The Life of John Dunn

For those who are praying and for those who are new to the blog, I would like to make a post about our brother John.

John was the first person we met in our neighborhood. That was a God thing for sure. Back then John ran with the Crips and got into all sorts of trouble. One of the reasons he doesn't do that now is because he is in jail, but another reason is all of your prayers for him. God has been doing some mighty work the last year, starting with the time he lived with us and into the present as he sits out his time behind bars waiting for a trial that keeps getting postponed. His most recent letter to Wes informed us of his choice to leave the life of crime behind and to give his whole body and mind over to the lord Jesus.

I invite you all to renew prayers for this man, that the lord's justice will come swiftly along with his mercy and good will towards John's life.

May Jesus be praised and may the love of Christ shine in the life of our friend and brother John Dunn.

If you would like to write to John in addition to praying for him here is his info:

John Joseph Dunn #95353

910 S. 27th

Abilene TX 79601

In the next weeks we will be having elections for the neighborhood association, so we also ask for prayers that GOd will give us the right leaders and the right vision for the community at large.

God bless and may his peace rest upon the readers of this post. Amen.

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

⁴⁰ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

-Matthew 25:37-40

Long time, no see

God is good. Thank you for all your prayers, we need them in the next few weeks as the neighborhood association nears completion. Keep looking, as shortly we hope to update the journey with a few stories and testimonies of God's. We love you all.

Peace to your house.

Somthing new from something old

Some times the best New things come when two old ones meet on a converging path. The two can no longer go on as they did before, either one must cease to be, giving way to the other, or they must join and move towards a new destination. This is the story of the Cross, when the word of God faced death and did not shrink away, but instead joined with the suffering of the world and took its hand through the veil of darkness. On the other side something new was established, something beautiful, something glorious. We now live at this Cross roads of Crucifixion and glorification awaiting the new to move on with the path of life. The tension of "here and not yet" is common place in our daily lives. It is refining us for the day of glory when the cross is behind us and life is fully ahead. Until that day, though, the Cross lingers in our sight awaiting our ascension, and that's hard because we want to live into the promises of life right now, on this day, for the glory of God.

An opportunity to examine this tension in our lives came around just recently. An unexpected guest became a sixth roommate in our home for the last several days. His name is Jesse. The thing about Jesse is that he needs social security benefits to survive and, as these things usually go, last week he momentarily fell through the cracks by some heinous technicality and lost his support, effectively making him homeless and broke. He just kind of showed up at our house one night and then never left. He has some kind of mental disorder that causes him to talk a lot and act like a child, but he's very kind and loves to laugh. Jesse also likes to talk about his past and how his Dad beat him as a kid and taught him to use profanity. The stories about his Dad come up bluntly and with an air of normality just as frequent as his wise cracks and silly jokes. As consequence the environment created by his presence is simply unadulterated reality. One cannot escape laughing at his jokes any more than one can keep from tearing up about the stories of his childhood even when the moment was set up for a different stage. Jesse interupted our lives with a jolt of reality.

For those who don't know, we have communal prayer time every morning after breakfast and every evening at 9 o'clock. We use a set liturgy, just released by Shane Claybourne, called "Common Prayer: A liturgy for ordinary radicals." Its fairly uniform and requires a reading and response/ leader and congregation format. This became almost impossible to pull off with Jesse in the house, which isn't a bad thing in my opinion, but became a very huge opportunity to witness the character of our growing body. The first night we tried to do things as normal, but it felt very awkward, it was kind of synthetic, like trying to fit a square peg through a round hole. The book was the same, the words were the same, but the prayer time was no longer real in its old format. To be honest I love situations like this, I love it when we have to step back from our ridiculous expectations of spirituality and take our selves less seriously. Its a litmus test in my eyes, for the validity of our heart's intentions. What did we gather to do this night if Jesse's presence all of a sudden makes our most cherished rhythms feel synthetic? The practice is not wrong, and I I know our hearts do not reach perfection or the purity we strive for on this side of Jesus' return, no one is saying that, but was the practice more sincere about prayer than our hearts?

Its the already and not yet knocking again: do we keep the prayer time the same even though it no longer functions as reality with Jesse's interruptions, or do we go the way of the cross and allow for something new to happen? The next night I pulled Wes aside and asked him if we could alter prayer time to be more friendly towards Jesse and therefore less uncomfortable for others. We did, and it was a really good decision. It was powerful to hear him pray for the salvation of his father and to forgive him for what he had done. Our hearts were restored and our praise was a pleasing fragrance to the lord. Jesse led us some where new. I can see that God is doing a lot of that right now, and I want to take this opportunity to praise his name for it. Hallelujah!

Truly this is a season of new things in our community. I believe it with all my heart, and I want to share one new thing that I see coming on the horizon. New like resurrection from the dead, new like a church of Jews and gentiles. New like the mercies of God every morning.

I didn't know there was a church in the Stevenson neighborhood until I walked down Carver street for the first time. That was over a year and a half ago on a hot day in September. There was something old about meeting pastor Riley that day. I don't mean that the man is old, though he has been around the block a few times, I mean that he seemed an old friend right there, on the spot, the first time I met him. After his initial shock wore off, perhaps the shock of seeing a young white boy in the hood, we were fast to friendship. We had him over for dinner not a few days later, and before too long I was helping take Thursday lunches around the neighborhood to the elderly.

At the time Aaron and Ben were going to a church out in Clyde and Wes was attending the Mission in downtown Abilene. As for me it was the end of a long communal pilgrimage. I House Churched my way through college with folks who had been burned out on the institution and that wasn't far from my stance either. But now I had a chance for something new. My heart felt a mysterious tug towards Riley's congregation, my spirit showed me visions of rich future, but I was held back by doubt. I felt we would be called to this church as a sign of unity and reconciliation, but I didn't want to face burn out again, and in my heart I judged St. Johns and thought of it only in terms of what I could give. I just couldn't imagine the small forgotten church amounting to anything for our spiritual health. But I stand as a witness that the best new things come from something old. Redemption is so sweet to the soul, reconciliation so vital to the life of the spirit.

I couldn't ignore the spirit any longer, I felt called to be apart of something new, just like Peter at the house of Cornelius. As you know, we live in a neighborhood built in the fifties for segregation purposes. It stayed that way and became one of the biggest reasons for our relocation as a community, and a source of great calling. After being here for two years I can clearly see God’s hand in leading me to be apart of this small forgotten church. Just as a new people were brought together in the book of acts I felt the lord tugging on my heart to envision a new community of intergenerational post denominational multi-ethnic people. If there could be a sign of the gospel power here in this town this opportunity might be one of the greatest examples to display Christ’s message; a witness both powerful for the church and the city itself.

The first week was interesting. I was the only white person there which put me very out of place. The spirit of the civil rights movement still wanes in the hearts of the church members with a residual sermon note here or there to remind us of where African Americans come from. The reminders are received well with much vocal approval among the small crowd. But as the weeks have gone on other roommates have joined me and some of the older members have been returning after a long absence. Every Sunday the crowd seems more and more diverse. Wes even preached last week, which was awesome and powerful. And through it all I am amazed at how well God equipped this church for something new. I've never been to a church service that was so interruptible. Even people like Jesse have come to be a part of Sunday worship, people who bring us painfully present into the spirituality of reality. A slow messy business made of real people and uncomfortable situations along with laughter and crying mixed together in one incredible moment. I've never laughed so much at church, I've never been so moved, I've never lamented so authentically and I've never been so encouraged by one of the least of these. Not a single Sunday has gone the same since I started going to St. Johns, its been something new every time. I hope this continues, and I thank the lord for restoring my heart for Sunday services. May the lord be praised in the Stevenson neighborhood.

Hello friends,

One of my main projects this semester is compiling a collection of short stories and theological reflections from our experiences in the Allelon community over the past year and a half. I thought I might share one of these stories with you. Kyle posted about this when it happened; you can read his post here. I hope you enjoy the story. I would appreciate any comments or suggestions.

Unlocked

“But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.”

- Matthew 5:39-42

“On the contrary: ‘If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

- Romans 12:20-21

Jesus rightly asked what good it is to simply love one’s neighbor. His point was that everyone by nature loves those who love him, and there is nothing unique about such love. Jesus people, on the other hand, are called to a love that mimics the love of the Father, who “causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” This indiscriminate love, based on God’s love for us and not on what the recipient of our love might do in return, is to be one of the defining characteristics of those who live as citizens of God’s kingdom.

The beauty of this love lies in its power to transform. It is so unexpected, so disarming, that it sneaks its way past people’s defenses. We will not be overcome with evil, nor will we relinquish our enemies to evil; we will overcome evil with good.

Nineteenth-century novelist Victor Hugo gives one of the moist poignant examples of this redeeming love in his novel, Les Miserables. After being invited into the bishop’s home and afforded every hospitality, recently released ex-convict Jean Valjean lives up to his sullied reputation by stealing the bishop’s silver tableware. When the women of the house discover his treachery and approach the bishop with exclamations of indignation at Valjean’s malfeasance, the bishop responds, “And in the first place, was that silver ours?.... Madame Magloire, I have for a long time detained that silver wrongfully. It belonged to the poor. Who was that man? A poor man, evidently.”

Shortly thereafter, a loud knock announces the arrival of a troop of soldiers with Jean Valjean, whom they have discovered with the stolen silver. The bishop’s response is resolute and immediate. He informs the soldiers that there has been a mistake. Valjean did not steal the silver; it was a gift. His only sin was forgetting to take the candlesticks as well, which would also fetch a handsome sum. Valjean stares at the bishop dumbfounded. The bishop says, “Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I buy from you; I withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God." This story had long held meaning for me, but it took on a new dimension when I saw this love in action.

Kyle came out of the house prepared to hop on his bike and head up to campus. The bike was a nice crossover road bike, Kyle’s constant companion and preferred form of transportation. Where he expected his old friend to greet him smiling, eager for another day together, he found only a busted bike chain, drooping dejectedly on either side of the chain-link fence. As the reality of the theft sunk in, Kyle’s smile slowly reversed until his lips matched the shape of the failed chain.

I found out about the theft by reading Kyle’s blog post later that day, a tragically humorous metaphorical account of a lover (his bike) being wooed away. He said, “It is not the lack of its presence I pine for, but instead the forgotten forgiveness that, I lament, cannot now be poured out. I would like to meet this Casanova if only to wish them well together, and perhaps pass along the gift of a hearty lock to keep her safe. Seriously.” Even before talking to him about it later that night, I knew that Kyle meant what he said. Of course, he was upset and inconvenienced, but more than anything he wished he could offer forgiveness to the thief.

His big chance came about a week later. As he jogged down Cockerell towards our house, cooling down from an evening run, a teenager on a bike slowly gained on him. To his surprise, it was our friend and occasional guest Trevan. He pulled even, and Kyle noticed that Trevan’s bike could have been twins with his own lost lover. Without comment on the bike, Kyle threw out a greeting, “Hey T, how you doing brother?”

“I just found this bike” Trevan cut in.

“Awesome man. Well, it looks like a great bike. I hope you enjoy it.”

Back at the house just a few minutes later, Kyle stretched and recounted his conversation. “I kind of froze in the moment. I wish I could have just told him that the bike was his, that it was a gift and he didn’t have to be scared to come around here, that we just want to be friends with him and don’t care about the bike.”

Josh, Aaron and I were all in agreement – the bike belonged to Trevan. Kyle said, “Let’s get the word out to the folks who might know Trevan. The bike is his. It is a gift.”

Everyday in our community we join those countless saints around the world who pray together, “Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.” Discussing Jesus’ pronouncement of Jubilee, John Howard Yoder comments on this line of the Lords’ prayer: “[It] signifies precisely a monetary debt, in the most material sense of the term. In the ‘Our Father,’ then, Jesus is not simply recommending vaguely that we might pardon those who have bothered us or made us trouble, but tells us purely and simply to erase the debts of those who owe us money; that is to say, practice the Jubilee.” (Yoder 62) Since our master is so willing to forgive our every debt, how can we be unwilling to forgive the debts of our brothers, so small in comparison?

This is especially true when we realize that we are loved more than the lilies and the birds, for whom God never fails to provide. We are no longer obligated to fight for our rights, possessions, or security. Understanding and trusting in Jehovah Jireh, our provider, allows us to live with open hands, ready to receive gifts from the Lord but just as ready to lose anything, even our very lives, in order to spread God’s kingdom in this world. This unclenching of our fists is one of the hardest tasks for disciples of Jesus. I confess, my own hands still spend as much time clenched in jealousy, greed, and possessiveness as they do open in selfless love and trust.

The task is essential though. The beautiful community of the Kingdom cannot come until we refuse, no matter the cost, to allow our brother to be our debtor. We must consider the lilies and the sparrows. We must consider just whom it is that Jesus calls blessed. We must consider the nature of our God as provider. We must decide which is more important, our mission or our property. We must take Jesus at his word. We must abandon our illusions of security and wealth, forgive those who owe us just as God has forgiven us, and overcome evil with good.

I have not seen Trevan in a while, but from what I hear, this Valjean’s soul has by no means been withdrawn from “black thoughts and the spirit of perdition.” We have become good friends with his cousin John though. We have been discipling John for almost a year now. He comes from the same background as Trevan. They have both been gangbanging since their early high school years. Although he has never been very wealthy, material success is the end all be all in John’s mind. Of all those subversive Kingdom concepts we have discussed, the idea that one might abandon wealth and security in order to show love and acceptance to a brother or sister has been the most difficult for him to swallow (as it is for so many). Every so often, we will be talking about the Sermon on the Mount, and his eyes will light up with clarity, as if the Spirit were opening his fuse box and flipping the breaker. We might read, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven” or “Seek first the kingdom of heaven, and all these things shall be added as well;” and as we talk about the very difficult implications of these teachings for his life and ours – and for the life of the church – he will laugh and say, “Oh! That’s like the bike, huh?”

“Yeah, man. It’s like the bike.”

Ben Ruben

"Turn off right here..." Said Aaron, leaning over from the passenger seat. We took the next exit and entered the town of Raton. "Gas station left" read the sign, it was about six o'clock in the evening and the temperature was quickly dropping. The stars twinkled dimly above and I caught a glimpse of the big dipper as we passed under the interstate. To our right a different kind of twinkling lights lined the rooftops of a well kept quaint little downtown. "Wow, we took the perfect exit." I said. Aaron laughed, part in good humor, as usually he is in, and in part because I'm always making ridiculous statements of that sort.
The light of the street lamps appeared cold and static silhouetted by the gentle snow flurries silently about them.

When we pulled up to the Gas station I noticed a lanky figure seated on the curb looking piercingly through the night. I couldn't tell if he was looking at us, or nothing at all. The only movement in or around him was the thick puffs of carbon dioxide lifting into the air out of his nose. Frost like lacing hung from the bottom of his beard which blew gently in the chill wind. Apart from breathing his posture composed a symphony of silence which hung suspended in the air with my thoughts: what to do, what to say? I searched my heart, I searched my head for the words of Jesus. Often God speaks through me in these situations, usually something like: "What can I do for you brother?" In fact that's what I planned on saying to the guy, but as I got out of the car I looked over to see Aaron was already approaching the man. I smiled as I herd the words coming form my brother's caring lips.

"What can I do for you brother?" Aaron asked. It was very much-still really, really cold outside, but my love for Aaron seemed a momentary relief from the weather. I am blessed to have such a brother. Amen and hallelujah.

"Its cold." Said the lanky old man, or some similar response. He came into the gas station with us and I proceeded to grab a cup for some hot chocolate. The room was tense. The clerks went quickly to postures of anxiety.
"Whats your name?" Aaron asked, and I kept an eye on the unfolding conflict around us.
"Ben Ruben." said the old man. Most of his teeth were missing and his skin was dry and wrinkled.
Then we walked towards the counter where the clerk was peering suspiciously around his current customer, eyeing the hot chocolate in my hand and frowning at Ben who was standing next to me.

"We can't serve him!" Said the clerk. "He's been asked to leave already." THe customer in front of me turned his head to peer at me from the corner of his eye. The guy felt caught between ensuing battle lines.
"He wants that guy to leave." The customer said to me.
"I understand." I said. To my left the other clerk, a young man of teenage manner, was nervously swaying back and forth. Turning my face back to the customer in front of me I said: "The man here was made in the image of our lord and he deserves respect, he deserves love." After these words left my mouth I saw that the young teenage boy behind the counter shifted his posture taking great surprise and awe from the statement he had just herd. He seemed a fair bit scared as well. Now it was my turn to check out.

"We can't serve him Sir." Said the check out dude. I peered at him with a mix of compassion and fierce determination.

"This is my stuff, he can have some if he wants it. Give me a pack of cigarets and this hot chocolate, and I'll be glad to go outside." The clerk sighed and fulfilled my request. As we ventured again into the freezing cold Aaron suggested moving around the corner, away from the door. Aaron is good at not starting more trouble than is needed, thats good for me. So we scuffled around in the snow and Ben began thank us for our kindness. A minute passed and we turned to see the young teenage boy patting up after us. Ben was in the middle of a story about God speaking to him and giving him the technological keys to saving the world, something about Nicolai Tesla, electric bicycles and the cleansing the body of sin. As Ben went on talking the young man joined us and waited politely for a break in the conversation.

"I have to ask you guys to leave the property." He said. "Either just across the street or into the next parking lot."

At that moment I knew that Ben would say something, I could feel a shared sense of dread between me and Aaron hoping it wouldn't be reactionary or hateful in anyway, as was his very right. To our surprise this is what came from Ben Ruben's mouth:
looking down at the kid's name tag he said:

"Chris, I love you, I love you, I love you....and I forgive you....I forgive you for being loyal to an unworthy cause, and I pray that the lord bless you and everything that you love." With that we left the stupified young man standing in the gently falling snow and headed for a curbside seat in front of McDonalds. Sitting there in the bask of a neon light we talked more of Jesus and the hope a glory that we await in our fallen world. We gave Ben our email address, so that he could contact us concerning his inventions and how we might help to liberate the world from the government and oil industries. I hope to see that man again. That night I lay in my bed thinking of Ben, wishing we lived in the same city, that I might help him to pursue his vision from the lord, though crazy as it sounded.

Stevenson Neighborhood Christmas Party

Click on the picture below to see pictures from the 2010 Stevenson Neighborhood Christmas Party. Thanks to all who helped and donated!

Stevenson Christmas 2010

Salvation Story of a Scrooge, or Stevenson Neighborhood Christmas Party

Thanksgiving doesn't have any famous songs of its own (that I'm aware of).  Halloween doesn't either.  Perhaps that's the reason in mid-October I thought I heard a murmured verse of O Come All Ye Faithful.  By early November, I suspected the others of whispered gatherings where they sang hushed versions of yuletide carols.  But when I returned from an all-too-quick trip to Houston after some turkey and dressing, the subtlety of Christmas was as covert as the reality of a corpulent cookie-monster adorned in matching crimson velvet hat, coat, and trousers huffing and hustling his way through the soot and ash of our make-believe chimney.  In other words, it was uproarious and bracing.  Santa didn't bother with the chimney this year.  At our house, he came crashing through the door hollerin' about toys all around.

Plans began this year a touch earlier than last year.  And as word spread like Christmas cheer, some of us (read "I") remained skeptical.  Talk of forms to be filled out and returned, dreams of sleigh rides and fake snow, and anticipation of hundreds of people attending only solidified my cynicism.  After all, what would we be conveying to our neighbors if we perpetuated the materialism and consumerism into which Christmas has been perverted?  Without a solution, I leaned back in my chair aloof and nonchalant as James Dean while  growing number of organized neighborhood volunteers carried on their elfish way.

Throughout the week leading up to that unanimously anticipated Saturday, new and different faces popped up around the house.  Search-and-purch(ase) posses were assembled.  Gift-wrapping gatherings flooded the house with red and green garnish while bellowing snow-covered songs, all tainted with selfless laughter and excitement.  All the while, I huddled back in the farthest corner of the house muttering bah-humbug, and hiding from whatever wrong might be exploited in these ill-advised offerings.

As Saturday threatened, I only assisted out of obligation.  And in due consequence found myself completing the task I least enjoyed: monotonous, superfluous tree decorating.  It was cold.  Especially in the shade.  Where I stood.  Waiting for the doors to be opened by our contact at the school.  She was late.  And it was cold.  Anticipating the worst in our neighbors, as I waited in the cold, I began to plan what I would say to a variety of plausible comments and situations; no doubt, some participants would be dissatisfied with what free gifts they would receive.  Yet my strategic planning session was interrupted (not yet thwarted) by the arrival of our friend Joann, the keymaster.

As a liaison between the school and christmas program I felt a heavy responsibility for the facilities to be cared for as requested.  Now, as we entered the gym my frustration swelled as the youngest children wasted no time marking the pristine floor with shoe streaks (we were specifically asked to keep the floor clean).  But then, without my consent, the teamwork and unity of neighbors needled its way into my shrunken, weary heart.  Sue directed both children and neighbors in all decorating matters.  An assembled stage meandered into the gym, I'm not sure from where.  I turned around when there arose such a clatter, craft tables had sprung up and stocked, a sound system suddenly echoed, and a plethora of men leading younger men and boys in covering the floor with protective butcher paper.  The Grinch's heart had begun growing three sizes too big.  But the battle hadn't yet finished.

Setting up the sign-in tables, I finally realized just how many people had come to participate.  Neighbors and participants wandered in.  Let me take this time to wander back a bit myself.  When we pieced together the final master list of families and children days in advance, I noticed we seemed to be collecting papers from not only people from our neighborhood, but also folks of low income families in and around all of Abilene.  An imaginary map filled with pushpins unfolded before my eyes depicting the locations of each address.  Both frustration and revelation ravaged my brain.  How could all these people include themselves in a "Stevenson neighborhood" Christmas party?  As Aaron and I processed that night of revelation, I began accepting a piece of knowledge that our neighborhood is not a place but instead a group of people (perhaps like the church); an education I still am processing.  Turns out I didn't sign up for just loving people within my proximity of 3 or 4 blocks, but rather a culture of people who are in some way or another related to, befriended by, or previously resided alongside those currently on those 3 or 4 blocks.  But at the reality of the welcome tables, I didn't have time to pilfer through those theological contemplations while instructing 3 or 4 year olds on necessities name tags.

To a fault, my tiny heart never has been able to turn away the least of these, specifically a child.  Those faces, radiant and frightened, erased all assumed importance of "sticking it to the man" and fighting consumerism (most of them can't even pronounce consumerism).  The steady influx eventually paused allowing me the opportunity glance momentarily at the controlled chaos circling the gym.  Little bouncing faces painted by older trusted youth.  Tree ornaments designed and decorated by tiny hands and fingers.  The youngest having their first chance to sit on the lap of an indeed jolly older St... uh... Loranzo.  Papa Flach gathered the children to tell a tale of a sleeping baby in a horse trough who would save the world.  I could no longer contend.  I became swept away in the vision of all the sugar-plums dancing around the gym floor.  Even some of the teachers from the school we were borrowing showed up for support.

A final pessimistic twinge stung with approximately twenty minutes left in the program schedule.  Of the 160 children we had on record for receiving gifts, we didn't need to check the list twice to know we weren't entertaining but half of that.  We know our friends and neighbors don't value punctuality as highly as some of the rest of us do, and we planned accordingly.  But when we looked into the crowd of merry, carefree children we knew we wouldn't "reach" or "connect" with all those we wished we could.  A blizzard of negativity blew in.  "What did we do wrong?  How many bridges did we burn asking for help and not being good stewards of that assistance?  Could we have done this better?  What will people say if gifts are left over?  What will we do with all the leftovers?  Why didn't we account for leftovers or unclaimed gifts?  I was right; we never should have done this."  I made my most valiant effort to push God aside.  Luckily, he's more stubborn than a sleeping elf the day after Christmas (thanks Wes).

I expected the present-claiming line to contort into a snorting crowd of reindeer, ready to tug those gifts to living rooms across the neighborhood.  Shamefully I confess this because my plans were foiled en total.  I handed over sack after sack of gift-wrapped barbies, mp3 players, hotwheels, hoodies and countless other items.  Just like Ebenezer.  While the others partook in unglorified restoration of the gym, cleaning floors and stripping decorations from the walls, collapsing tables and coiling cords, I was allowed to listen to the abundance of praise and thanks showered from grateful neighbors.  I placed packs in the hands of those who daily wash the feet of Jesus.  And at the end of the night, all the gifts were delivered to just the right homes.

And where, turns out, its heartwarming to serve others during the Christmas season, I think I'd like to make a habit of it.  As a neighbor.

We met many new neighbors this winter.  Some we got to know because they joined us in preparation efforts.  Some we met as we knocked on doors passing out information.  And still others as they followed young ones from table to table in an all-but-forgotten gym just down the hill.  There are innumerable stories from at least as many perspectives.  Stories of faithfulness, hope, joy, community, redemption and love.  But the best stories are the ones to come... stories from Joann, Nancy, Josie, Dwayne, Boss Hawg, and many more as we continue to get to know our neighbors this year.