Kids will be kids.  And there is no better place to be a kid than behind the curtain at Watershed on Sunday mornings—where middle schoolers and adult volunteers are immersing themselves in the perfect storm of chaos, community and Christ.

The middle school years are tough-- I think we all remember the awkwardness and insecurity of that time. A time when peer pressure can be the most powerful force in your life.  Besides connecting kids with each other through Christ and community-- the goal of MSB is to offer middle school aged children the opportunity to make a positive connection with an adult, other than their teachers or parents.  Someone, they can count on to listen to them, laugh with them, and pray with them. 

Come on—you know you’re curious about what goes on “behind the curtain.”   You’ve heard the laughter (and the shouting).  You’ve seen the vats of chocolate pudding.  You’ve wondered, “What the heck is going on back there?”  The answer: fellowship.  And sometimes fellowship is messy. And messy is beautiful.

But what you may not see (or hear) are the quiet moments behind the curtain.  Those moments when a shy middle schooler volunteers to pray—and in the midst of that prayer offers hope to a struggling classmate or encouragement to a fellow MSBer.  Each week the kids share their highs and lows with each other—and each week the bond between them grows.  Relationships are forming—reshaping the way they view their role as student, son, daughter, friend, and most importantly, Christ follower.  Kids will be kids—yes, but our MSBers are kids in Christ.  So what if they’re covered in chocolate pudding. 

-Brent Hill, Middle School Bloc Leader/Volunteer

Want to know more about MSB? 

Our good friends at Restoration Living have created a beautiful resource for you to prepare your heart, soul and mind during this Lent season.

Maybe some of you already have Lenten practices you have put into place and others of you may consider the whole concept rather foreign. Although Lent began February 13, as we head into Palm Sunday where we'll share a communion-meets-feast experience and then Easter where we will commemorate The Resurrection and the life we have in Jesus, we want to share this beautiful Lent book with you to aid you some sweet reflection time. Making moments and taking time for contemplation are at the heart of Lenten season. Take a moment to watch the video, print out the book and read it together with your family, friends, loved ones and/or Bloc. Let us know your thoughts as you sift through it individually and/or collectively! 

You can view/print it out HERE.

Restoration Living Lentbook how to... from Restoration Living on Vimeo.

  

A letter written by Co-Pastor Matt O'Neil and his wife Donna to their daughter Jyoti for her thirteenth birthday.

Read in Transit 1/13.

Who am I? 
I am JYOTI SINCLAIRE O’NEIL.
My name means LIGHT of the FLAME. 
I am Indian by birth and american by adoption.
I was born and created in the image of God.
I am a Child of the same God that breathed the universe into existence.

I am made whole, in and through Christ.
I am a daughter, sister, and grandchild.
I am LOVED, CHERISHED and VALUED by mom, dad, Sullivan and Mezgana.
I am a friend to good friends.
I am a part of something bigger than myself.
I am a follower of Jesus.

I am...
GIFTED, CREATIVE, TALENTED and BEAUTIFUL.

I am...FUN, SMART, CARING and COMPASSIONATE.
I am...FEARFULLY and WONDERFULLY MADE.
DESIGNED TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THIS WORLD.

And...I’m just getting started!

Because I know who I am.
As long as I am willing to REMEMBER this I can be...
CONFIDENT in myself
COURAGEOUS in my decisions
DETERMINED in my convictions and values
RESOLVED in my character
SELF AWARE of my attitudes and emotions
and VULNERABLE with others.

As long as I am willing to remember who I am, I can be...
PURPOSED in my life with God and
RESPONSIBLE, ADAPTIVE and DARING with the one life I’ve been given.
This is who I am. 
And this is what I will remember...always!

If God had a hallway lined with family photos,

What would it look like?

Would He hang the 8 x 10 of the mother, father, and 2½ children family unit in the center of His wall with prominence?

Or maybe the black and white snapshot of the single mother of three,

Who, for the fourth winter in a row, has single-handedly wrestled a Christmas tree up five flights of stairs to her small apartment where she does her best to create a memory for her babies….

even if there wasn’t much to unwrap on Christmas morning?

Would there be a section of collages dedicated to single dads attempting to braid their daughters’ hair?

Would He matte and frame grandparents raising their grandbabies…

Aunts and Uncles caring for their nieces and nephews…

What about the orphans who never found a home?

What wall would they grace?

Would we find massive canvas sized portraits of two dads and their daughter,

or two moms and their sons?

Do they get a wall? Or even part of a wall?

What about the single twenty-something who already lost both parents to cancer?

Does a headshot count as a family photo?

Would there be an 11 x 13 antique framed portrait of a senior citizen man whose family never calls, never writes…

Is there wall real estate for that one?

Would there be a display of those who’ve transplanted here from other cities,

Whose lives haven’t panned out quite like they dreamed,

Who find the greatest sense of familial bond on bar stools on Friday nights together?

Do friend group shots get a place or is that just for Facebook?

What about the divorcees with stepchildren?

Siblings and only children?

The widows and widowers?

The separated, newly single and estranged?

Are they relegated to a corner somewhere?  

Maybe with the other awkward family photos?

The woman who never met Mr. Right?

The man who never met Mrs. Right?

The couple who couldn’t have a child?

What priority will they have in this Divine Hallway?

And then, the Owner of this home,

The Keeper of these Halls,

The Father of every face gracing these walls

Speaks….

With a rumbling voice that shakes the very glass in every crooked framework….

“Meet my family.“

He straightens every frame with care as He passes by.

He proudly gazes into the eyes peering back at Him in each image….

Every photo has a place of prominence.

Every portrait uniquely matted and displayed.

No one looks the same. Some frames contain dozens, others only one or two.

But to Him, they are equally beautiful…

And with pride, He points to each of His family members and comments on how much His heart overflows with love for them.

How much they’ve grown.

How much He longs to know them more deeply.

How his heart aches when someone looks down their nose at them because they aren’t “the norm”

Or how it pains him when some of his family judges their brothers and sisters because their family portrait differs from their own.

 You see, in this hallway, we are all family.

We are all children…

We are all adopted…

We are all brothers and sisters…

We are all loved and cherished beyond comprehension…

 In fact, we’re all displayed with immense joy and satisfaction over the most giant fireplace in the universe…

Because to this Father, we’re way too precious to hide in a hallway….

We    are      God’s       children….

An eclectic, colorful array

And the most enormous non-traditional family ever known.

Written  by Taryn Hofert

Photo by Lauren Rosenau Photography

LYRICS:

The Forgetting Part· w/m Taryn Hofert 

[verse 1]

The forgetting part’s the hardest part to get

There is no escaping the tapes inside my head (they say)

You’ll never change You’ll always be the same

Just another day to replay…

[verse 2]

You can’t see the cloud  affixed above my head

I take it everywhere - My hovering regret

Oh for for just a day to escape it’s shadow cast

To reconcile with myself at last

The way I live is almost as if

I’m out for revenge against myself

 [chorus 1]

This is love -  To be seen for who you are not what you were

This is grace -  To be held as though I never made mistakes

This is You  -   Drowning me in your forgiveness  

[bridge]

Like a broken record, it haunts me

Like a tape in my head, it taunts me

Like a knife in my heart, it’s tearing me apart

Wounding daily, then in my frailty

You come, You run….to me

You embrace me in the middle of the street

You lift the needle from my record

In the silence I can hear

We are in the midst of the “mending” series at Watershed and we’ve heard amazing stories of hope and faith through the fires of pain and suffering.  As I’ve heard these heroic accounts of defeating the past, I’ve found myself reflecting on my own dark night.

In college, I experienced what my psychiatrist dubbed “intrusional thoughts” – horrific, nightmarish daydreams that I couldn’t control.  I won’t go into detail, but the doctor suggested I showed the classic signs of someone with a repressed memory who may have been sexually assaulted as a young child.  Imagine hearing that as a senior in college. Imagine dry heaving after every meal because your body physically wants to purge itself of some appalling past your mind can’t even bring to conjure up.

This is time in my life I affectionately call “The Dark Night”. To be honest, the term of endearment isn’t mine.   Tim Farrington, author of A Hell of Mercy, has explored depression as a journey, one he often refers to as the Dark Night, and for me that has a lot of traction. The idea originally comes from John of the Cross’s (a Spanish, Roman Catholic mystic and poet) writings, entitled Dark Night of the Soul.  He brilliantly relates the function of darkness in our lives to our spiritual journey. His words were profoundly illuminating:

"A deeper enlightenment and wider experience than mine is necessary to explain the dark night through which a soul journeys toward God. I am not undertaking this task because of any particular confidence in my own abilities. Rather, I am confident that the Lord will help me explain this matter…”

In the gulf of my depression, muddied by confusion and questions of a past I couldn’t hunt down, these words struck a deep chord inside of me, and they offered hope in a place I least expected it: my own depression.  I turned to other old dudes.  Isaac of Stella, some wise “man of the cloth” from the 1400’s said that depression is a “hell of mercy, not of wrath.”  It’s a funny phrase, and at first glance it seems counterintuitive, but what seems utterly incorrect is in reality acutely on target.  Depression is hell.   But it’s a hell that can actually heal. 

Depression may not be pretty, but it is merciful. I’ve experienced low, and I know what ugly on the inside feels like – but honestly, had life not been at one point as rough as it was then, I wouldn’t be where I am now.  I was stripped bare of everything – my confidence was shattered, my faith on tender hooks, and my belief subsisted on mere habit.  I hadn't turned to malicious, destructive habits, but I did abandon God and the hope that God could save me. In short, I had to rebuild myself from nothing, and it was like learning to walk again. This happened to me as a senior in college, right when the world was supposed to be opening up to me in infinite possibility. While the rest of my friends planned for job interviews, I struggled to find my footing in life again.

I was forced to face my demons, and my depression then really was a hellish place. It’s a scary thing – to face the things or people that have hurt us, to name the vices we’ve put before God, to realize how far we’ve slipped or fallen.  I was scorched by the fires of my depression, and in that dark night I let God fade into the blurry background. In this place, friends couldn’t make me happy, the things I once loved stopped offering joy.  It was painful and damaging, but it was in throes of this dark place that healing began to take root.  This is where God does some of his best work. He can fill your broken, empty vessel of a soul with so much love and warmth, it can be staggering. In the absence of happiness, in the deep end of the ocean, in the murky, crazed bewilderment that can be life sometimes, God comes in and lifts us up. We just have to be open to the possibility – and if we’ve reached the dark night and forsaken God, know this --- he’s not forsaken us.  And if we don’t feel like listening to Him, if we rather wallow in our pitiful sorrow, God will wait it out. He’s really good at waiting it out. And when we’re finally sick of being sad, when we want to take control over our depression –to own it – God will be there, holding out a hand to help you climb back into the glorious light.

So when wise old men say depression is a hell of mercy, I believe them. I can cast out the old, flawed parts of myself and find new life in Christ. I can wrestle with the beast and shatter the shackles that keep me down. I can aspire to better, and let me be clear this new, better place isn’t devoid of mistakes, but it is a place that’s more loving, tolerant, and forgiving. With Christ, we can learn to forgive ourselves and love ourselves, as we are – beautifully broken.  A poet at heart, I love imagery and metaphor, and the story of the phoenix, which I’m sure you’ve heard the story of, has always held inspiration for me. A mythical bird who literally rises from his own ashes, born again.  Christ, whose resurrection offers us new hope. The imagery isn’t lost on me.

written by Shawn Buxton

I’ve been fascinated by the tiny tent village that was once set up on the lawn of old City Hall. I’d drive by, often on my way to Transit, and secretly wish I could join the solidarity of the Occupy Wall Street movement.  What began in September last year has now spread to over 100 cities across the United States.  It seems people are willing to take a stand against the corruption of colossal banks and multinational corporations, angry at the amount of power these companies so irresponsibly wield.  It got me thinking…

What do we stand for?  It seems (collectively as a nation at least) we stand against corporate greed.  But what about hunger? Upwards of 40 million people go hungry in America daily.  And what about slavery? There are more slaves around the globe today than there were during the times when owning a slave was legal. North Carolina alone ranks as the 8^th most likely state in the nation where human trafficking takes place. I don’t see organized protests demanding these horrible grievances be remedied. 

Why are we willing to stand up against Wall Street, but silent when it comes to the human rights of others?  Is it because we feel the pinch of corporate greed in our wallets, but since our own bellies stay full we remain distanced from the real need of hunger?  Is it because slavery is such an antiquated idea we can’t even fathom what it looks like in the modern world?

It gets me thinking…

What am I willing to occupy?  My answer should be a pursuit to bring the Kingdom of God to earth. Instead of being angry about what the 1% of the rich do with their money, I should be angry about the injustices of poverty and gross violations of freedoms rampant around the world.  And I am enraged, but what do I do about it?  I quietly donate cans of food and I sign petitions, but where is the passion that gets people to live in tents outside government buildings?  Where is the collective outrage that creates a united front to send the message, “we will not stand for this!” I should be shouting from the mountaintops. But I am not.

Jesus occupied with radical love, telling us to not just love our neighbors, but to love our enemies, too.  How can we ever hope to get there when we can’t even love and care for our brothers and sisters who daily suffer?  We don’t bring the Kingdom when we think it is someone else’s problem, or when we think to give only when there is excess to donate.

This Lenten season, I made a change in my annual ritual of sacrificing something; this year, instead of foregoing dessert or soda, I decided to take something on.  I want to occupy my life with the fruits of the spirit: kindness, gentleness, joy, peace, love, and generosity (Galatians 5:22). I want to embrace the message of Jesus, love with radical faith and servitude, and occupy the Kingdom here on earth.  

Written by Shawn Buxton. Sources to facts are linked in story.

Source

So many of our Watershed families have taken the wonderful step to adopt, and each story has its own unique journey.  Yet, no matter how different the paths may have been, what's central to all these stories is love, Christ, and faith. I asked Billy and Tracy Strickland to share their experience adopting, and I'll share the story in multiple posts as answers to questions.  Below begins their tale:

How did you come to adopt?

Parker was about 16 months old, I think.  I remember asking myself if we wanted another child?  Ironically, my wife, Tracy and I had felt all along we'd be a one child family.  Parker was awesome and sweet and our joy. The thought of another child was almost weird for us.  I'm sure other parents go through this --  "Do I have enough love?"  Seriously, we asked that.

We decided we did.  We were going to have another child and we would try to get "preggers" in the fall of 2009.  At the end of the conversation, Tracy asked me if we'd ever contemplate adoption. We had the adoption conversation in the past, but nothing was set in stone.  Just wouldn't it be nice?  or where would we adopt from?  I answered Tracy's question with a pragmatic answer: "I don't know.  I don't think so.  The economy is bad.  I have my own business and I think I'm too busy to go through that process."  Tracy looked disappointed in my answer, which was odd to me, because not too long ago we had decided (I thought) that we were a one child family,  so I added, "If God wants us to adopt, he will make it abundantly clear."  No Joke!  

Flash forward three days.  A friend of mine who I worked with, and who attended Watershed occasionally, was recently separated from her husband.  She had two teenage daughters, and while she was living in Charlotte, her family were living about 45 minutes away in a small town.  She called with a unique request. That weekend she had found out that her younger daughter was pregnant.  Her daughter had spent the weekend with her in Charlotte which included a visit to Watershed, and after the service her daughter decided that she wanted to go through with her pregnancy and find a family at Watershed who couldn't have a baby adopt her child.  Her mom was calling me to ask me to spread the word and help her find this special family.  "Yes, of course," I replied.   

I asked her to call Tracy and tell her the same story and then I waited for Tracy to call me.  The conversation with Tracy was weird, amazing, and tearful.  I told Tracy to understand we were not going to adopt this baby.  The teen mom was looking for someone who could not have children, and we had a beautiful little girl, but we would help.  That plan lasted for about a day.  We knew we had to share with them the conversation we had had just a few days earlier. It went something like this: 

 "We want you to know that Tracy and have considered adoption and we would be willing to adopt the baby if you can't find the family you are looking for."

"YES!"  The birth mom responded. "I want my baby to have Parker as a big sister."  The birth mom had babysat Parker in the past and they knew each other.

 I think the question we asked each other, Tracy and I, was "What just happened?"  God made it abundantly clear. It makes me smile to think of the road we traveled to find Riley.

Of course, that's not all to this story, and I hope you come back for the continuing passages of this miraculous narrative.  Billy and Tracy's story is a fascinating illustration of the power of God's work in our lives -- He orchestrates such beautiful blessings when we let go of our need to control life. And sometimes, he even gently nudges us in the right direction, regardless of where we think we are going. 

Written by Billy Strickland and Shawn Buxton. 

Adam is the plaid wearing-dude on the left.

It hasn’t been too terribly long since Watershed finished another year of their Playlist series, one of the community’s more popular yearly series. Late in each summer, the Watershed band puts in some seriously long hours (the biggest of shout-outs to Matt Shaughnessy and Taryn Hofert for their even longer hours) to provide several weeks of music-heavy Sunday mornings. I think I speak for most of us when I say that it’s the greatest time of the year to be a member of the Watershed band. And thanks to the community’s love of Playlist, many of us are given an opportunity to give a glimpse into what makes us tick by sharing songs that are so important to us.

 Personally, I can’t look back to times in my life that haven’t been steeped in music. If you were to ask my parents, you’d hear stories that always end, “And that’s when we knew he’d be a drummer.” Sure enough, and maybe sometimes to their dismay, I did just that as soon as I was old enough**. Somewhere along the way, I just became obsessed with music and all it had to offer. Music has given me some of my most treasured memories, and a few of my best friends. Music has made me weep, but has also made me feel more confident and brave than I ever could be without it. It’s oftentimes unreal how many memories in my head have as distinct a soundtrack as a time or place.

 And it was initially music that brought me to Watershed. I met Matt Shaughnessy through a coworker who just so happened to be Matt’s wife (also, the biggest of congratulations to Matt and Rachael on the birth of their little guy, Owen!). Once Matt found out I was a drummer, he insisted I come play at Watershed, which was just about a year old at that point. Albeit hesitantly, I accepted, and the rest (as they say) is history.

 I often wonder if my love (and expression thereof) of music is ever tiresome for my friends and peers. I’ll never say that I’m sorry for that, though. It’s a daily influence on my life; it’s a rare occasion that I’ll go longer than a few minutes without music somewhere. It gives me peace, and I hope I can reflect that peace on those around me. It helps me stay grounded and realize the beautiful stuff about life and the world. I hope that we, as the Watershed band, have reflected some of that passion; it would be all for naught if we didn’t have a community to sing with us. Don’t ever stop singing, and as always, thanks for listening.

Written by Adam Phillips

 **If they’re reading this, I have to give a very special thanks to my parents for their unwavering support. Whether it was my first drumset, a ride to my first lesson, or putting up with the noise of countless band practices (and my first band was pretty awful), I’m forever indebted to your love and your support. I’d be nowhere without it. Much love.