need to vacate. It is a sweet gift that the body doesn鈥檛 allow us to come into full contact with the enormity of our pain when we aren鈥檛 safe enough to feel it. I see the body as a manifestation of the unconscious mind, and when we work explicitly with the physical body, we grow awareness to the most hidden parts of our psyche. Yoga is a way to slowly reintroduce ourselves to the disowned parts of ourselves. Using the tools of breath and focused awareness, we can gradually thaw the frozen, clenched parts of our bodies. Now in my private practice, I鈥檓 teaching my clients and yoga students how to reclaim the uncharted waters of their own bodies using meditation, yoga, and breathing practices.

It wasn鈥檛 until I began connecting to my body that I realized how deeply disconnected I had been my entire life. Even now, after spending the last decade working to integrate the experiences of my body, I鈥檓 more aware than ever about how much I still don鈥檛 know about this earth suit of mine. It is endlessly mysterious and mystical to discover the maps of intelligence that are encoded into our bodies. I鈥檒l never arrive at a perfectly embodied or integrated place, but I have breathed myself into a new body. A more fluid, open, welcoming, and grounded body. A body that knows how to lean into care because of all those times she leaned into the earth in savasana and felt held.

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