Hello My name is Nicola Marguerite Gayle….aka Nikki …. I was born and raised in Brooklyn New York by Jamaican Parents who as young adults  moved to England where they met and got married, then moved to New York where life began for both me (Nikki Gayle) and my older sister. Then when I was 6 we moved to California.

I currently live in Pasadena, California. My hobbies and interests have changed throughout the years but, what I found that has stayed consistent has been my love for the arts……especially dance.  I love traveling, eating/ snacking and cannot resist a good dessert!!

Writing is a tool that gets me to communicate more clearly with others but, I would never consider myself much of a writer………this blog entry is an experiment of my continued journey and adventure…..

Now I am rejoining self… reaching out for another thing that will or has fallen through or been rejected or even another  “failed” attempt …… but one thing I have discovered… I am still alive breathing and more alive than I have been in years. In the past, things were definite, for sure, consistent, constant, moving, shaking happening legit and “alive”. Things “made sense” (or so it seemed at the time) but inside I was dead, dying and scared… scared that I would do the “wrong thing” or that I would be “found out” and dead because I was not living up to whom I was and who I needed to be. The real me was beaten out by doing what “looks good” and won’t get me seen or heard or better yet “in trouble” because me and my individual thoughts, ideas, dreams, mistakes did not matter… (Mistakes were not allowed) or not accepted or I just did not know how to manage or accept or realize how to funnel it to a place of growth. I lacked a place and time for discovery because I filled it with others. Others dreams, others expectations, others hopes and others demands. That put me in a place where I did not have room for me.  No place to feel, escape experiment or just choose… I was constantly in a place of being told “ this is not you” and when I choose to speak it would come out “wrong“ or did not fit into a category that others would not/ could not understand or it was just not the space and time for me. I felt like I was suffocating. I made myself a victim and I didn’t realize it or even care.

A friend summed it up perfectly by saying to me once, “Nikki, people love/ like you but they just don’t know what to do with you”… ahh yes…. And that is where I began…. Or just started to begin. Beginning to understand the meaning of just being to truly understand me or just being/ my human existence, place and purpose in this world. Others may not have a place for you but you need to feel a place with ones self… what does that have to do with hope? Well hope believes in something greater/bigger than you. Well that’s my theory/ belief at least…that’s what keeps me going…  keeps me “on track”, keeps me from dying mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

I think I lost hope for a while…. Hope in trusting my self and others. I have my moments where I need to regain my hope but I know that hope /faith (whatever) that maybe keeps me going. So whether it is in keeping myself sane by going for an indulgent little treat or trying for the new job or new (or old) hobby or a new place to pray/journal/ explore it’s the little things that I enjoy that keeps me going… I can only do that if I know that I have hope in something bigger than me…. Hope gives me a break from trying to make up for things or keep trying for things that don’t really matter or are just a plain waste of time…. Hope is the help that gives you “wings” (Cheesy right) to keep flying so to speak…. Hope can look like a lot of things…

Like the scripture says we are made in his image…  and that’s a pretty big image… so guess what, there is a lot of room for all us and we all have and are all made up of unique pieces of him that add up to the big picture…. that to me, that image is my bench mark of hope…. and when I am rejecting myself, denying myself, ignoring myself… I am denying the very thing that I am created to be. No wonder…. when one is ignoring oneself you seem to disappear and parts of the big picture are missing…. That can leave you empty, lonely helpless, angry, frustrated, not at peace (the list goes on)… that makes a bit of sense to me because in my case when I am trying to be or copy something or someone that already exists (that’s not really who I am or what I am about) I am denying my place and purpose because a piece of the big picture that I am ceases to exist and what a tragic thing for oneself and for the entire picture or even the world for that matter.

Finding hope…for me is truly being me or searching for what makes me tick and when I am focusing on my true meaning… whatever that may be… I am filled and strengthened to pour out to others so they too can find their place in the big picture. What a tragedy, what a bore if all of our lives, dreams, talents, quirks, strengths and weaknesses all looked the same…. No wonder people loose hope when there is no variety.

So I leave you with this (you know I am speaking to myself when I say this)….freedom lies in feeling hope… hope that you have a purpose that is unique only to you. That YOU can contribute to this world… you are here for a reason for your particular ways, gifts, quirks, desires and dreams.  Leave room for yourself and others to explore…..

Stop comparing yourself to others…. Once you are living your life intended  (no matter how big and or small you may think it is that doesn’t matter) YOU have a purpose, YOU matter and in this life that is only unique to you and that can bring hope not only to you but also, to those around you……

Brittany Machado is a woman of many talents.  She recently graduated from University of Chicago with a Master’s degree in sociology.  She is an avid DIYer and adjunct faculty member at Azusa Pacific University.  Most recently she has found herself as a film producer, which you can read more about here.

I’ve always wanted to work on a documentary. It was a secret desire, one that I only entertained while I watched outdated “social and cultural” documentaries on Netflix streaming. I’ve met documentary film makers and quietly yearned for the excitement of their projects, to know the fierce excitement they feel about their work.

Lo and behold, my dreams have come true.

“Jesus, Don’t Let Me Die Before I’ve Had Sex” is the name of the new documentary I am working on with two phenomenal people, director Matt Barber, and co-producer Chris Pack. It is a film about the sociological and historical underpinnings of the current implicit and explicit messages of the evangelical church on sexuality, and how these ideas impact believers.

Sex is a difficult subject to talk about in the church. With abstinence rallies on one side and Gossip Girl on the other, how can one ever have a hope of finding grounded and reasonable conversation within the quiet trepidation of the church? In the last few years we’ve seen some painful divisions among various American denominations. It’s not so much that sex is just taboo any more; more importantly, it is violent and divisive.

And when divided with no hope of peace talks, we as sexual beings with a stake in the conversation promote the downward spiral.

There is much yelling these days. Contraception and freedom of religion; angry shock jocks calling politicized females “sluts”; reinvigorated abortion debates; signs reading, “God Hates Fags;” glitter bombings; Mark Driscoll; love the sinner, hate the sin; Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell; the San Fernando Valley condom legislation.

Sexuality is on the airwaves, in our relationships, and marking who is in and who is out.

How is it that a conversation about the most exciting, unifying, pleasurable, and evolving thing that is sexuality has become so dehumanized?

Getting to the point of being able to work on this documentary has been a surprising process for me. I grew up as the poster child for evangelicalism and introduced purity rings in to our missions trip outreach, a decision I deeply regret (as a sociologist, I am now acutely aware of how hegemonic that was). I was completely unaware how my very privileged, very not self-aware, very under-developed world view could impact others. I was the girl running around my high school telling everyone to save “it” for marriage without consideration of their stories, their contexts, or their beliefs. I believed I had it all figured out and that everyone would agree with me if only they would listen and really try.

I too, took part in the sexual dehumanization. This is not a “one size fits all” issue, and yet the urge is to make it so.

Sometimes when I think about my sexual journey I want to hide my head under the nearest couch cushion. Other times I literally laugh out loud because it has been just so funny. And more recently I have been practicing a lot of empathy. In the process of this documentary we have received many emails, messages, twitters, and blog comments about how their sexuality has been so skewed by conflicting and condemning information. Sometimes we as a production team sadly shake our heads, other times we make jokes while remembering similar experiences.

This is an exercise in listening, remembering, emoting, and responding. Gently, with humor, and with eyes wide open.

Some of the stories sent to us are angry; these usually include a clear statement about how the writer is no longer a Christian. These stories are sad, hurt, devoid of hope for reconciliation between faith and sexuality. When I read these stories I can honestly remind myself that I understand, that I totally know how for some people the differences between their religion and their body knowledge are incommensurable in the dualistic heritage of Christian sexuality.

It is out of these stories that my hope emerges.

Some of the comments and letters we get are zealously supportive of the project, and they give me a quick, sharp boost and I feel affirmed. But it is the angry, hurt, and distrustful from which I gather my hope and my energy. It is for these people and those in danger of alienation from some important part of their self that compels me to complete this project, and to complete it well.

A few days ago Matt and I did a guest spot on an atheist podcast. There will be more to come in the next year, but it drove home the reality that this is a bridge-building endeavor with a long-term vision for peaceful and humanizing conversation. You can’t shake your sexuality. You can repress it, exploit it, reduce it, and spin it in to dogma, but however you treat your sexuality, you must live with it.

This is a project about embodiment and hospitality to ourselves and others. This gives me a lot of hope for myself and for our communities.

Megan Lundgren is a Licensed Psychotherapist and a professional Photographer. She is also our neighbor and a member of our chicken co-op.  Megan’s fantasy is to have crème brulee French toast at Julienne with Steve Martin, Tina Fey, and Amy Poehler. 
 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my therapy clients, it’s hope.

Hope may not seem obvious if you’re not looking for it: sometimes clients are in despair, other times they have suffered a trauma. But there’s one clear sign – one blazing, neon sign that flashes HOPE! when they walk into my office:

They showed up.

Trust me, I know. The hardest thing to do when you are tired, angry, sad, anxious, lonely, or confused is to be present. The temptation is to run away and hide, and to forcibly push people aside on your way out.

The temptation is to be alone.

When I was 8 years old at Yosemite Sierra Summer Camp, I overheard two girls gossiping about me. I had thought these girls were my camp buddies, and I was deeply hurt by their words. It stung; I felt betrayed.

So, what did I do? In a fit of anger I picked up a pebble and hurled it towards them. THWAP! It ricocheted off one of their shoulders. They turned around, and saw me red-faced with hot tears streaming down my cheeks. So I ran. I ran and hid in the bathroom, and sobbed. I felt so alone.

Our camp counselor, Dakota, heard my choked up tears and asked me to come out of the bathroom stall to talk. I remember being scared to come out of the safety of my stall, scared of telling her what happened – I was afraid of being rejected all over again.

I had a choice. Remaining secure in my bathroom stall would mean that I was in control, but that I would suffer alone. On the other hand, telling Dakota about my pain meant that I had to risk judgment – but it also held the possibility of receiving comfort and care from my counselor.

Sometimes I wonder if my therapy clients have to overcome an internal battle of wills before sessions: the will to stay at home, complacent, or the will to come to therapy and work towards change.  When they walk through my office doors, I fight the urge to cheer them on: Congrats! You’re here! You’re so brave! You’re not alone!

What I am learning from my clients is that they’re not ready to give up. They’re willing to face pain because they have hope for their relationships and hope for transformation.

When I was an 8 year-old girl at Yosemite Sierra Summer Camp, I had a choice: to escape, or to enter into a mess with the hope of healing and companionship.  I left camp that year with a memory of hope:

I don’t remember what Dakota said, but I remember her arms around me.

Amy, her husband Danny and their soon to be three kids live in snowy Colorado. Most days she is a wife, mom, neighbor and friend who values genuine relationships, pursuing the extraordinary in the ordinary, and most carbohydrates. Amy desires to make life memorable, and loves to capture moments from behind a lens, namely her 50mm. She shares more of her family’s story on her blog.

I am proud to claim my oldest child title. Of course I am, right? My love affair with being bossy started at a young age and peaked in marriage…I mean motherhood… Okay, I’m working on the bossy thing. I am motivated, action oriented, relational, type A, mostly responsible, and many of the other things that you probably associate with oldest children. If I’m honest, I am also, at times, too goal oriented, controlling, self-absorbed, and particularly self-dependent.

Perhaps a more interesting fact is that I am also married to an oldest child, and for 2 years we only had one child, a boy, who by default was also an oldest. As you might imagine, the battles of will in our home are fierce! Thankfully, our baby girl arrived soon enough to add a little grace and balance to our mix. God, protect her!

I am blessed with two beautiful children and one on the way. I have experienced success in the workplace. My husband walks with God, has an amazing job, the highest level of integrity, and a passionate devotion to our family. I am not going to lie and say that we have not spent many hours over the years working to shape our vision for where we want to be, creating a path of how we think we can get there, and then working our tails off to make sure that we did. We are driven by nature – go-getters from birth.

Oh, Lord, give me faith to trust you more.

I am challenged daily to fully grasp how to function as my driven, make-it-happen self while serving a God who desperately wants to direct my destiny toward His standard of success and perfection.  I am pulled by a world that woos me to create my own future in a country and era where success and happiness seem dangerously within my reach.

While my opportunities to pursue joy and satisfaction on my own terms are seemingly endless and astoundingly tempting, it is my experience that my greatest hope and ultimately my greatest contentment comes in my release of control and usually from the greatest depths.

Someday, Lord, may I be strong enough to relinquish control on my own. For now, thank you for taking it from me at just the right times.

Not even three months ago, our driven spirits were quieted as we watched the projection of our precious, unborn baby girl dancing around on a screen during an ultrasound. Her amazing life was on display giving us joy and confirming a fear. Our baby girl will be born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate. And amidst our joy, tears streamed down our faces, and my belly shook as I cried a violent, silent cry. We clearly saw, for the first time, the deep grooves in her lip and palate. And, while there was so much to be grateful for, even in that moment, we eventually let ourselves succumb to the despair.

We had lost control.

Over the next few weeks we mourned the loss of a low-risk pregnancy, the addition of the many surgeries that lay ahead for our baby, all of the doctor appointments we would be scheduling, and the medical decisions we would make, the challenges our family will face as we welcome our precious daughter and sister into our lives.

The grief I have felt for my child is so much deeper than grief I have ever felt for myself. But, more importantly, I can now say that my hope for this baby is exponentially larger than my grief. Hope has a way of growing from dark places, and I have to release control to gain a grasp of it. Hope grows, and then comes the joy, contentment, and peace. I don’t believe I could have planned it this way.

Father, I praise you for you are all-knowing.

In a cathartic twist of fate I am reminded that my ways of planning, striving, and directing my life seemingly limit my ability to have the deepest, most true hope – a hope that is rooted in faith and trust in God instead of myself. I can only get myself so far. And, thank God, because I’m pretty sure that the places I want to be headed, the places I want my baby girl, children, and family to be headed, are places that are much better than what I can meagerly conjure up on my own.

I am driven, but my God is mighty.

Baby girl is due in April, and it feels so close and so far away. I know that things will be challenging, and I am sure that our planning, driven, controlling natures will be ever emergent. But, in my heart is a prayer of surrender; my spirit is filled with hope and peace.

Katey Cabrera is one of those individuals that you want to know.  Her caring spirit and hospitality seep into everything she does whether it is a walk through the neighborhood, hosting an event, or caring for her family.  She is also an amazing voice and artist in her community. 

Creativity is something that runs deep within my bones; and has since I was a small child.  About 3 years ago I started a new job, which consisted of sitting behind a desk, under florescent lights, in a cubicle, and speaking with people who were out of work due to sickness or injury.  It was a great job that I was very thankful for.  At times it was a depressing job.  I felt as if the florescent lights were sucking any ounce of creativity out of me each day.

My husband was constantly encouraging me to paint by trying to use reverse psychology on me by telling me, “I bet you cannot paint any more.”  Knowing my husband I knew he was not trying to be mean in saying this but wanted me to paint so badly that he would try anything that might work.  He was hurt that I was not using my gifts and talents. He bought supplies for me.  He told me he would create a space for me to paint.  He suggested books that I should read about finding time and space for creativity. I had a hard time explaining, and he had a hard time understanding, that I felt as if all creativity had been sucked out of me and that by the time I left in the morning for work, drove in traffic for at least 30 minutes, worked a full day, drove back in traffic for at least 30 minutes, exercised to calm my mind down, and ate dinner, the last thing I wanted to do was pull out my art supplies to paint and make a mess.

Around this time, not only had I started a new job, I was also training for a 39 mile Breast Cancer Walk, I experienced a death in the family, I was trying to keep up my relationships with my husband and friends, and my husband and I decided to start trying to get pregnant.  I was very overwhelmed to say the least.  I expressed, to my husband, the need for a break and a break is what I got.  I came down with shingles.  At the time I thought shingles was only something that affected older people. I was proven wrong as I got this disease at the age of 27.  I also learned that shingles is contagious to those who have not had the chicken pox before.  Because of this I was taken out of work until my body had rid itself of the shingles sores.  I got the break I had been hoping for.

During this time off of work I spent most of my time outside in the sunshine.  I felt the creativity returning to my bones and I decided to paint.  Without thinking twice about it I decided to paint something for my husband to show him I could still paint and to thank him for always encouraging me to paint.  I painted a portrait of Abraham Lincoln, his favorite historical figure.

Having a break from the busyness of life gave me hope that I did still possess creativity, could still find rest, and could still be comfortable and calm in the stillness of life that surrounded me if I found time for it to.

Whenever I walk by the painting of Lincoln I am reminded of hope found in memories, of hope found in encouragement, of hope found in stillness, of hope found in looking, of hope found in waiting, of hope found in the here and now, of the hope that God provides in His timing.

Often our lives don’t point us to hope. There is a lot of mess around us, and hope is hard to find. However, I always find hope when I can see a little corner to peel back some of the mess. Maybe it is a song that I love, an encouraging chat with a friend, or the smile I see when my loving husband walks through the door at the end of the day. Whatever it is, I take that corner of beauty in all the mess and peel it away to reveal the hope that was hiding before. It doesn’t mean that my mess goes away… its just that changing my perspective, even if only for a moment, helps me to find the hope in the midst of the mess.