I watch out my window at the Hopital Ste Croix guest house in Leogane, Haiti at the street scene on the Rue Ste Croix two stories below. An endless and diverse stream of people pass on foot, each one catching my attention. A young lady helping an elderly lady down the road, sharing a laugh as they gingerly walk by. Men in hard hats, beautiful women and people without shoes pulling large wooden hand carts. Every person carries themselves with poise and purpose. From my vantage point I am an unnoticed observer.

The street is littered with trash and every so often I see someone carelessly toss another piece of plastic into the heaps lining the gutters. My first reaction is revulsion. Why is trash so recklessly strewn throughout this beautiful country? How can such a clearly prideful people take so little care in the disposal of garbage? Where will it all go and what happens when all the gutters are full? Why are people here willing to live among garbage every day? Can this be fixed?

 In my home state of Arizona, littering results in heavy fines and possible imprisonment. It is built in my culture to carry a piece of trash as long as needed until an appropriate disposal place is found. The trash is then magically carted off and disposed of in one of our orderly but mountainous garbage dumps and that is the end of it. Out of sight, out of mind if you will.

I take a deep breath of the humid and smoky air and remind myself that I am in Haiti, not Arizona. The best way to build bridges across cultural divides is to attempt to understand each other. We all share a common humanity and spirit. The worst approach is to do what I have just done, to look at another culture from the narrow perspective of my own.

Then, as the people continue to pass on the street below, it strikes me: this cultural disconnect on trash is evocative of a much bigger picture. It takes a certain carefree attitude to just toss a piece of trash on the ground not miss a beat. It takes a certain cultural seriousness to carry around a piece of trash to ensure it ends up in a dump somewhere.

Most Haitians and have endured devastating traumas in their lives. Many of the people passing on the street below have lost loved ones in natural disasters, have seen children die of treatable diseases and have seen their neighbors starve. Americans suffer our own traumas, often of a different nature, but no less devastating. 

The main difference is not these traumas themselves, but how we as a culture choose to cope with them. Like with their trash, Haitians throw their problems away and keep going with their heads held high. There is no need or desire to carry something for even a second longer than necessary. They do not dwell in the traumas of the past and they do not fear the inevitable traumas of the future. They just keep walking.

Like our trash, Americans tend to hold on to traumas. We allow them to break our hearts and often break our spirits. We have a hard time moving past our suffering and we allow it to haunt us. We carry these burdens with us and by not letting go, we accumulate burdens that are often so heavy they cripple us.

Another lesson learned from this inspiring and captivating place. Should we start throwing our trash on the ground? Absolutely not. Should Haiti continue to work toward a solution to the trash problem? Of course. What truly matters is the symbolism in the cultural differences between these two nations and what we can learn from each other by building bridges built of understanding at every opportunity.

Still watching out my window, the sun has gone down. In the twilight the trash on the streets is no longer visible. A purple sky backs swaying palm trees. Two well dressed ladies proceed up the Rue Ste Croix, each carrying a beautiful homemade cake. I wonder where they are going. I close the window and go to bed, excited for what I will learn tomorrow in this special place.

In the front courtyard of the Hopital St. Croix in Leogane, Haiti, there is a small patch of grass with three coconut palms towering over it. On the grass sits a chair.

During my first visit to Leogane in July of 2014, I became quite fond of this chair and its occupant, Woody. I came to see this chair as an example of Leogane itself -- rickety yet functional, somewhat grotesque yet absolutely beautiful in its spareness.

Returning to Leogane in January, 2016, I arrived at the Hopital St. Croix on foot. As I approached, I caught a glimpse of the chair through the fence, and there was Woody sitting in it! I exchanged hugs and excited words in English and Creole with my dear Haitian friend.

Settling in and surveying the courtyard, I noticed that the chair had undergone a transformation. Most of the turquoise painted wood had been replaced with new pieces making the chair more secure, more sturdy, and with the addition of new cushions, more comfortable.

After spending a few days in Leogane, it was clear that the city had made great progress in the time since I had been there last. New paint, new buildings and a wonderful sense of normalcy graced the streets. I realized that the chair remained a symbol of the place -- a city more sturdy, more secure and more comfortable than it had been.

The city, like the chair, remains far from perfect but progress has been made as Haiti moves at its own pace toward a brighter future. I very much look forward to my next visit to see what new pieces have been added to the chair and to Leogane.

We lift up our hearts in gratitude for the strong bonds of friends and family gathered together here.

We lift up our hearts in gratitude for fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews who are not with us here today.

We lift our hearts in thanks for those who have left an everlasting imprint on us even after they are gone.

We lift our hearts in appreciation for our friends who hold our hands and our hearts.

We lift up our hearts in thanks for the gift of warm homes and creature comforts, for the plenitude which fills our kitchens and fuels our bodies.

We lift up our hearts in gratitude for the gifts of good health and strong bodies.

We lift up our hearts in a song of thanksgiving for all of our unique individual talents.

We lift up our hearts in gratitude for the ability to fly high above the clouds, the fulfillment of an ancient dream.

We lift our hearts in thanksgiving for the gift of music and the arts
that delights our ears, hearts, and souls, for the ability to read and for the wonder of words that speak to our hearts.

We lift our hearts in thanks for our national freedoms of life, 
liberty and an opportunity to pursue happiness.

We lift up our hearts in thanksgiving for the expression of love which we share now and tomorrow.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

During my life I have had the opportunity to interact with a wide variety of cultures. Each of these interactions has helped shape me into the person I am today. As we say in the Nicene Creed every Sunday, we believe in one God. I have brought this mindset of one God to these interactions, and I believe it to be absolutely true.

I grew up in a Catholic family. Half of my family is Italian, and the other half is English and Irish. Both sides attended Catholic churches, and from an early age I learned that there was a self-perceived difference between “Italian” and “Irish” Catholics and their churches. I believe this is what started my open mindedness toward religion and faith in general.

I grew up in a small town in rural Connecticut that was beautiful, but less than diverse. We were lucky, however, to be within two hours drive of both New York and Boston so were able to view, if not interact with, a variety of global cultures.

I began to travel extensively starting at a young age. It started with family vacations and evolved into school trips, study abroad and 

Jesus has just spoken about the way to handle disagreements and conflicts – he instructs his disciples – be direct in addressing conflict but be direct with love. Peter gets up the nerve to ask the next obvious question – “Master, I understand that relationships are important but – exactly how many times do I have to forgive someone who hurts me?” Peter is willing to buy into this whole forgiveness stuff but he wants to place some sort of reasonable limit on things.  Yet, knowing that Jesus always manages to push out the envelope, Peter quickly adds – “Seven – is it seven times?” Peter is just about ready

All you need is love! Long before the Beatles made their hit song there was the greatest of all commandments – the commandment to love God and to love your neighbor as yourself. All you need is love – this is how Jesus summed up all the commandments – this is what Paul affirms as he writes to the Romans. Just as God loves us we are to love one another.Sounds pretty straightforward but the truth of the matter is – love is hard to do. Love asks us to be vulnerable, trusting enough to risk exposing our inner self. Love asks us to forgive – to look beyond our wounds and hurts. Love asks us to be hospitable – accepting even when we disagree. If love is to be the essence of the church community then we had better have ways of handling disputes and disagreement when they arise. In other words – we need to learn how to practice love.

No problem – right? Churches are supposed to be places that perfectly model love and deal with conflict so that we can learn and 

I chose a career in youth ministry originally because of what I saw God doing in my youth pastor's life that I wanted to be like him. I've stayed in youth ministry for over ten years now because youth ministry has chosen me.  Believe me I've tried to run away. I tried to hide behind other jobs and ministry positions, but the reality is I am a Youth Minister.

I'm called to youth ministry because there are students in this world who need to know they are loved. They need to know that they are loved by God and by a community of people. Students need to know that they belong to something that is much bigger than any one of us. Youth ministry is a place where students can ask questions openly about topics of any nature. Youth ministry is a place where they can struggle with their faith and doubts. Youth group is a time of normalcy or quiet amidst what is going on in their families or at school. Youth group is a place of retreat.

Everyday youth are bombarded with people, media and ideas telling them that they aren't good enough.That they aren't pretty enough, athletic enough, smart enough, etc. but when they walk through the doors of the youth room they are told that they are beautiful, strong, loved, valued, cared for and created in God's image.They know that no matter what others may tell them they belong and are loved unconditionally by God, adults and peers without judgement.

Youth ministry is filled with a variety if students. Some come from divorced parents, some are struggling with self image, peer pressure, self harm, loneliness, abandonment issues, just to name a few. But for two hours or more a week they are listened to, validated, and empowered to be a better person because of Jesus Christ.

God has given us the beautiful gift of youth ministry; and it's up to us as a church, a youth group and as adults, to share it with others.

How will you share this gift?

In the front courtyard of the Hopital St. Croix in Leogane, Haiti, there is a small patch of grass with three coconut palms towering over it. On the grass sits a chair.

On first arriving in Haiti, I glanced at this chair in disgust. It is a tall and ugly chair, crudely constructed of what appears to be scrap wood and painted in the unflattering turquoise of the main hospital building. In general, this chair appears to be completely unsafe and is unpleasant to look at.

Knowing that David and Jeanne Paige were familiar with the compound from their previous visits to Leogane, I mentioned this chair to them. They told me that this throne had formerly been located across the street and had been moved into the courtyard when its proprietor had landed a security position within the hospital clinic.

On my next visit to the courtyard, I found this chair occupied by a very tall and very thin man who introduced himself as Woody. With a sweeping gesture over the grass under the coconut palms, he welcomed me to his “plage” or beach. I chuckled in my head at this idea, Woody in his lifeguard chair keeping watch over his plage in the middle of what amounts to the hospital parking lot.

Over the rest of my time in Leogane I formed an unlikely friendship with Woody on his beach. Through a combination of bits of Creole, French and English, translator apps and photos on my smartphone I got to know a little about Woody’s life; and he got to know a little about mine. We talked about our families, and we chased stray chickens. The other team members would await updates on Woody, and I would find myself checking out the window to see if he was out sitting in his chair. 

Preparing to depart for the airport, we gathered in the courtyard in front of the plage. There sat the empty chair. I took one last long look at it and smiled. It is a beautiful chair, carefully constructed by hand and fully functional. It is an interesting chair with an interesting story and an even more interesting occupant. Woody and his chair remain one of my fondest recollections of my time in Leogane.