This post was written by Katie Chapman.

Hello RISE community, it’s me again, Katie Chapman. Many of you might not know me yet but I am so glad to be a part of what this community is all about and share a little bit about how I’ve been living it out in my own way.
God has blessed each of us with something special, to be more accurate — many many something specials. One of mine has always been my hair. While I’ve had my battles with trying to get the comb through it in middle school or keeping it stick straight as was the trend in high school, it has always been something that I’ve been proud of. When I was younger my mom would always tell me that she loved my hair and that people (her, sometimes one of them) would always try to dye it my color, but nothing could come close to the real thing. From that day on I always wanted to donate it. The problem was just that I didn’t take care of it long enough to get it very long.

Eventually college came around and I saw this fresh start as the perfect time to try to grow it out. Who wants to pay for a haircut in college, right? I hit a couple bumps trying to get started (lice are some nasty creatures and dorms don’t help) but I cut it super short freshmen year and started from there. Lots of change happened over those next few years, changing schools, changing majors, changing relationships, but that hair just kept growing. Finally it’s senior year, what a journey. This is the year I found RISE :) I don’t know how I finally came to the conclusion but at some point I knew this year would be time to donate my hair. At first I bought a Costco sized two-in-one shampoo and said when I finished that I’d do it, but God had something bigger planned.

Now, especially since coming to JMU, I’ve been interested in getting involved with Relay for Life, but I have this tendency of talking myself out of things that I think I would really enjoy. This year I decided this would be different. Then this idea hits me! I asked a few people in my Occupational Therapy class if they would be interested in donating money if I would get a pixie cut (super short hair). I figured donating my hair is such a great thing to do and will help a few people very deeply … but why not try to do more?!? I’ve never been one to just settle on doing one thing at a time! I chose the number $2500 and decided that if I could reach that number, something that seemed logically unattainable but not completely impossible, then I would get this pixie cut and donate it all to make wigs. So this idea begins to form that pulls together this idea and my goal to be involved with Relay for Life. I started legitimately researching places to give my hair that would simultaneously raise awareness for people working to make a difference that may not get as much recognition as Locks of Love or Pantene and found Wigs for Kids and also created my own team for Relay for Life which I had never done before and had no idea what I was really doing, but I knew they had a reliable widely trusted online donation method that would in some way promote itself.

The wheels were spinning and I put every spare minute I could find into promoting this fundraiser on any social media I could get my hands on as well as talking about it to EVERYONE I knew…or didn’t really know. So, I had chosen who I was donating to, what my goal was, and methods to get there. Every moment I could I spent thinking of who I hadn’t talked to yet or other ways to get the word out. Finally, to wrap it all up, I did a clothing drive because another thing I had way too much of at this point, besides my hair, was clothes. I decided to continue this theme of promoting those less heard of and chose to use this drive as a way for people to drop off clothes they didn’t want anymore, but also for people to buy clothes for themselves, like a thrift shop where all the money would benefit Relay or Wigs for Kids. The fun part though was that all of the clothes remaining at the end all went to our own local Refugee Resettlement center, something that I haven’t been involved with here but has a close place to my heart.

All of this longer-than-it-probably-had-to-be story leads to this. By God’s grace I was able to raise $2577 for both Relay for Life and Wigs for Kids combined, at the Relay event we made 50 handmade cards for the children, I donated 18 inches of my hair, AND we gave 5 giant trash bags full of clothes to Harrisonburg Refugee Resettlement. I don’t say any of this to toot my own horn or talk about all the great things I did, but I want each of you reading this to know that you CAN make a difference, a HUGE difference, by using what you already have. Use your talents that God gave you, use your connections to make something big, and create ideas bigger than what you think you can achieve because God is even bigger than that.

This post was submitted by Abbey Carr.

These past 3 months I’ve been studying abroad with the cross-cultural program of EMU (Eastern Mennonite University) in Guatemala and Colombia with 23 other students and 2 professors. We have just returned from this incredible trip and I had arrived back in Harrisonburg at 4:30am this past Sunday when I realized I might not be able to go to RISE the next week because of graduation. Therefore I felt compelled to go to RISE on 5 hours of sleep after coming home from Colombia and being away from my community for so long. Imagine my surprise to encounter a guest speaker, none other than the wonderful Margot Starbuck that I had heard so much about. She chose to launch her new book using RISE and as I was listening to her words I was suddenly struck by a connection/realization from my time away. Reintegrating into my own culture even for a few hours has been hard. Today (Tuesday, April 23) is day 2 of being home and I still am fatigued and overwhelmed. I don’t know what to think or how to interact around some people.

What I truly came to realize in the service however was this (written on a RISE Report during service):

“It’s hard to hear the speaking this morning because I’m relating it all back to people I saw walking the streets of Guatemala and Colombia—it stirs up so many emotions right at the surface. There is an immense tension. ‘The other is an individual who the group sees as different.’
I’ve been in the presence of the most beautiful ‘others’ this semester and I can’t even begin to comprehend how these beautiful encounters have changed me. I’ve visited and worked with people and children in 2 slums in 2 different countries and lived for a week in one. I’ve seen and loved those identified as sub-human by their society and I don’t know where to hold my heart—I’m between two worlds yet I’ve found that Christ bridges these places for me, just as He has between Heaven and earth. In fact, when I think about it, just as I’ve been in cross-cultural for these past months, the spirit of Christ was in a cross-cultural moment for years! HOW RADICAL the love of God to take our excluded hearts that are ‘other’ from Heaven to pull us in close and make us family—bonded by His own blood.”

Something that one of the speakers we had this past semester has said to us was that it would be essential when we return to take our experience and apply it to our own communities—to keep our feelings and experiences with each other alive. With this thought I know that it was a real moment of acceptance for me that I am here, no longer there, but I’ve branched out. I’ve felt uprooted, but I’ve grown. And most importantly I’ve done this within a Christ-like context of unconditional love. This semester has been unforgettable and truly changed me. I still don’t know what my future will hold as I reacquaint myself with my own culture. In that unknown though is a place where God knows, and reaches through everything to help us reach out and connect with the others.

If you would like to know more about my experiences and those of the students in my group feel free to read our blog and see the pictures on EMU’s crosscultural page: http://emu.edu/now/crosscultural/

If you listen closely to your radio the next few days, you might hear a familiar voice …

Here are a few 15-second radio spots we’re running to invite people to join us on Easter Sunday. (Hey … you should invite some friends, too!)

Which one is your favorite? Vote in the comments!

This post was submitted by Natalie Lester – another one of the amazing RISE interns. Click here to check out Natalie’s blog!

Monday I got the amazing opportunity to work with HARTS (Harrisonburg and Rockingham Thermal Shelter). HARTS is a yearly program through which various faith communities in the area open up their doors to the homeless one week at a time, offering beds and meals to those who may have no where else to go. During nights as cold as those the area has been experiencing recently, I can’t imagine having to remain outside for extended amounts of time.

This year RISE is hosting HARTS at Faith Community Church from February 18th to February 25th.

I arrived at Faith Community Church with a few friends of mine that comprise a group whose meeting time is on Monday nights, but who determined this Monday night should be put to especially good use. We showed up with homemade desserts in hand(cookie and cream iced brownies), most of us not knowing what to expect. What I found was a beautiful time of connection and fellowship, enhanced by a few competitive rounds of rummy. When we arrived the doors were not officially open, (according to policy the church is only open from 6pm to 7am), so when we went inside it was simply volunteers hustling about setting up for dinner. Eventually we came together in a circle, were briefed on what we could expect that night as well as safety precautions, and then the doors were opened to those who had been waiting outside them. Smiles and greetings were simple enough but I truly wanted to connect with these individuals, and eventually I did with much more ease then expected. What I found were people just like you and me, telling stories and making jokes, but also pushing to defend themselves and their situations. I personally had no assumptions about these people, no preceding judgments about why they might be there, because I fully acknowledge the fact that I could easily fall into the same circumstances. I truly believe that no person is above homelessness or poverty, and that anyone can be struck by a series of events leading them to such conditions. Yet over and over again I heard explanations of what led up to them being there, personal efforts to escape these circumstances, and demonstrations of values contrasting those commonly believed to be held by the homeless population. It broke my heart that these people felt the need to defend themselves to me, going so far as to believe I thought myself better than them in some cases. Needless to say it was a powerful night, and I enjoyed it so much that I returned on Thursday for both the dinner and overnight shifts.

On Thursday I spoke for hours with a Vietnam veteran who told me incredible stories of how he escaped death over and over again, as well as more current accounts of friends being arrested in laundromats because they had retreated there in order to escape the cold. I had conversations with others about music and food, one man telling me he’d done a number of drugs but it was I who had lost my mind for enjoying Bob Dylan’s music. In the morning a man came into the kitchen while a fellow volunteer and I were preparing for breakfast, giving us a trash bag that contained 4 boxes of Strite’s donuts he had been given that he wanted us to put out with the usual cereal, oatmeal, and granola bars. Over and over again I heard words of thanks and expressions of gratefulness, but I’m not sure that I can accept them. It is my personal philosophy that each person that was served is my fellow man or woman and the fact that I am there in that moment doesn’t deserve acknowledgement or praise, rather in a greater plan I serve so that I might later be served in return. In fact, what greater purpose is there than to ease the suffering of your brothers and sisters?

In conclusion, I can’t know if I really helped these people by washing their dishes and participating in conversations, but I know for a fact that those were nights I fully enjoyed.

I encourage everyone to participate in HARTS any way that you can as it continues throughout this winter season!

This post was submitted by Ashley Jacquette who is currently serving as a RISE intern.

If I could use one word to describe the Intern retreat to Washington DC, I would use the word community. This weekend was a beautiful reminder that we need each other, not only in our smaller communities but also in the world. We need each other to laugh with, cry with, and to help better understand ourselves. Without community, there would be no life. And our weekend in DC was an awesome way to come together as a community of leaders all working towards the same goal, which is to better know God and how best to serve him. 

So our weekend itinerary was full of awesome things. We went to the DC Central Kitchen to volunteer, we then went to Wesley Theological Seminary to hear a talk on leadership in the church. We also went to the National Cathedral and a few of us got to sit in on a Catholic service. Over and over again I was reminded of our call as followers of Christ to serve others and to love one another. In our talk at Wesley, we learned about what it means to be a church that functions as a group of people working towards “God’s Preferred Kingdom” (which in RISE language means God’s Dream). I thought about what that meant to me, and what it means for me now to be a part of such a dedicated group of people working on restoring God’s Dream. I couldn’t help but think how incredibly blessed I was to know and understand this idea of leadership based on my experience! 

I believe God uses everyone for some purpose and that we all have a little leader inside of us waiting to come out. One thing I know is that without this community, I would not have nearly the passion that I have today. I know we work together, towards a common goal. And while it is so so easy to forget that goal and get caught up in the logistics of it all, we as interns are always going back to the “Why?” of things. 

So why do we strive as leaders for those who have no voice, for those who are broken, and for those who seem hopeless? Because it matters. Because they matter. Our lives are a gift from God. My personal “why” is so that everyone may know and understand that simple, yet hard to believe, truth that we are infinitely loved and cared for by our Creator. 
So, with all that being said, this past weekend was an amazing time of reflection on the communities that we have built at RISE. It was a beautiful way to get to know some of the interns better, to form relationships that matter, and to go back to our “why.”

Doodle courtesy of April Sedeen, founder of Doodle Du Jour!

Every year, at the end of Ash Wednesday, I think the same basic thing.  ”Well that was weird.” But, I appreciate it more every year. Every year, it’s tense, awkward, and I get really sullen right before the service, primarily because I don’t want to stand up there and tell people they’re gonna die.  Why? It kills the mood. And, I don’t like to deal with that news myself.

Why is the church so odd? Why do we pick one day of the year to get up in each other’s faces, smudge foreheads with dirt, and speak bluntly of our shared mortality? “You, my friend, are gonna be worm food ….” So strange.

I’ve been to countless funerals as a family member and in the pastor-ish role, and I’m always fascinated by the ways we try to soft-pedal death.  The phrases “passed away” or “passed on” have always interested me.  As I kid, I used to wonder about that language.  

No, she didn’t “pass away.” No, he didn’t “pass on.” He’s dead. She’s dead. Boom. Let’s tell the truth here.

I appreciate the fact that on Ash Wednesday, I don’t hear, “Hey there, friend … just want to gently remind you that someday you are gonna ‘pass away.’”

I need to be reminded that I’m not a big deal (it’s hard to hear, but oh so true). I need to be told to get over myself. I need to get perspective. 

(And the truth is, I need to hear that more than just one day of the year …)

And nothing helps me get perspective faster than hearing the news that at the end of the day, I am a speck. A speck in time, a speck of dust, a part of creation and its life cycle.Soon-to-be compost. You get the picture …

I hear that news and realize that the petty stuff I cling to is pretty trivial. I realize that what I think really matters … well … most of it doesn’t all that much. 

I realize that for someone who detests whining, I have my own ways of whining and feeling sorry for myself way too much. I realize that I need to focus more on being and less on doing. I realize that I find my worth primarily in things that also are fleeting and temporary. I realize that I need to see a bigger picture.

I realize that I only get one wild and precious life.

This post was submitted by Lindsay Davis, a member of the RISE Core Team.

Rediscovering prayer and Bible study is bringing about major nostalgia.

When I opened my Bible to read this morning, I remember my early morning readings of old. I remember being immersed in darkness as my roommate slept with only my desk lamp giving enough light for me to read the verses. I remember taking notes in so many journals, pondering on what these stories meant to me and my life as it was and how it would be. I remember the feel of the worn leather of the Bible I received just before I graduated high school, with the little rough patch on the spine that I would rub absent-mindedly as if it were my own little safety blanket. I remember reading over the notes my youth volunteers wrote to me behind the front and back covers, full of love and hope as I prepared for the journey through my collegiate years. I remember how years later, their loving words could brighten up my darkest days.

When I begin to pray, I remember how many old rituals I tried. I remember sitting on the old, uncomfortable couches in the basement of my dorm, praying out loud until someone walked in and glanced awkwardly at me, at which point I would either pause and wait until I was alone again, or turn the other way and continue to pray silently. I remember holding hands with others and praying “popcorn prayers” until our voices blended together into one giant petition. I remember writing the name of every person that came to my mind, from dear friends and family members to someone I heard about on the news, in a prayer journal, and praying over each name so that they would know God’s love and peace for them.

I remember the devotionals that had little snippets of Scripture and a small reading to go with it. I remember words that inspired me, convicted me, challenged me, and gave me hope. I remember wanting to carry the little light around within me forever, only to be disappointed when a moment of chaos, pain, or my own darkness sprung up and snuffed it out.

This is why I’ve been skeptical about prayer for so long. It’s not God’s strength I doubt anymore; it’s my own.

Why pray when my own darkness takes me down so quickly? Why pray when I know I’m just going to let myself be torn down by what others say and do? Why be filled with hope, joy, peace, and love, when it will be gone before the end of the day?

And why read this crazy collection of stories known as the Bible? Why bother trying to unearth the mysteries of these Scriptures? Why spend so much mental energy trying to figure out what I want it to say, or what I think it needs to say? Why do this, when all other people seem to do with it is harm others with their newfound “biblical wisdom”, which was a not-so subtle way to demonize those who disagreed with them? Why should I bother others with my own contributions to the story, when all their contributions seemed to do was hinder others?

And why am I going back to this now? I’ve been afraid of prayer and the Bible for a bit over a year now. What is making me go back after all of this time?

To be honest, I simply missed it.

I missed the peace and affirmation that came from prayer. I missed connecting with God. I missed getting outside of my own head every once in a while to engage with someone else’s pain. I missed the connection to how I used to be, the people that were part of my life, my own steadfastness (or at least its façade). I missed knowing that God was looking out for me, that there was something out there bigger than me that I could tap in to, that the One who created everything, seen and unseen, had my back.

And I missed the old stories. I missed the Creation accounts, the flood narrative, the stories of people like Ruth, David, Mary, Esther, Moses, Jacob, Jesus, and Paul. I missed reading the stories of how the early churches struggled, and how they gave me hope in the midst of our struggles as a Church today.

I missed discussing these stories in small groups. I missed praying out loud together as a community.

I miss the way things used to be.

I do not miss the anti-intellectualism. I do not miss the strict legalism on purity. I do not miss the political agendas, selling Jesus as an “easy button,” drawing lines in the sand, blindness to the suffering of those around us in exchange for the Prosperity Gospel, and all those things that still make me cringe when I think about my faith background.

But I do miss the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I do miss certainty and steadfast faith and hope, even in the darkest of times. I miss the mysticism, the beauty of deep spirituality, and the joy in connecting with God in a deeper way that makes some people think you’re “not with it.”

So I’m coming back. Or I’m dipping my feet back in again. I haven’t quite dived fully in yet, but my toes are in the water, and it is cool and refreshing in the middle of this long journey.

This post was submitted by Jordan Garrett.

In the midst of all the chaos that I call my life, sometimes it’s hard for me to slow down and listen to the quietness of God. Especially as a music major when everything’s a whirlwind of a to-do list, I just want to curl up and sleep forever by the end of the week. I guess you can say its been a stressful month! Much to my demise, I somehow got persuaded by my housemates to get up at 8 am on a Saturday morning to go gleaning with RISE. And much to my surprise, it was the most needed and memorable day from last week.

There are so many beautiful things on this Earth that I don’t notice. I’m either so immersed in myself or too tired to notice the constant reminders of a love that never forgets me even when I might forget about Him. I guess I realized that this story of mine is not just about that hand that picks up the apple, but the hands that MADE the apple and MADE that hand to pick up the apple and MADE the mouth less fortunate than mine that will eat the apple that was picked up. And that’s a beautiful thing to consider. All of this is His. The entire Earth is His, and he uses it to love us in a way I had never thought of before.

Get away from the to-do list my friends. There are beautiful things to be seen.