Stewardship

Stewardship 

In the Beginning

God spoke: “Let us make human beings in our image, make them
reflecting our nature
So they can be responsible for the fish in the sea,
the birds in the air, the cattle,
And, yes, Earth itself,
and every animal that moves on the face of Earth.”
God created human beings;
he created them godlike,
Reflecting God’s nature.
He created them male and female.
God blessed them:
“Prosper! Reproduce! Fill Earth! Take charge!
Be responsible for fish in the sea and birds in the air,
for every living thing that moves on the face of Earth.”

God looked over everything he had made;

it was so good, so very good!

 ~  Genesis 1 (The Message Translation)

Then God planted a garden in Eden, in the east. He put the Man he had just made in it. God made all kinds of trees grow from the ground, trees beautiful to look at and good to eat... God took the Man and set him down in the Garden of Eden to work the ground and keep it in order. ~ Genesis 2 (The Message Translation)

There is debate if Adam and Eve were two real people, or if they’re literary examples of humanity in our earliest interactions with God. Similarly, some believe the Garden of Eden was a specific place on Earth, and some believe the Garden of Eden represents the entire Earth. Regardless, we see that God created mankind in his image. He created a garden. He put man in charge. It’s a story that explains what God intended for humanity.

After visiting Hana, Hawaii, I imagine it to look like the Garden of Eve. Dense, tropical forests where passionfruit vines grow among the shadows and birds call out to each other in the afternoon sun. Pineapples sprout from the ground and the coconuts that drop from trees are nature’s first electrolyte drink. Bananas burst from every tree, satiating and sweet, and starfruit grows naturally from bushes, refreshing and crisp. Around every corner there is a new adventure, every crevice is teeming with life. 

The Garden of Eden was God’s special place to come and meet with humanity, where they went on daily walks exploring the garden, tasting the food, and enjoying intimate friendship. Strangely, God didn’t keep control of the garden. He gave it over to Adam and Eve, to “work the ground and keep it in order.”

I’ve wondered what the final straw was for Satan to rebel against God. 

Was it that God’s blubbery love for humans was beneath the expected conduct of an all-powerful God?

Was it that God created matter when God and angels are spiritual beings? 

Was it that God made humanity in his image, giving them the ability to imagine and create?

Was it that God created two genders when God and angels are genderless? 

Was it that God allowed human beings to have full responsibility for God’s garden?

Because really, it’s outrageous that God would allow humans, vulnerable to failure, to care for his special garden when he had a horde of capable angels who could have cared for it perfectly. It’s the equivalent of allowing children to wear your priceless, family-heirloom, diamond necklace to their Kindergarten graduation. If you’re one for logic, it simply doesn’t make sense. That scenario can only make sense if it’s an outrageously generous King, drunk on love for his children, who wants to prepare them for their future destiny. 

I’ve always thought Satan must be big on logic. 

The Family Business

Imagine you had a family business. It’s a prosperous company and you’ve put your heart and soul into it and it has flourished. Everyone loves your business, it’s provided for your family, given jobs to the townspeople, and stimulated the country’s economy. Your children have worked under you for decades. They’ve watched you since they were young and you’ve been patient to teach and guide them. You’ll retire soon. You intend to give the company to them next year.

If you believe your children are capable of taking over the business, you’d allow them to make real decisions that could grow or harm the company. If you believed in them to be your equals, you’d give them access to the business’s finances to invest or squander. You wouldn’t hold any responsibility back, for good or evil, even though you would lose control. 

You would want your children to love it as much as you do, and to do that, they needed to own it. There’s a level of delight that can only be experienced when you’re holding something wonderful in your hands, when it belongs to you, and not just looking over the shoulder of another person. That is what God did for Adam and Eve. God wanted them to be in charge of his creation. He wanted them to delight in the garden as much as he did. 

God’s “family business” was for mankind to care for the Earth and everything in it. In return, it would provide everything we need. It’s what we were created for. It was the plan of an outrageously generous father. We were meant to care for Earth while living in an intimate relationship with him and each other.

Humanity’s Responsibility

The Tree-of-Life was in the middle of the garden, also the Tree-of-Knowledge-of-Good-and-Evil. ~ Genesis 2 (The Message Translation)

The Bible says that mankind could eat the fruit from the Tree of Life and live forever. Joshua Ryan Butler, author of “Skeleton in God’s Closet” interprets the Bible’s Tree of Life to be an umbilical cord between heaven and earth. {get an excerpt from book}

It connected earth to life-giving heaven, providing everything that was needed for Adam and Eve to make the Garden thrive. When Adam and Eve sinned, the cord was cut. Not only did sin disease humanity’s soul, but the earth itself was now separated from heaven, from a system of eternal life to a system of entropy and death.  If our relationship with God hadn’t been severed by sin, I think we would have done an amazing job of taking care of the Earth and everything in it.

After “The Fall,” having been made in the image of God, we have the enormous ability to harm the earth and that’s exactly what we’ve done. If you believe in global warming or not, we can still agree that Agent Orange is a human invention. Polyfluorinated and poly-fluoroalkyl Substances (PFAS), aka toxic forever chemicals, are a human invention. Nuclear waste? Humans. City-sized warehouses? Humans. Massive carbon dioxide emissions? Humans. Deforestation? Humans. It’s not the plants or the animals that created toxic chemicals or ravaged ecosystems. It was us. Humans.

It wasn’t so long ago that you were mired in that old stagnant life of sin. You let the world, which doesn’t know the first thing about living, tell you how to live. You filled your lungs with polluted unbelief and then exhaled disobedience. ~ Ephesians 2 (The Message translation)

Destruction is part of humankind’s DNA, ever since the fall of Adam and Eve, though some cultures have been more irresponsible than others. Sin broke us. Corrupted us. Without the regenerative work of God in our lives, and without the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, we’re destined to continue sin’s legacy of entropy, and destruction- spiritually and as Earth’s stewards.

Christian Stewards

He took our sin-dead lives and made us alive in Christ. ~ Ephesians 2 (The Message translation)

As Christians, we still struggle against sin and we live in a broken world, yet we have the spirit of God living within us. We are no longer slaves. We are new creations, alive in Christ. We are living confirmation that the kingdom of God can exist on Earth here and now. 

We can’t get back into the Garden of Eden until Jesus makes the new heaven and earth. But apparently, it’s still God’s will for the Earth to provide for humanity, and it seems it’s still our responsibility to care for the Earth until God provides something else. As Christians, we should be diligent stewards above everyone else. We should be the most grateful, the most respectful, and the most protective in caring for the Earth. 

Being a Christian means we have an important role in God’s family business. 

Don’t be on Satan’s side

God is working on my heart so I can forgive Christians.

I had a great talk with Chad’s family, several of whom are pastors and missionaries. I was explaining that when Grace had cancer, I didn’t want people to come and pray with us. Chad’s Uncle was shocked at this. 

I explained that when Grace was first diagnosed God told me that he wasn’t going to give us a shortcut. I felt strongly that it was God’s will for her to go through treatment for healing, and it wouldn’t be through a “miracle.” He made no promises that she would survive.

Many of our Christian friends couldn’t accept that. They wanted to “pray through it,” which was their way of saying God was bound to do a miracle if we kept praying; as if we could earn miracles if we practiced enough faith.  

It was a hard and lonely spiritual journey for me because I knew God didn’t always answer our prayers, at least, not our prayers for physical healing. We had already buried several children with cancer and we had prayed so hard for them. Thousands of people were praying for them. There was no lack of faith. God said no. His miracle for them was heaven. I had to wrestle through that painful-glorious truth mostly alone. 

God allows children to get cancer. He allows them to die. This contradicted many of our Christian friends’ paradigms that God always does “good.” And by good, they meant human standards of good; comfort, health, and wealth. When they saw Grace’s suffering it contradicted their beliefs and I think it frightened them. If God allowed suffering in our lives, then God might allow it in theirs. They often couldn’t sit with us in our pain. I felt like some people were trying to “fix” Grace’s cancer. I didn’t want to be fixed, I didn’t even want Grace’s cancer to be fixed. I wanted to know we were not alone on this terrifying double-journey; one, Grace’s cancer, and two, trusting a God who didn’t make sense. 

It was disguised in faith and prayer, but I think for some (not all), it was a way to comfort themselves from having to confront a good, but not a tame, God. 

As I explained why I was so bitter to Chad’s uncle, I told him a few things God was pointing out to me recently, as he’s working on healing my heart. 

I was listening to the story of Job, how Satan said, “Job is only being faithful because his life is easy. Take away all his comfort and he’ll curse God to his face.” I realized that I had joined Satan’s side. Often when I saw the “hallelujah” Christians at church I thought to myself, it’s just because they’ve never been tested. If they went through hell like I did, they might not be such giddy-happy-go-lucky-good-vibes-only Christians. That’s Satan’s talk and even if it’s true, I’m not going to mimic him. That’s going to be between them and God from now on. If God decides they get to live a comfortable and easy life, that’s his business, not mine. If he wants them to mature in faith through suffering — also his job and not mine. So no matter what, I’m not going to play Satan’s role ever again in that argument. I officially repent.

I realized I resented “parenting” people in places of Christian leadership. I wanted them to know how to help me. I wanted them to guide me. They weren’t able to. They had either zero experience with real suffering or they had not learned anything from their suffering because they didn’t want to accept it. They were so intent to get back to “good” that they didn’t know how to navigate through the bad. They couldn’t help me. It would have taken an extra burden off of me and would have brought me the comfort that I needed- to know God was with us in the pain. But they didn’t. They couldn’t. It’s time for me to stop resenting them for their failures and accept that they’re as imperfect as I am.

I needed to be able to accept that what some Christians did was sinful. Some people with “faith” weren’t just making mistakes (which is a MUCH easier thing to forgive). Some people were in places of leadership and they were wrong that they taught incorrect things about God. Some of them spoke against medicine. Some of them taught that miracles are only for the faithful. Some of them said things that broke me.

There’s something in me that wanted to protect them by not admitting what they did wrong because it made me feel unsafe. I want to be clear- some of these people are real individuals, some are Christian leaders who are preaching the prosperity gospel.  Either way, it was wrong. I’m strong enough to say that now.

I felt like my sin was less offensive than those who had sinned against me. I was snarky, judgmental, and unforgiving… but it felt so justified. I felt like I could share snide remarks about Christians with Jesus and that he was probably secretly laughing at them with me. I see now that my sin is the same as all sin. It’s not funny, it’s not acceptable. It’s based in pride and fear. If God hadn’t pointed it out it would have eventually poisoned me. Not that I’ll be able to stop on my own. I know God has a lot of healing to do in me before I stop feeling resentful and bitter. 

During communion today I felt God remind me that when I take the cup and the bread, I’m accepting tokens of his blood and his body. In the Bible, he also says his body is the church. Communion is a symbol of our oneness with God, but also our oneness with his people. Those people include the “hallelujah” Christians. If I want to be connected to God, I need to be connected to his people. Even the ones that drive me crazy. 

I’m still on the path to healing. Obviously. But I’m thankful God is taking me through this painful journey. I know it’s part of his plan for my life. I don’t see how he’ll do it, or when he’ll finish it, but I do see he’s working on me and I’m thankful for that. 

Staying in the boat

“And Jesus if it's You…On the water, in the cloud…I'll be the first one to walk out.”

Those were the lyrics we sung at church today. As I sang them I felt like Jesus gave me a vision. I saw the young, eager Christians in a boat. They were excited to jump out into the water, to walk out to Jesus, like Peter did. They wanted to prove their faith.

I wasn’t lined up. Instead, I was sitting at the edge of the boat, helping the young believers get ready to walk on the water. I was holding their hands until they were steady enough to take the first step. 

I looked up and saw Jesus across the water. He gave me a knowing look. He was proud of me for helping the other believers. I had already been tested, I didn’t need to walk on the water to know his love for me. I didn’t have to prove my faith. And instead of being bitter about these Christians, I was helping them. They didn’t understand why I wasn’t hurrying out of the boat, but Jesus knew. I had assumed my role as a helper.

I returned the smile, feeling secure in his love for me. For once I wasn’t worried about other Christian’s judgment because I was different, because I saw Jesus’s look of approval. 

It's not you, it's me

As I was worshiping during church today with the family (we're still attending Church on the Couch until the kids can be vaccinated) I realized I still feel threatened by worship. Then I realized maybe it wasn't them, maybe it was me. 

Some Christians can shout praises to God, trusting him for victory, unwavering in their faith. Dancing and jumping and smiling. 

I can't do that. I have doubts, fears, and I know that some of God's victories will never be realized on this earth. I know pain and sorrow and grief. When I come to worship, it's with a wounded heart. And so I find myself hiding in the corners of my heart even as my mouth is singing the words.

I am waiting until I can praise him without reservation. I'm keeping my heart from fully engaging until I am full of confidence. Until I feel safe around my own pain and doubts, or really, until I no longer have pain or doubts.

In Celebrate Recovery we say that God wants our bad, not just our good. 

Of course my faith isn't enough. Of course I'm not whole. Of course I can't shout praise. But that's not what God wanted. He wanted me in my lacking. I got the sense today that he delighted in my not-enough-ness. 

Delighted.

Because if worship is about me coming to him with my wholeness, where is he? There's so much room for his goodness in my emptiness. So much room for him to show his mercy. His love and acceptance.

He didn't need me to bring him my faith- he is the beginner and finisher of my faith. He is my faith. I can be weak.

He didn't need me to shout praises- he cherishes my frightened attempts to whisper his promises, that's the faith he moves mountains with. It was always him moving the mountains. How foolish to think before I had something to do with it, that my faith was the engine behind it. In my quietness it's so clear that it's him commanding the mountains to fall. And I'm the one standing next to him with my mouth hanging open in awe. 

That's why God loves to use the humble and not the proud. The weak and not the strong. The foolish and not the wise. That's where we see him in who he really is- the God who loves us for who we are, and not as we should be. 

That's humbling to admit, because then I have to leave behind our identity as a "christian" so I can find Jesus like a child. But isn't that the only kind of God I want to love? The one who loves me like a father in all my childish, sticky, needy, faith? 

But I don't think this realization will change worship for me. I was reminded today about the time I hid flowers from homeless people. 

When Chad and I were first married, we were so broke that buying flowers at Trader Joes was a splurge. They had ranunculus, some of my favorites, so I bought a small bouquet. We were living in Culver City and I had to walk back across the park to get home. The park was packed with homeless people, many of whom we knew by name.

I was concerned that they might see my flowers hanging out of my bag and ask for one of them. And I didn't want to share, this was my splurge, so I tucked them into the bag.

In that moment the Holy Spirit made clear to me the situation. The depravity of my soul. I had a home, a husband, clothes, food, and a bouquet of flowers. And I didn't want to share one stem. I wished in that moment that I wasn't selfish. I wished that I was a generous person, a person like Jesus.

Suddenly, like I was seeing a vision, I saw a chasm. I was on one side and the potential to be the generous person that I wanted to be was on the other. And the chasm was so wide I would never be able to cross it.

The Holy Spirit showed me that the only way over was for him to take me there. I would never be able to achieve it on my own. I had to own my limitations and ask him for help to be the person he wanted me to become. The person I wanted to become.

I don't know how God did it. It wasn't in a single moment. It wasn't even noticeable when it did happen. But suddenly I wasn't afraid of losing, I was excited to share. Being generous became a thrill instead of fear, even when there was no hope of return. 

That was twelve years ago. Full disclosure, I'm back in a place where I'm struggling to be generous again and to not be afraid. But what I learned in that moment is that I am not capable of becoming even who I want to be. Unless God pours himself into me, I'm just not capable. And I learned that he had no expectation otherwise. He showed me the impossibility of it and if I tried it on my own I would only manage to throw myself off a cliff. He was the only way, he created it that way.

This reminds me today that I can't worship God unless he pours himself into me. And even when he does, it still probably won't look the same as the people around me. But it can be without fear of my lacking, without condemnation. It can be weak and vulnerable. It can be his delight. 

And how much more can I glorify him, if he does it instead of me? I can shout praises that I am so imperfect, so lacking. 

He is so generous. 

He is so merciful. 

He isn't tame, but he is good.

I want to be able to worship that God, if he makes me able.

September

September is pediatric cancer awareness month and it’s not letting me forget that. It’s bringing on PTSD as if immersion therapy is the only way to save my soul. Cancer has been a prominent part of my family for seven years now. So I have plenty of memories for September to prey upon.

When my daughter Grace was getting a bone marrow transplant in 2017, she and I lived in an PICU room in the bone marrow transplant ward for two months straight. All of the rooms are slightly-more comfortable versions of living inside a bubble. The children getting transplants have no immune systems. Everything had to be sterile.

We weren’t allowed to bring blankets from home like we could in the regular pediatric cancer ward. She was allowed a limited amount of toys and they had to be clean at all times. No flowers. No fresh fruit. No dog therapy visits. No children visitors. Limited adult visitors. I would stay with her almost all day, almost every day, until I forgot what the outside world was like. 

Needless to say, I went a little batty from the loneliness and the sensory isolation. Thankfully the hospital provided a psychologist who held group therapy for the parents every week. Three other moms and I went somewhat regularly. I didn’t realize it until just now, but I’m the only mom from that group who didn’t lose her child to cancer.

One of those moms was bereaved as of today. Her four year-old son Jacob* passed away after a four-year fight with cancer. He was cancer free for a only few months of his life. She was the mom I wrote about, in this group, when I was inpatient with Grace in 2017.

“...today as I ate my crappy microwave dinner in the parent kitchen I met a mom whose seven month old son has a brain tumor. I just didn’t have the heart to tell her she’s my neighbor in real life. That she lives within ten miles of a nuclear meltdown near our homes. I started mapping kids with cancer in our community after my daughter had cancer the first time, because I realized that kids will keep getting cancer unless we fight back. Because no child should suffer like my daughter…”

I wrote that almost exactly four years ago. Somehow it feels like a full circle but without any satisfaction. What frightens me is that I didn’t cry as much as I would have expected, when I learned of Jacob’s passing today. Granted, I have been grieving slowly over the last few days when his mom first announced he was dying. And I didn’t cry as much as I expected a few weeks ago when another child who was in treatment with Grace died. Again, there was plenty of warning. 

But I’m worried I wasn’t devastated because maybe children dying of cancer is becoming normal to me. There have been twelve children, who were in treatment with Grace, who have passed away. 

More likely I’m not grieving like I should because my psyche won’t let me. I might wake the emotions I’ve buried. I would be again swimming in that freezing-water-feeling I had knowing that Grace was statistically slated to die. I think my subconscious is trying to protect me from what September is refusing to let me forget.

Maybe this is the type of situation where superstitions are born. Next year, if I offer alms to the god of September, if I host fundraisers and decorate my car in gold ribbons and wear pediatric cancer foundation shirts, maybe next year it’ll be appeased and not take any more children with cancer from our community. 

I wish it was that simple.

Most of you know about the Santa Susana Field Lab, the nuclear meltdown site I mentioned four years ago. It’s dangerous. It won’t give every child cancer, but for those it touches, it devastates. The solution itself is simple. A complete remediation of the site to remove all the toxic and radioactive contamination. It was promised to our community by the California EPA and the Department of Toxic Substances Control (DTSC) to be completed by 2017. 

The California EPA and DTSC were supposed to enforce the cleanup. Maybe if they had kept their word, Jacob wouldn’t have known cancer. Obviously that’s a speculation, but it’s not unjustified either. They have failed us. They failed Jacob. 

I wish I could have done more, that I had some magic wand that would have forced our government agencies to do the right thing back before Jacob was diagnosed. I have no training as an advocate for cleaning up contaminated sites. Some days everything I do feels completely futile, like I’m stumbling in the forest among wolves. Some days I see a glimmer of hope, that not only our site would be cleaned up, but that it would set a precedent for the comprehensive cleanups of toxic sites across America.

It’s my goal that one September, maybe not many years from now, we can celebrate what was once Pediatric Cancer Month. 

*I changed Jacob’s real name in order to protect his family’s privacy.

Grief, when I can feel it.

Four years ago I was so angry at God. Why did he let Grace's cancer come back? How could he do this to her? The intensity of the pain I felt, the abandonment, was overwhelming.

And today, to the same depth of intensity, I find myself thanking him for sparing her. Another one of the kids she was in treatment with passed today. I think that makes thirteen. Thirteen children we know have passed from cancer. Grace doesn't know it's that many. I don't always tell her unless she asks about them and because we don't go to CHLA anymore, some are out of sight, out of mind. And I don't want to introduce that grief. 

But I feel the grief, to the degree I can find it.

It's so hard to acknowledge the pain of this child's passing because then I have to remember how afraid I was for my own daughter only four years ago. I don't want to remember. I don't want to think of the giant hole that little girl has left in her parent's hearts because then I have to remember my own fears of losing Grace. I've begun to realize that I've been forgetting. I don't know if that's good or not.

I saw a friend today whose daughter was also in treatment with Grace. She mentioned it was a good thing I was working so hard on the SSFL cleanup so I didn't have to deal with some of the grief and PTSD. And it made me wonder how much of that was true. And if true, is it a healthy way of dealing with it? Is it ok that I spend very little time remembering Grace's treatment, unless it's thrust on me like today with the little girl's passing? Am I in denial or am I moving on? 

I don't know. I really don't.

I'm not in therapy right now, though I'm considering going back to Celebrate Recovery. I've been a few times in the last few weeks. And I was glad that it didn't hurt as bad as it used to when I mentioned my daughter had cancer. I used to be so angry to be "that mom," the one everyone felt sorry for. I also don't know why I'm back in Celebrate Recovery because I don't know exactly what it is I need support for. I'm not codependent, I'm not dealing with anger issues, I'm not numbing myself, I'm not an addict. But I feel like I need something to keep me more balanced. So I don't lose myself in denial by working too hard. 

I'm more grateful than I am angry at God, but still broken that another child died of something that may have been preventable. I'm becoming a rather firm believer that most pediatric cancers could be prevented if they hadn't been exposed to toxic or radioactive waste. I have a reason to believe this little girl was. And that my little girl was. And that's why I do work too much sometimes. Maybe it is to escape the pain, because each time a child dies, it hurts. And maybe I can prevent more kids dying. 

Maybe. I don't know. I really don't.

Becoming a servant

There have been some things happening that have made me feel like "I AM AN IMPORTANT ACTIVIST." I have such a strong tendency to build my identity on what I do. But I know how dangerous that mentality is for me.

It's been amazing, the people I've been able to meet lately. There are people across the nation who have a wealth of information and expertise on environmental justice and toxic and nuclear cleanup activism. And they've been so generous to share with me and spend time teaching me.  And somehow I let that influence the way I thought of myself, that I must be important if these amazing people are willing to spend time with me. 

And I've been part of some aspects of leadership in the activist world and somehow I thought myself self-sufficient. I seemed to forget so quickly how much my mentors are really the forces at work and they include me and teach me, which I am so grateful for. 

I started to think maybe I was the reason why things were working out well as an activist. 

I've always thought that if I were to be susceptible to falling into a trap of sin, my trap would be pride. Not the "I feel proud of how hard I worked" pride. The "I am an important person" pride. And thankfully I've been able to see the trap ahead of me for once, instead of walking blindly into it. I think it's a combination of the Holy Spirit and also the years of Celebrate Recovery that helped me learn to see the patterns in my life.

Celebrate Recovery is also where I learned that God didn't make me strong enough to resist the trap of sin. And that was on purpose. He created us to live in community and to bear each other's burdens. So I'm going to start back again, probably only every-other-week, but I hope that extra diligence and support will protect me from falling. 

It would be so tragic if I messed up everything God has been doing because I thought I was more important than the people around me.  I would eventually lose the friends I've made on this journey. I would probably begin to make some major mistakes that could cost us the cleanup. I would eventually lose myself. 

I started to pray about this and think about what good leadership looks like. And right away I thought of Jesus. He was the poster child for "servant leadership." And that was a huge relief, because I don't always know what a good leader looks like but I do know what a good servant looks like. 

Good servants:

* Think of other's needs and not just their own

* Values others more than they value themselves

* Builds up others instead of themselves

* Promotes others instead of themselves

* Gives opportunity to others instead of being a "gatekeeper." 

* Listens to others more than they talk

I'm certain there are more qualities but that's what I can think of right now. And by becoming a servant leader, I never have to worry about falling into pride, because a servant leader is focused on others and not just themselves. 

The other thing that helped was this thought; there's a man in the community who is against the SSFL cleanup. Whenever he tries to discourage me he says, "this will go on for another 10 years. Are you willing to lose 10 years of your life?"

I was thinking about it this morning, that I would reply that even if I wasn't helping cleanup the SSFL, I'd still be obeying God doing something else. Who knows what it would be? Maybe being a foster parent? Maybe being a pediatric cancer advocate? Maybe volunteering with the kids' school more? 

Regardless, I would be doing something and it wouldn't just be for me. And that made me realize that maybe God won't always have me doing SSFL activism. He could put someone else in my place or not need me in this role after the cleanup was done, or etc. etc. 

And that gave me peace. Why would I need to make myself an "important activist" if that's not even guaranteed in my future? Instead of trying to put the cart before the horse, I just need to obey for what God has for me today. If I do that, I'll get to wherever he's leading me, no matter where that journey leads me, activist or not. 

Along the way I can be a servant, serving God and serving others. That's where I find the "real" me anyhow, the one that doesn't depend on others or the work I do to build an identity. I can find my identity in who God made me, and who he is, and how he loves me. 

Just me. 

Melissa. 

That's good enough for me.