Crissy Brooks

We Belong Together

Crissy Brooks — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 12:10:00 -0700

A year ago I was preparing to travel to Nicaragua. In the last few weeks I've found myself recalling that trip and the people I met there. This is a reflection I wrote soon after returning:

I am at my writing desk, looking out my window at the bougainvillea and geraniums blooming in my yard. I hear toddlers calling my dog and watch her eagerly look for them, their little bodies and voices hidden behind the rose bushes. The kids in this neighborhood love her. She looks a bit wily right now with her summer haircut. They shaved off all her cute fluffy fur and she looks more like a svelte coyote, not so cute.

It reminds me of the dogs I saw in La Chureca, the dump in Managua, Nicaragua. There were dogs everywhere. They were scrawny and limping, ears drooping and noses rummaging through all the trash. Right now my dog looks like she belongs there, but she doesn’t. I went with a group to visit the school in this dump community. We took the kids out on a field trip to the zoo. The kids wore old, faded, stained clothes and shoes that were too big for them. They looked like they belong in a dump, but they don’t. Nobody belongs in a dump among discarded, old, ruined trash. No one belongs there no matter how they look.

The kid I was paired with is named Lester. He is about 5 years old. My favorite picture of the trip is the one of him in front of the water buffalo at the zoo. He looks like any kid, like he could be a kid from my neighborhood smiling in front of the animals. He liked the monkeys best and taunted the donkeys. Lester looks like he could live in my neighborhood in Orange County, California, but he doesn’t. He lives in a dump in Nicaragua.

Since I’ve been back my days are filled with my work here in my city but my nights have been filled with dreams of people I met in Nicaragua--kids who live in dumps, teachers who love them every day, doctors who serve in clinics in rural communities, and women who pray earnestly for their country. They inhabit my dreams and there I visit with them again. Sometimes I’d like to think of my dreams as prayers, like my mind is sifting through my heart and lifting up the best to the Lord, remembering people I forget about during my days.

I would like to think that these brothers and sisters will stay tucked in my heart, that I will continue to be reminded and pray for them. And in praying for them I am reminded that we belong together, before the Father, we are one family calling out the Kingdom of God in different places. Where is the family you are thinking of today?

Pacifist Fight Club

Crissy Brooks — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 21:06:00 -0800

Last Saturday I joined a ragtag bunch of Jesus followers for the first Pacifist Fight Club. What started as a joke between Keith Giles and Chase Andre somehow led to 25 people wrestling about how to follow Jesus, especially when it comes to non violence and poverty. We brought chili and chips and all our questions to the table. While we did not figure it all out, we did walk away inspired to keep fighting for peace and comforted that we are not alone in our questions and struggle.

The invitation to Pacifist Fight Club came at a time in my life when I was battling. My prayer life felt like the frontlines of a war. I felt attacked and exhausted, yet empowered and strong. It felt like Jesus and I were getting things done in the spiritual realm. I hid behind him and fought for my life. I stood with a shield of faith held up for my friends. I came out swinging with the Word of God. My prayers felt productive and mighty. I ran into the presence of God excited for the fight. I really like fighting with Jesus in this way. I saw him working things out in life's circumstances and found I could rest and trust. So when the invitation to Pacifist Fight Club came I was intrigued. What does it look like to fight for peace? How do I stand with a Warrior Savior who has said, "blessed are the peacemakers" and "turn the other cheek"?

I still don't fully know but I am invited deeper into the question by the faith journey of those who were around the table last Saturday. The fight is not over. We will gather again. You can meet our fighters and get in on the struggle on the blog- Pacifist Fight Club.

A Lament for My Community

Crissy Brooks — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 10:37:43 -0700

A year ago this month the Lord spoke to me about "Embrace." I decided to go through my days embracing the people, situations, and opportunities that presented themselves. It turns out that this posture has led to me having to embrace a lot of pain- my own pain and brokenness, the pain of my friends, and the pain of my city. In learning to embrace, I have been learning a lot about lament and mourning. In my attempt to obey the call to embrace, I have found the Scriptures rich with lament and mourning that is raw and open before the Lord. These passages have become my comfort and guide and my permission to cry out in a world that tempts me to numb, distract, and fake my feelings.

I share here a lament I wrote for my city:

My Lament:

God, my heart cries out to you for we are deaf dogs- those that do not hear!

You created us to be fierce for the things of you and yet we refuse to be led by you.

We were created for companionship and yet unable to hear how you are leading us to one another.

Father, we are hidden away in secret, dark places; we are stuck in nooks and crannies hidden from our neighbors and isolated from our community.

We put up fences and gates.

We trust in liquor and chain link to protect and save us.

How long, Oh Lord, will we protect ourselves and stay hidden? When will your light shine on us?

Lord, our lives are empty like the buildings around us- vacant and waiting; empty and exposed.

Where is the abundance you promised? When will we know your fullness of joy?

Our heads are down.

We do things we were not created for.

We walk on in the paths never intended for us.

Oh God, unstop our ears

Oh Lord, lift our heads

Oh Father, fill our empty places.

That we will no longer pass by one another

That we will no longer walk past death

That we will no longer live in secret

But shout for joy and declare your Name in our city, for Your glory.

Oh God, unstop our ears, lift our heads, and fill our empty places I pray.

Amen

A Psalm for My Community

Crissy Brooks — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 20:14:00 -0700

Three years ago, in a very desperate place, our Mika community took a week between summer and fall to pray and seek God together in an intense way. This has become a precious tradition that has since been part of our rhythm of life together. This past week we started with a day of praise and thanksgiving, recalling all that the Lord has done for us. We ended the day each writing a psalm of praise and reading them out together. This is the psalm I wrote for our community:

My Psalm

I praise you God for you are GOOD.

Your faithfulness is our shield and guide

Your provision has become our song

When we were young and unexperienced, You led us with wise counsel

In our naivete and enthusiasm You led us by your wise Spirit.

My soul rejoices in the community you have weaved together

My heart bursts with praise as I remember Mark, Lindsy, Jaime, Mike, Ernesto, Ray and the rest

I praise you for building this family

for Keturah, Walter and Carmen, Juval and Teresa, Caryn and Jeff, Effy and Paul, and Monse

You are gracious and abundant, reveaing Yourself to each generation

You have made Yourself known to youth

to Carlos, Mario, Brandon and Gabriel, Uli and Kairon, Gio and Lalo

You have shown Yourself to small children

to Jimmy and Genny, Jose and Dulce

Great are Your deeds!

You have exalted the lowly of Costa Mesa and shown favor to those looked down on

You raise up oaks of righteousness

You make a way when there is no way

You use the humble to lead the rich

Who can understand Your ways?

They are great.

You are GOOD.

We trust in Your unfailing kindness.

We trust in You to unite us.

We recognize Your truth and say, "Yes!" to Your way.

All glory and honor and praise to You

God of justice, mercy, humility, and love

We love you precious Lord.

What psalm of praise is bubbling up in you in this season?

What Not To Wear...To Prison

Crissy Brooks — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 11:20:00 -0700

The friend that I have been visiting in jail was moved to state prison recently and I have not driven the three hours to see him yet. I decided that today was going to be the day. I read the state prison website several times this week being sure that I knew what I could and could not bring in, when to arrive, where to go etc. I called the special hotline to make sure that no one was on lockdown and I wouldn’t be turned away after making the drive.

When I got to the dress code in the visitor information I paid special attention. The rules are very specific. No blue clothing, including jeans because that’s what the prisoners wear. No khaki pants or green tops because that’s what the guards wear. No orange. Right when I started thinking I’d be safe with a long dress, I read No Mumus- apparently some women prisoners wear mumus. Dresses can’t be shorter than 2 inches above the knee. No revealing clothing. Seems reasonable. Oh, and don’t forget that it is going to be 80 degrees and creeping upward when you get there. My clothing options narrowed as I read.

I have a hard enough time deciding what to wear every morning when jeans and khakis are on the menu. This was difficult. I landed on a chocolate brown linen sundress- acceptable color, right length, cool. I started out at 4am to make the three hour trek, turned in my paper work and was told to come back at 9:30am. When I returned the first officer greeted me and passed me through. As I approached the check in, the officer immediately said, “Ma’am that dress is way too revealing.” Revealing? Seriously? I’m making a pastoral visit. I read the website. It’s not blue. All the protests ran through my mind. “No sleeveless ,” he explained.

Luckily I was on a trip and had a suitcase in my car. I knew the perfect solution- a white short-sleeve jacket. I trekked back to the car and put it on and marched back confidently. The officer passed me through after making me promise I wouldn’t take the jacket off. I was just about through the metal detector when a women officer called me back. “Wait, wait, wait. Can you take that jacket off?” “I can,” I said, “but I won’t.” “No, no, no,” she said. “You have to change.” Back to the car I went, mentally sorting through my suitcase. When I opened it up all I saw were blue jeans and green t-shirts. Ugh!

I pulled out another sleeveless dress and put a white t-shirt over it, hoping she would let my properly covered arms through. I started back across the yard, this time looking around at what the other women were wearing. The regulars, the pros, were all wearing black. They wore some sort of black capri with a black short sleeve top. Genius!

This time the officer ignored me as if to do me a favor, maybe a different officer would let me through. Another woman approached. “What’s under your t-shirt?’ she asked. “It’s a dress,” I said sheepishly and slyly slid my minister’s card across the desk. “I’m a pastor, “I said hoping it would convince her I wasn’t planning to rip my top off on the inside. “You’re a pastor?” she sighed as if that fact forced her to let me through. “Step back. Turn around. Ok.” Finally, outfit approved.

Apparently when Jesus said, ‘when you visit the prisoner, it is as if you are visiting me,’ he forgot to specify that he doesn’t want to see our arms. So next time you try to walk out your faith, be sure you read the instructions three times, not just twice. And to be safe, wear black.

Book Review- This is My Body: Ekklesia As God Intended by Keith Giles

Crissy Brooks — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 10:11:00 -0700

Recently a great friend asked me to review his latest book. If you have questioned anything about Church, you will find truth, solace, and guidance in this book. You can download it for free at This Is My Body

Here's my review:

Keith Giles’ latest gift, This is My Body Ekklesia As God Intended is an invitation to be the family that The Church was meant to be. In a time when it is hip to be down on church and many of us are sure we can plant the next great congregation, Giles speaks softly, calling us back to the Scriptures and the One who first invited us to partake at the table together.

In the last decade we have been barraged with well-intentioned models and plans to get Church right. This book is not another model. It is an important reminder to the people of God of who we are to be as His people and how we are to act in the world. This book is a gift from a prophetic leader who has lived out the teachings of Jesus for decades and lucky for us, shares his discoveries here. Had this book been written by anyone else, I am sure I would not have picked it up. But I know Keith Giles. I have seen him make intentional choices to be The Body with and in his community. I have witnessed his Spirit inspired creativity and experienced his empowering influence.

When the temptation could have been strong to breakdown all that is wrong, Giles instead leads us with grace and gentleness through the Scriptures outlining the design of the Body of Christ. When it could have been so easy to be sarcastic, Giles instead points out what should have been obvious as if opening a door and letting light in. While there is plenty of material to bash church leadership, Giles instead invites us to imagine what leadership in the Body could be when we fully understand the Word and stop justifying our misguided traditions.

While Giles’s style is one of grace and invitation the book does not shy away from the controversies that have torn Christ’s Body a part in the past. With clear truth and studied evidence, Giles calls out the abuses and selfishness that have worked in our favor and harmed so many. He challenges the hierarchy and business we have come to accept as necessities and in the process holds up the good we should cling to.

This is My Body gives a clear call for us to “go out of business” and be the Family outlined in the New Testament. Perhaps the most beautiful part of this book is the invitation to live in the mystery of The Body of Christ. Giles fully challenges us without sending us running. He sheds light on such a beautiful Bride that I am drawn in more deeply and vow again to live in a mystery of family, love, submission, provision, grace and healing. This book gives me courage to hope that the Body of Christ really can transform our world.

Catching Up- an update

Crissy Brooks — Thu, 19 May 2011 12:44:00 -0700

So I've been MIA from my blog for a few months. To get back on track I thought I would give an update on some of the stories I've shared in the past. Here is what has been going on in our neighborhood, I'll give you the good news first:

We are celebrating with my friend who I wrote about being simaltaneously detained by ICE and recognized by the City Council for our her community service. After a two year legal process she was able to obtain a U visa to live and work in the US. She is studying for her GED and looking for jobs. She continues to be one of our strongest neighborhood leaders.
The family who wason the brink of getting their legal documents was not able to get their long term employer to sign the papers and their case fell out of the process. My neighbor left that job after 21 years with the company that refused to acknowledge his contribution. It has been hard finding another job and last week his wife called to ask me for help with the rent. They continue to struggle and have missed their window of opportunity to legalize their status.
While I haven't had any calls from neighbors hiding in closets, I had dinner with a neighbor this week who is renting a closet to live in for $150 a month. She is working but the hours are sparse and her work is far from her house. The gas prices are taking a toll. The other night she told me, "At this point, living here is like how it was in Guatemala- day to day survival." She is exhausted.
Tomorrow I'm heading out to UYWI's Reload LA with a group from Mika CDC. Roman's sisters will be going with us since they both have joined their mother as leaders in the Neighborhood Action Committee. Roman was a neighbor was passed away in the desert almost two years ago. While grieving their brother's death has not been easy, I see a focus and clarity in each of the girls that was not there before. It is like they want their lives to count for something. They have both delved into their studies and participation in the community. I am inspired by how they have harnessed their grief to serve others.
The friend I visit in jail got moved upstate to prison. I have been approved to visit him but have not made the trip yet. He has not written in a long time and feel badly that I haven't gone to visit. I must do that soon.
And finally, my dog Layla had an unfortunate mishap at the groomer and was shaved almost completely. She moped around for a few days completely depressed as if she could tell how ridiculous she looks.

So that is a brief update around here. What have been the highlights for you in the last few months?

Call Vignettes- A Series of Surrenders 7- Compelled

Crissy Brooks — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 09:52:27 -0800

My high school graduation gift was a plane ticket to Florida to visit my cousins. I loved being with my older cousins who took me out and treated me like a princess. Everything they did was big: big hugs, big parties, big mistakes, and big faith. My Uncle Dale is kind of the patriarch of the group and one day when I stopped by his church he sat me down in his office. He showed me a painting of the prophet Simeon and shared with me how that painting reminds him of his call and inspires his faith. “What is your call?” he asked, leaning in intently. “I don’t know. Something about the poor, something about helping people…” I hemmed and hawed. “What inspires you to do that,” he asked. “It doesn’t have to be something from the Bible. Is there a piece of art or a song that compels you?” It came to me immediately. “The Statue of Liberty,” I blurted out. The poem on the statue brings me to tears every time I hear it.

I remembered standing at the base of the Statue of Liberty looking back at the city weeping. I went to Ellis Island two days in a row when I was in New York soaking up every story and detail of the people who had left their homes to start a new life in a foreign place. To this day I am taken by their courage and vision. Immigrant stories remind me of what it means to live in a place you are not from. They show me Jesus. “Get a copy of that poem,” my uncle urged me, “and keep it where you can see and be reminded of the burden and call God has put in your heart.”

Although I couldn’t (and in ways, still can’t) succinctly describe the things God had put in my heart, I knew what moved me. I knew what made my heart beat fast and compelled me to lean in. Sometimes that is all the direction you need. I took his advice and I now have the poem in my office: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…” And I have collected other pictures and art whose beauty compels me on in the call. What inspires you? What encourages you on in obedience to the things God has called you to?

The New Colossus

by Emma Lazarua

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Call Vignettes- A Series of Surrenders 6

Crissy Brooks — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 10:36:00 -0800

Not all surrenders happen in a moment. Some surrenders have come over time, as Jesus continues to invite me into a deeper relationship with him. The notion that God interacts with his people directly has fascinated me since I was little. I couldn’t understand what adults meant when they talked about God speaking to them. How did you know it was God and not your own crazy thoughts? What did you have to do for him to talk to you? Should you talk back? I had so many questions about the interaction. In Junior High School I would lie in bed at night and practice hearing from God. I would lie on my back and look up at the ceiling and say, “Lord, I want to hear your voice like adults say you speak to them.” And then I would lie quietly. I would examine each thought that came into my head, “Nope, that was my thought.” “Nope, that was definitely me.” And on and on until I fell asleep.

In those moments looking up at the ceiling my mind often wandered to the events of my Jr. high day- school and soccer practice and time with friends. I remember weeping for my friends, crying out to God for them. I was overwhelmed by a physical pain in my chest, like my heart would burst as I prayed for them. I don’t think I ever heard from God in those moments, but He was forming a love and compassion for my friends, a couple of girlfriends in particular whose families’ lives were really difficult. I came to understand this as a burden for my friends. God gave me a love and care for them that, as a 12 year old, were not in my capacity. I invited them to youth group and camps and prayed with great fervor for these friends. Looking back, I can see now that although the Lord didn’t speak to me directly, he was putting his heart in me, guiding and shaping my life as I sought him.

Like most preteens I was a complete mess of good intentions, attitude and self centeredness. I was so sincere in my desire to know God and so sincere in insisting I knew better than my mother. My already healthy ego was egged on by the youth leaders and family friends who affirmed by abilities as a leader, as a student, and as one with a call of God on her life.

I was everybody’s go to girl. If you needed to welcome a new kid to youth group, ask Crissy. If you needed a camp counselor, ask Crissy. If you needed someone to speak to represent the youth, ask Crissy. Bible study leader, Crissy. I began to think there was nothing I couldn’t do. I began to think they thought there was nothing I couldn’t do so I had better keep at it. I believed them when they said I was capable and I tried it all - all with a sneaking suspicion that all the praise would end if I misstepped. So I didn’t misstep. I did everything right: Took the right classes; had the right friends; did the right activities; listened to the right music; went on the right trips. It was fun and I was a shining star. Then I met Marguerite who was the first person to tell me that I couldn’t do it all..

When our church started early morning prayer gatherings at 6am, Marguerite, the pastor and I were the only ones who showed up. That’s when Marguerite told me there was something I couldn’t do. Marguerite was a wiry old lady who knew how to pray like no one I’d ever met. She told me that I couldn’t go on a mission trip without the Holy Spirit. “You can’t do it. You need the power! We’ve got to pray right now that you get the Holy Spirit before you go to minister. You just can’t do it without the power of the Holy Spirit in you.” I was nervous. And I was worried about the time. It was finals week and I couldn’t be late for school. But in that moment I didn’t know what was worse, telling Marguerite to stop praying or telling my teacher why I was late.

There was no getting out. Marguerite put her hands on me and started praying. “Speak it out,” she’d say. Speak it out. And I began praying, telling the Lord that I wanted all he had for me. I recognized my own inability to minister in power, acknowledging my frailties and desire to see him work miracles. And Marguerite prayed over me. She prayed loud. She prayed in tongues. She prayed earnestly. And she coached me, “lift your hands, speak praise to God, speak out what comes to you.” And I did, quietly at first, I started to speak words I didn’t know but they kept coming and Marguerite’s coaching gave me a boldness to keep on. And then she stopped praying and looked me in the eye, “now you’re ready to go on your trip,” she said.

As I left the church she was still calling out after me, “pray in the car, pray all the time, tell the Lord how much you need him. He will show you what to do. He will give you power. Speak it out…” I prayed with Marguerite for 19 years until she passed away last year. Every time I was with her I was reminded that I am frail and needy, yet God fills me with His Spirit and uses me to do His work in this world. Marguerite lived this truth every day. She was a woman fully surrendered to Jesus and her life continues to compel me to obedience and surrender. Who are the people who have shown you the way of surrender?

Call Vignettes- A Series of Surrenders 5

Crissy Brooks — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 22:24:00 -0800

In the last few posts I wrote about certain times in my life when I made definite decisions to follow Christ. The moment I asked Jesus into my heart, although I remember it, was not near as hard won as other moments of surrender. Rather, these defining moments are times when I have been faced with the questions, “Who is lord of my life? Who do I choose to submit my life to? To me or to Jesus? Do I trust that God is good? Will I say “Yes” to his leading, however frightening or boring or wise that may or may not appear to be in the moment?

And so God’s call on my life has really been the call of Jesus to follow Him. Responding “Yes” to that call has got me to where I am today. There was never a moment when God called me to be a community developer, or when He spoke a career of full-time ministry over me. The call has been to follow Jesus, and in my particular case it led me right back home to a community of people I was mildly curious about before I met them, and to a city I love dearly. Reflecting back, I can see that God had been planting experiences and seeds in my heart all along that led me to this place, but those experiences were not significant apart from the foundation they built toward me saying “Yes” to the things Jesus was asking of me.

I particularly remember one night in college when I arrived home alone to a dark, empty house. It was rare in a household of college girls to find the place empty, and I felt the void as I got ready for bed. It was late and dark and in my mind I debriefed the day with Jesus since no one else was around. Standing over the sink, brushing my teeth, I very distinctly felt the Lord ask me, “Could you do this? Could you come home to an empty house? Can I be enough for you?” It was my senior year and I was desperately seeking the Lord for next steps in my life. I wanted to know what to do. I wanted to know who I was supposed to be. Yet here I was faced with, not an answer to my questions, not a direction, but a question about my relationship with Jesus. “Can I be enough for you?”

In the years since that experience this question continues to be a guiding force for me, especially in the moments when I am furiously looking around for some sort of affirmation or support. The Lord has used this question to draw me back to himself and remind me of his sufficiency. I have come to understand and enjoy community and friendship, but that night, as I sank to the bathroom floor wrestling with the question that cut to my core, I arrived at a place of surrender and declared my dependency on Jesus. In the beauty of his Body, he has never left me alone, but he asks me again, every so often, to be my all in all.

Often people look at a sliver of my life and say, “Well, you can do that because you have a call on your life.” I don’t know that I have a particularly unique call, but I have said “Yes” to Jesus being all I need, and that shapes how I live. I imagine that the call is the same for all followers of Jesus. Can Jesus be enough for you? My experience has been that even when I have said “Yes” over and over, he comes kindly, gently, giving me a choice of who will rule. And now when the questions come, the moments of surrender come more quickly, less kicking and screaming on my part, and more trust, most of the time.