Becca Stevens's Blog, page 2

January 11, 2019

Traveling With Friends

FullSizeRender.jpeg













The next gift of this trip to Rwanda has been learning and laughing with friends. It allows us to experience getting lost as an adventure, or coming to new knowledge  with curiosity instead of judgement. Everyone on the Thistle Farms and Ikirezi teams has taught and learned together.

This is how we all grow in justice fields producing healing love. 

Together we recognize each other’s strengths and support each other in our vulnerable places.  Last night Dr. Nicholas Hitimana, the founder of ikirezi, graced us with a part of his story of surviving the genocide. He told the heroic story as a series of blessings in the midst of troubled fields. He ended with the remarkable self discovery about his own part in the brokenness that caused such violence.  He said he learned that insight into himself amongst friends that were on retreat together in Germany. In that safe and loving space he could see clearer, be himself, and grow more into the fullness of who he was created to be.  Those friends helped him make his way back home to Rwanda with his family, where for more than 14 years he has helped thousands of people find healing in community. 

Together over the next year we will make new friends as we see images and read stories called “love from the fields” written by Nicholas and the women farmers.  I want to share these stories through emails and Thistle Farms Global’s social media. 

Together we will continue to author a story of love from the fields with a fairly simple plot: buy the oils, love the land, sustain the farmers, heal the world. We need all the great Thistle Friends to help this field flourish. With that, all I have is love and gratitude for friendship today.

It is a gift to travel, learn, weep and laugh with friends.  I am celebrating Hal Cato, Fiona Prine, Ikirezi, Frannie Kieschnick, Tara Armistead, and Tammy Griffith. 

 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on January 11, 2019 09:27

January 10, 2019

How to Live More Generously

IMG_7804.jpeg













I once heard that there is enough food in the world to feed all the hungry children. It is not a lack of resources; it is simply a lack of will.

When I think about what I have hoarded it causes me great grief. I want to walk, eat, pack and work with a more open and trusting heart. Revisiting how much we “need” and how we might better share our resources is a scary and holy discipline.

I don’t know about you, but this question of how to live more generously rises up in me every so often. It has never gone away. Sometimes it manifests itself in judging others on their generosity or creates a long list in me about why I need to worry about having enough money. I think the disciples were cautioned to travel light because then they would always need each other and be a bit vulnerable.

This morning after leaving the comfort of the Ikirezi guest house we passed by a group of young kids splashing and jumping up and down to wash clothes. The young boys and girls were laughing and stomping with great energy. Sometimes they would jump high enough that they would fall on their backsides and then a roar of laughter would rise up in all the other kids. I felt both joy and sadness in the scene before me.

They were playing, but they also were doing laundry instead of being in school. It was a compelling vision simply pointing to the vast difference between economic resources and the violence and vulnerability that comes with poverty.

I have miles and miles to go to understand how to live more compassionately, but I am glad I am at least asking the question of myself again. I am ready to hear some good advice. Humbled by my weaknesses today.

 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on January 10, 2019 07:14

January 9, 2019

Compassionate Friends--How Love Heals

IMG_7779.jpeg













Watching the daily task of watering and weeding being carried out in the geranium fields in the Rwandan countryside is powerful.

Watching the Ikirezi farmers makes me remember how thirsty I am to feel love heal.

I talk about it all the time and wear it on shirts, but sometimes I forget. It’s easy to forget how love heals when you deal in the abstract doing fundraising and sitting in strategy meetings. Those are both critical elements to all enterprises, but it can leave you a bit parched.

But here in the fields of Rwanda where you have to be sensitive to when the rain will fall and how soft the mud is, there is a small shift within me. We all need such a shift in our hearts from time to time. Seeing the farmers with turbans wound with brightly colored fabrics around their heads digging up weeds in fresh mangled soil I feel like they are preaching to me in silence that this sacred ground grows healing plants because it’s rooted in justice and thrives in community. We can’t grow enterprises that heal without those roots fostered with compassionate friends.

That is how love heals.

That is the story over and over.

There is transformation when women find fertile fields in community and justice. The distilling oils wafting through the thick afternoon air allows dormant hopes in my heart to blossom. I am in love with the women, the fragrance of geranium, and its ability to bring new life in the driest season.

Thank God for all the work and generosity that allows a partnership between Ikirezi and Thistle Farms. Thank God that together we will discover new blends, new markets, and bring healing to all kinds of thirsty pilgrims.

 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on January 09, 2019 07:09

January 7, 2019

Learning to Weave in Rwanda

FullSizeRender.jpeg













It’s taken most of the day traveling in small towns and over bumpy roads, but I’ve almost finished a coaster. The experience makes me question once again certain basic assumptions in the West about what we pay for fair and ethically produced goods.

We want the story of how the things we buy are healing for women and families, but it’s hard to convince wholesalers to pay for it. I know it shouldn’t take all day to make almost one coaster, but still, if Thistle Farms Global wants to sell goods made from small producers in villages like oils or coasters on a larger scale, we need champion wholesalers willing to pay a higher margin to value the producers.

It’s #justiceenterprise.

The story of healing has value and I believe still that love is a viable business model. This is one of our big questions over the next week to explore.

Love,

Becca











FullSizeRender-1.jpeg
 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on January 07, 2019 11:54

December 22, 2018

Midnight Before Christmas

IMG_1261.JPG













‘Twas midnight before Christmas, and all through our town

A dusting of snow had shut everything down.

The pastors, though, still had to break bread

In case anyone to their chapels were led,

So about ten souls, huddled in hallowed pews,

Listened with patience to the oldest good news.

Then the preacher recounted the story of that morn

When shepherds and angels saw love being born.

How Mary and Joseph gave thanks for a manger,

Offered that night by simply a stranger,

Who may not have known they were refugees in danger.

The tiny congregation shook hands, “Amen,” they said,

Then returned to their homes to crawl into bed,

With hopes that tomorrow along with good cheer,

The weather would turn and the roads would be clear.

Then the preacher, that’s me, seeing no one in sight,

Said, “Now, I can pack up my doubts for the night.”

I picked up the bulletins and taking a last view,

I noticed a man left sitting in a front pew.

Exhausted from Advent and the Christmas flurry,

I asked my husband to come back in a hurry.

“I’d like to listen to his poor story,” I lied,

“But I should make tea,” I said as I sighed.

“Listen to his story, and away we can go,

Give him a few dollars before he walks out in the snow.”

So off to the kitchen I slipped out of sight,

And left the two men bathed in bright candle light.

Then I noticed this man, frozen from the street,

Had no shoes and had wandered in with bare feet.

I made some chai adding a sprinkle of spice,

I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t being nice.

But Christmas is tiring and sometimes gets droll

Raising money and feeling you’re selling your soul.

So adding some sugar into the mix,

I hoped it might be the thing to silently fix,

The nagging feeling deep in my soul

Where soured faith can leave a pretty big hole.

As I rounded the corner to the holy space,

My interior mind rationalized at a quick pace.

“He isn’t Jesus,” I said to my heart;

“He’s here cause too many systems have fallen apart.

We should vote with our conscious, buy with intention,

But we won’t solve his problems with this late intervention.

If it were up to me, I would let him sleep here,

But the insurance companies give me too much to fear.

Maybe he has a friend who will get him through the night

Or maybe, just maybe, he’s already be out of sight.”

Alas as I walked back into the church,

The two men hadn’t moved from their initial perch.

Except for the smallest detail appeared strange.

Now my husband was barefoot in the exchange.

The new boots I had given him early that week

Were now on the stranger’s cold, tired feet.

For a moment the sight turned into a vision,

My heart was opened by love’s faithful collision.

That cut to my core with perfect precision.

I offered the tea, then stood at the altar

So moved by the act I thought I might falter.

Without making a fuss or creating a tweet,

Suddenly it Christmas came without missing a beat.

It didn’t come from fancy ribbons or good teaching,

But in two men sharing shoes without preaching.

In just one tiny deed that before me unfurled,

It felt Christmas had come once again to the world.

This Christmas there was no receiver or giver

Just people loving enough to deliver,

The deepest truth that can fill a tired old soul

Declaring love is all around for us to behold.

It moves past cynicism, past doubt, past fears,

It brushes aside our sadness, our tears.

Love calls to us like a bright shining star

To celebrate Love’s wonder wherever you are.

 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on December 22, 2018 09:34

"Sight turned into vision:" My Christmas Poem for 2018

[image error]













‘Twas midnight before Christmas, and all through our town

a dusting of snow shut everything down;

The pastors though still had to break bread

In case anyone to their chapels were lead

So about ten souls huddled in hallowed pews

And listened with patience about the oldest good news

Then the preacher recounted the story of that morn

when shepherds and angels saw love being born.

And how Mary and Joseph gave thanks for a manger,

Offered that night by simply a stranger,

Who may not have known they were refugees in danger.

The tiny congregation shook hands and said, “Amen.”

And then they went home to crawl into beds.

With hopes that tomorrow, along with good cheer,

The weather would turn, and the roads would be clear.

Then the preacher, that’s me, didn’t see anyone:

“Now, I can pack up my doubts and be done.”

I picked up the bulletins and taking in a last view

I noticed a man left sitting in the first row of pews.

Exhausted from Advent and the Christmas ado,

I asked my husband to come back in the room.

“Id like to listen to his poor story,” I lied,

“But I should make us tea,” I said, as I sighed.

“Listen to his story,” my Beloved said, “And then we can go home,

And give him a few dollars to take on the road.”

So off to the kitchen I slipped out of sight

And left the two men bathed in candlelight.

It was then that I noticed that this man from the street,

Had no shoes and had wandered in with bare feet.

I made some Chai and added a sprinkle of spice.

I didn’t want the man to think I wasn’t being nice.

But Christmas is tiring, and sometimes it gets old,

Raising money and feel you’re selling your soul.

So adding some sugar into the mix,

I hoped it might be the thing to silently fix

The nagging feeling deep in my soul,

Where soured faith can leave a pretty big hole.

As I rounded the corner into the holy space

my interior mind was rationalizing at a pretty quick pace.

“He isn’t Jesus,” I said to my heart,

“He’s here because too many systems have fallen apart.

We should vote with our conscious and buy with intention

And we won’t solve his problems with a late night intervention.

If it were up to me, I would let him sleep here,

But the insurance companies give me too much to fear.

Maybe he has a friend who will get him through the night

Or maybe just maybe he will already be out of sight.”

But alas as I walked back in the church,

The two men hadn’t moved from where they were perched.

Except the smallest detail had changed,

And now my husband was barefoot in the exchange.

The new boots I had given him early that week

Were now on the stranger’s cold tired feet.

For a moment the sight turned into a vision

And my heart was opened by love’s simple incision

That cut to my core with perfect precision.

I offered the tea and stood at the altar.

I was so moved by the act I thought I might falter.

Without preaching a word or creating a tweet,

Christmas came without missing a beat.

It didn’t come from fancy ribbons or good teaching.

But in two men sharing shoes without preaching

In just one tiny deed that before me unfurled,

It felt Christmas had come again into the world.

In the true spirit of the season, there is no receiver or giver

Just people loving enough to deliver

The deepest truth shining in the night

that love can fill us with simple delight

It moves past the cynicism, doubt or fears

It brushes aside our sadness or tears.

Love calls to us like a bright shining star

To Celebrate the wonder of love’s wherever you are.











[image error]
 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on December 22, 2018 09:34

December 3, 2018

Signs of Life

mira-kemppainen-212226-unsplash.jpg















“The kingdom of heaven ls like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.”

— Matthew 13:45-46

As we all continue to go deeper into Winter and the Season of Advent, what follows is a reflection I wrote after experiencing the gift of transformative grace when I was visiting a friend on her deathbed.

This season brings so many beautiful things—beautiful songs, light, traditions new and old—but is it also a time to remember those who have passed on before us, as we wait until we me meet again…

There is radiance to a faithful farmer who is in contemplation of death. The rich soil of silence, prayer, and action blossoms a hundredfold as such a farmer reaps a harvest even as they grieve. It’s like a field of sunflowers in late August lifting their heads toward the sun in rows sown by patience and compassion.

 I entered a friend's house to say good-bye and found myself sitting by the recliner at her feet, letting tears flow as she spoke, her head propped up by two pillows. While we talked, her husband, who is an amazing Episcopal priest, blessed us and the children and grandchildren with communion as he played a song about a simple life. Her daughter wiped her mouth with a sponge, joining me on the floor on the other side of her chair. The grandkids played with toys close by as her sister made sure that visitors were quiet and the kitchen was ready in case anyone could muster hunger between the waves of grief washing over the whole beloved family.

This wise woman filled with the inner light of love told me about three things she had learned from me, what she was grateful for, and then said that life is about learning to say hello and good-bye. She gave me a scarf and a pair of earrings she loved and I knew that this is what grace looks like in flesh and bone. Grace is tender and generous, not boastful or weighed down by the baggage of what might have been. It is quiet and manages a compassionate smile even as others weep. It is as beautiful as that late summer field of sunflowers. It is a moment that we cannot hold onto.

What unexpected, simple gifts of grace have been given to you?

It is so hard to witness the dying of a friend, especially one who has been a means of so much grace for so many people. Grace is more than mercy; it offers us comfort when we didn't even think we should ask. In grace there is no shame, only radiant love that so fills the space that we remember we are all one. At her feet I could feel the grief of kissing my mother good-bye twenty years ago, of a friend who had passed a few months earlier, of my sister’s death the year before, of all the tears cried in all the fields where people have buried the bones and ashes of those they hold dearest in this world, unable to imagine flowers blooming again in the fields where we learned we are dust. As l leaned in, l asked her for a blessing. She offered me the blessing she said her mother gave her. As we hugged and l felt the bones of her frail body, I knew that in my lifetime I would rarely be in the presence of a farmer who grew anything more beautiful or feel the strong sinews of one formed so completely of something holy as well as earthly. I whispered to her, “I hope you dive into it when the moment comes." “Me too,” she said. "Say a good word for us." "I'll try.”

l can‘t remember what else was said. I remember her husband walking me out and thinking how their love for one another was a seal upon their hearts and a crown upon their foreheads and that all the two of them do is manifest love around them because they are so full. That would be the last time I saw her, and as I pulled away I prayed she had a sense for the magnificent field of flowers, children, love, and compassion she has sown in the hearts and minds of so many. She is beautiful.

Where might God be calling you to give such a gift to another?

 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on December 03, 2018 09:36

November 27, 2018

Stop & Wait: 2018 Advent Reflection

airport-351472_1920.jpg













Sometimes I feel scared to stop and wait. It seems counterintuitive. I have been trying to grow a movement for women's freedom for decades through the work of Thistle Farms, while pastoring a church and raising kids. I am always pushing ahead to stay on top of bills, ahead of the curve, or in front of the current issues. Waiting feels like it's ruining my day, like letting froth die on a fresh latte, or like watching a muse move on to a more alert host upon which to rest. The fear of waiting is ridiculous, but it is part of the fragile ground upon which I tread in my own anxiety.

Is it hard for you to wait? In your quest to seek justice or to finish a to-do list, is waiting the stress?

I am pretty sure I have said, "Hurry up!" in every line I have ever been, in whether it's in a grocery store or going through customs or the never-ending traffic in Nashville or even a communion line at church. It rarely feels like the “first will be last.” It sometimes feels like people ahead of me are playing on their phone, or asking too many questions, or not moving at the speed with which I believe efficiency is maintained. "Go," I hear myself saying on tarmacs, in carpool lines, and as my children learned to tie their shoelaces.

This Advent, though, I am hearing myself say a different word for the first time. For the first time, I can hear the warning from Isaiah as he reminds all seekers of peace and justice to wait and listen.



“Wait and listen, everyone who is thirsty! Come to the waters...”

— Isaiah 55:1

Unless I am willing to wait, I will not perceive the author of all justice. Unless I am willing to slow down, my ears will miss the voice of peace. So, my word for the first time this Advent is "Stop!”

Stop everything and perceive God!

I know everything is moving so fast, and when I stop, I can finally see it flying by. My husband's parents both died this fall, we are ushering one of our children off to college, and Thistle Farms has outgrown me. If I—or you—don't stop, we will pass ourselves by.

I want to breathe, and not move, and simply wait. Wait with grace as the light stays red, as my children take forever packing, and as women come to the decision to leave the streets and live in the community of Thistle Farms.

So, I offer you the word "stop" with all love and hope for the best Advent of your life. I offer you that word in the spirit of Isaiah who longs for all of us to be with God.

Stop and wait!


 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on November 27, 2018 07:52

November 14, 2018

Connecting Through the Ritual of Tea

Tea has an innately ritual quality to it. During this hectic time of year, all of us could stand to slow down, brew a cup brimming with justice, and share the world’s oldest beverage with someone we love, even if it’s only in spirit.

Below is a simple ritual you can try, and you can find out more about Thistle Farms ’ justice teas here .











High Tea_Lifestyle_2.6.18-17.jpg













A Basic Tea Ritual

A basic ritual for serving tea I learned from friends and my family is always have a heated kettle that lives near the burner as a prologue to the visit.

Then you begin the ritual by choosing a tea based on the ambiance you want to create. Make sure its leaves and roots are linked to the kind of justice you want to be a part of. Many people believe a basic black tea is the only only tea to serve. I am by nature and constitution drawn to the lighter green teas. Take a little scalding water from the kettle, pour it into the pot, and swirl it around to clean and heat the teapot. Then dump that water out, fill the teapot with the hot water to the top, and add teat Let the tea steep for 3 to 5 minutes and pour it into the cups. This ritual will prepare and steep the group as well as the tea.

The kettle itself is a signal that there's time to talk. People can slow down and wait as the minutes unfold slowly enough that you can hold them, When the tea is steeped you can start the real conversation; otherwise you have rushed things. The best part of the simple tea ritual to me is the first sip and the anticipation of the temperature and taste. You watch the people you are sharing tea with for judgment or affirmation. If the tea is bitter, it might be a sign. If it’s mellow, that might be one, too. Drink the broth and make conversation with thoughts that can be as mellow or as bitter as the tea before you.

Drink it knowing that the water that courses through your body has been transformed. It is still water, but now it holds the fragrance of earth and people.

It holds healing, and it holds history. Learning to serve tea and participate in the ritual of tea drinking is a fundamental part of the way of tea.

It opens the gifts of tea's ability to connect and restore us.

Adapted from The Way of Tea & Justice

 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on November 14, 2018 09:14

In Giving Thanks

orfeu-de-santateresa-1122102-unsplash.jpg













Giving thanks is an expression of morality, memory and mutuality.

In giving thanks we…

affirm that life is a gift and how we live is our gratitude.

remember the mercy we have known and offer compassion to others.

tell each other, "I love you."

 •  0 comments  •  flag
Share on Twitter
Published on November 14, 2018 08:12

Becca Stevens's Blog

Becca Stevens
Becca Stevens isn't a Goodreads Author (yet), but they do have a blog, so here are some recent posts imported from their feed.
Follow Becca Stevens's blog with rss.