Oh, the Irony

Yesterday I had the great opportunity to work from home. The only reason I left my house was to attend a training session for the Point in Time Homelessness Census. Next Wednesday night, weather permitting, I will join about fifty teams of people to canvas every neighborhood in the District, surveying those experiencing homelessness on the street that night. The training consisted of an overview of the survey we will administer through relational conversations and explanations of how to keep ourselves safe and care for those we encounter who need emergency services for problems like hypothermia. We were told to prepare to be outside for four hours 10 pm until 2 am at the end of January. It will be cold. It will not be an easy night.

Five months ago I may have had a few more reservations about this work. Despite my extroverted, friendly nature, I may have been more hesitant to wake people up to ask demographic questions. However, I have been having these conversations on a weekly, if not daily, basis. Depending on where my team is assigned, I could even run into some of our Radcliffe Room guests. I am genuinely excited about this event, what data we will collect, who we will connect with more resources, or just a McDonald's gift card.

As I rode the bus down toward Logan Circle, I saw the snow start in small flurries. Immediately, I told my roommates.

"It shouldn't be too bad," they said.

I left the training at around 8, and the snowfall had covered the ground with a nice solid dusting. I waited inside until my handy dandy NextBus app told me I had five minutes until my bus came. All bundled up with my leggings, yoga pants, socks, tennis shoes, t-shirt, long sleeve t-shirt, jacket, scarf, headband, hat, gloves, and hand warmers, I confidently walked across the street to the bus stop. I even paused to take a time-lapse video of the snow, which I still considered beautiful and mystical.

This was nice and cute when I thought I would get on a bus in 4 minutes...not in an hour. DC, why are you struggling so hard with the snow this early?! #snowmageddon #notquite

Posted by Angela Williams on Thursday, January 21, 2016

Then five minutes turned to four...for over ten minutes. Then the sign at our stop went to eight minutes. About twenty minutes later, the first bus passed us by, completely full, without stopping. It's ok. Another one was coming in three minutes. That bus flashed the "NOT IN SERVICE" sign. After waiting for thirty minutes, I decided to start actively walking toward a different route rather than passively waiting in the cold to watch buses pass me by.

From 16th and P, to 14th and Q, then to 14th and Rhode Island, and 14th and N, and finally 14th and L, I walked trying to meet a bus at a stop that would actually let me board. According to my phone, those maneuvers added 2 miles to my daily distance. I had waited in the cold for an hour when I was finally able to board a bus that would take me closer to our house, rather than walking farther away from it.

I felt frozen and incredibly angry. Come on, DC! You're not South Carolina! You have to know how to deal with snow better than this. Meteorologists exist for a reason! We knew this was coming...where was the salt? Why couldn't the buses be on time? What good is public transportation when it doesn't run the normal schedule or pick up everyone who is patiently waiting? Why were all of the transportation apps (Uber, Lyft, Split) busy or incredibly overpriced? Why didn't I wear better shoes? Why couldn't I just get home to my warm bed? Why did I even decide to leave my house tonight? Ugh.

In the midst of my angry mental ranting and curse-filled texting, it hit me. I left my house to be proactive about caring about our neighbors who experience this on a nightly basis. If I could barely stand an hour in this cold, what about our guests who will be sleeping in this or trying to find a place warm all night? What about when they get kicked out of a McDonald's or CVS for not being a customer? Would I receive that same treatment?

The bus ride was slow-going because of so much traffic, ice, and the panic that always induces. The hour I spent on the over-heated bus gave me plenty of time to thaw. As we rode along, I saw that the bus I would normally transfer to had stopped operating for the night. Curse you, E4. So I walked the remaining 9 or so blocks back to the house. I opened the door feeling cold, but not as cold as when I had first boarded the bus. Immediately, I took off my snow-filled shoes and yoga pants and peeled off all the extra layers. I was able to come into a warm house with freshly clean sheets to put on my bed, a computer where I can write this blog to help process this experience, and a functional intentional community full of people I love dearly.

Ok, got it. Privilege: checked.

Holding the Tension

Even though I am no longer a college student, I had the great privilege of attending College Conference at Montreat earlier this month on behalf of NEXT in order to host two listening sessions. I thoroughly enjoyed this time of personal and professional renewal that I had experienced as a college student; however, I came to College Conference from a different place than I did previously. For the past four months, I have been thrust into the professional church world. I am so grateful to be a part of the NEXT Church network that is truly on the cutting edge of moving the new church awakening forward. Simultaneously, I am experiencing what it is to work for the church and not simply be an enthusiastic, active member for the first time on my journey.

Click to enlarge

Recently, NEXT Church director Jessica Tate and I discussed where NEXT fits in Diana Butler Bass’s Arc of Awakening. We came to the conclusion that NEXT is in the thin space at the base of the arc, where we are free to imagine and experiment. NEXT must work with those who find themselves on all points of the arc, whether they are grasping the loss of the old way or already marching forward with new visions in hand.

Personally, I feel as if I have a foot on each side of the arc. I get to imagine the future of the church with NEXT at the same time that I work with incredibly valuable ministries of New York Avenue Presbyterian Church that have been spreading God’s love for over fifty years. In each of these placements, I am working closely alongside other humans and all of their beautiful messiness, some of whom are mourning the church of their childhood, others who cannot wait for the church to catch up with their ideas.

So it was with this mindset that at College Conference, I heard amazing preaching on John 3:16 from NEXT Church strategy team member Carla Pratt Keyes, the story of a football player who left the NFL to follow his calling to become a farmer, creative accounts of witnessing from Nadia Bolz Weber, and tales of transformative mission from leaders across the country. Through the listening sessions, I heard invigorating narratives of presbyteries that energize local congregations to meet the need in their communities. I also listened as some expressed hurt that a denominational program with so much potential fizzled. If I learned anything from these sessions, it is that we are not alone in the struggle to follow the Spirit through times of tension. Any questions I have about my ministries have found a home in others’ hearts, too. That solidarity that we found in an hour of relational conversation energizes me to keep imagining, while holding the tension of the church that was, the church that is, and the church that is to come.

This post originally appeared on the NEXT Church Blog.

Adele

I had the great honor to write a music review for the Presbyterian Outlook recently. Although this piece does not directly discuss my YAV year in DC, Adele's latest album, "25," has definitely become a soundtrack to my life, mostly because I have been listening to it so much. Many thanks to the Outlook for the opportunity to have my music critic debut. Below is the text of the article that you can find originally posted here. Hope you enjoy it!

Hello, it’s me.

She’s back. Finally, after a four-year hiatus, Adele has graced the world with more ballads that are sure to become instant karaoke classics. She explained that while “21,” her sophomore album, was a break-up album, “25” is more of a make-up album. This record clearly comes from a place of more life experience and maturity, something that particularly resonates with my own life’s path. I remember belting out “Someone Like You” before I was ready to acknowledge that an ended relationship was never going to have a resurrection. While I have not become a mother in the past four years, I have seen and learned more about the world that has also allowed me to journey toward a place of healing, wholeness and self-love, ready to let go of what once was. Even as Adele acknowledges that it is time to move on from the past, she still yearns for the positive aspects of those times, places and relationships.

Listening to the lyrics of “Hello,” it can appear that she is singing to a former lover, but I hear it more as a letter to her younger self: Hello from the outside/At least I can say that I’ve tried/To tell you I’m sorry, for breaking your heart/But it don’t matter, it clearly doesn’t tear you apart anymore. She has moved on past the heartbreaks that used to keep her up at night. As indicated by the overnight success of this first single, Adele is still making people experience all the feelings they forgot they had.

My personal favorite on the album is “Send My Love (To Your New Lover),” which has a playful bounce and pop feel that can be compared to Taylor Swift’s sound. When writing this track, Adele expanded on something she wrote as a 13-year-old girl after a break up. That inspiration definitely comes through in the sound reminiscent of listening to No Doubt on the playground in middle school.

The driving beat under “I Miss You” was extremely motivating as I streamed the album at my desk at work; you have no idea how many emails I cranked out to this song. Her angelic high notes floating over an entrancing refrain give way to her second single from the album, “When We Were Young.” The lyrics drip with nostalgia and yearning for the past: You still look like a movie/You still sound like a song/My God, this reminds me/Of when we were young. As a young adult still trying to figure out this whole adult thing, it is easy to wish I were back in my college years, but I know that transitions and life experience have taken me further on my journey than was possible in that context.

“Remedy” is the song I would send to a close friend or family member in need of special care. Its vocal and lyrical warmth seeps into the soul in a way that it seemed clear to me that when writing the song, Adele was thinking of her love for her close friends and family. Turning the tables, “Water Under the Bridge” has a chill tropical groove, but a very different message: If you’re gonna let me down, let me down gently/Don’t pretend that you don’t want me/Our love ain’t water under the bridge. She wants to be given a respectful ending to their relationship so she can continue on in grace, valuing each other for who they are but knowing that what they have is only for a limited time. This request transcends the romantic realm of relationships and can venture into friendships or working relationships.

We find the ode to her roots in “River Lea,” a gospel ballad set to organ and hauntingly beautiful backup vocals. She explores tensions between the influences cast by where we were formed and the reality of never returning the same as when we left – a different tone from “Hometown Glory” on her first album, “19.” The farther I go from my own hometown, the more I realize how much it has shaped my story on a fundamental level, – but through my years as a Young Adult Volunteer in the Philippines and now in Washington, D.C., I know that I am still growing and have much to learn.

The album’s theme is a yearning for wholeness, healing, flourishing and closure. This is especially poignant against the strings in “Love in the Dark.” The acoustic guitar in “Million Years Ago” gives a nod to Spanish classical music and places the listener in a sleepy café, pondering past experiences and choices after exploring the streets. While listening to “All I Ask,” it might be difficult to discern if it is the last song of the night at the piano bar or the final night of a relationship. Perhaps this is a prequel to “Someone Like You.” The finale of the album is a pledge of “Sweetest Devotion” to a relationship. The percussion, electric guitar and swing-three-beat feel drive the song forward so that listeners are ready to proclaim that devotion to the next person they see. All in all, by the time you reach the end of the album, it is tempting to go back and experience it all again.

Rumor had it that Adele was not going to continue writing music, as she experienced severe writer’s block and health issues after achieving worldwide success with her last album. However, the birth of her son and the transition that comes with welcoming a new life into the world gave her the inspiration she needed to make up with herself and her past through “25.” We, her fans and avid listeners, thank her for this new album that speaks to our inner beings, passing through the transitions of life but yearning for the comforts of our past.

First Day

It was ten minutes into my first day of work in the Radcliffe Room, the homeless ministry of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, when it happened.

A fight erupted right in front of me. I had been placed on the stage where we keep the women's clothing. No men allowed, but I did not know that at the time. He was looking for a sister or girlfriend or mother or friend or does it even matter? I had just met Cheryl*, a guest who wanted to volunteer to help organize the clothing closet during the week. On our way to find someone who knew more about this than I did, she stopped to look at a shirt that he was holding.

That's when it started.

"Bitch, you're too fat to wear this."

"This is way too small for you."

"You better lose some weight, fat ass, before you can have this shirt."

On and on and on and on.

Fat shaming and general degradation of a woman who was simply asking to look at the garment. I was in shock. He continued to agitate her, and she defended herself, as is a necessity when you are experiencing homelessness. She was not going to tolerate his insults that escalated into threats of physical violence, and rightfully so. When she raised her phone to take his picture so she could show his face to the police, he lunged at her, throwing the phone out of her hand to the ground two feet away from me. They rushed to be the first to reach the phone and squeezed their bodies into the narrow space between the pew on the stage and the railing guarding the edge of the stage. I felt trapped. The scuffle continued with the man spitting attacks and Cheryl screaming that he had her phone. 

I stood petrified. I was definitely not the calm, de-escalating presence I always thought I would be in tense conflicts. The only thought running through my head was what my supervisor, Alice, had told me a few days prior, "Whatever happens, do not physically put yourself in the middle of a fight. Do not put yourself in danger." I did not even know the names of any other volunteers I could call to help with the situation. Eventually the noise drew the attention of more experienced leaders in the Radcliffe Room. Other guests noticed the incident and pulled the two apart. Cheryl got her phone back, and other women came forward with claims that he has done this before. He has antagonized women in their space and caused trouble. Eventually others diffused the tension, and the two left the building.

I was left shaking with my eyes filling just to the brim with tears. This is not what I do. I keep calm in stressful situations. I am a strong leader. I have broken up fights before. But being a counselor to middle school campers is very different from being a first-time volunteer working with adults experiencing homelessness.

"Have you ever worked in this environment before?" asked my angel of the day, Sandra.

Of course I have. I have been doing community service for much of my life. I have served meals, done street outreach, cleaned houses after natural disasters, and built relationships with plenty of people all over the world. I got this.

Nope. Not even close. No. I have not worked with people experiencing homelessness over an extended period of time until this year.

As long-time volunteer, Sandra, showed me the ropes, I tried to process the violence I had just witnessed and learned more about the authority I have as a volunteer. Soon, Cheryl returned to the Radcliffe Room with a police officer in tow. On my first morning of work, I watched a fight break out in front of me and then became a witness in a police report. Not how I imagined the day playing out when I woke up that September morning.

A dynamic I have neglected to mention so far is that Cheryl is a white woman, and her aggressor is a black man. A black police officer was asking me detailed questions about the incident, including the specific shade of the skin of a man I had seen for maybe five minutes. Even though I knew that he had done something wrong, I felt so uncomfortable contributing to putting yet another black man into the prison industrial complex.

Radcliffe Room on a pretty full day
Photo by: James Wall

As it turns out, I have not seen the man since that first day. I honestly would not be able to recognize him if he were to return. However, Cheryl and I have developed a relationship that started when I was able to validate her story to keep her safe. I sat next to Cheryl as she gave a beautiful eulogy at the memorial service for a long-time volunteer. We have discovered that Cheryl is from Kentucky near where I volunteered for two summers. Cheryl has introduced me to her friends, and they are always a welcome light to my early Sunday mornings. 

Even when we feel helpless and incompetent, God is making all things new in this world. Even in the face of sexism and violence, God is with us. Even on our worst days, God sets the stage for redemption and resurrection. Together, as co-creators, we work to bring heaven to earth, to make this world as it should be. The work is difficult. The struggle is long. But together, we shall overcome.

*Name has been changed

Yesterday, I Made an Assumption

Yesterday, I made an assumption.

I was riding high on my white savior complex

Proud of all the work I had done

All the talking

All the listening

All the organizing

All the helping

I had done it.

I was building relationships with guests,

Friends.

But we had parted ways.

Yesterday, I made an assumption.

Two young, black men. 

Taut bodies with long dreads cascading,

Sweatpants and t-shirts, with gym bags on their backs

Riding bicycles

Perhaps they were going to the gym to strengthen their muscles.

Maybe they were athletes in high school?

They aren’t like me.

They would think it weird that I talk

to people

On the street,

On the sidewalk,

On the bench,

In the park.

I help people.

I do service.

I am a volunteer.

I work with the church.

I make friends.

I am different.

I am good.

The young men stop.

Open the packs.

I see pieces of plastic loops.

Plastic bags of food.

They give the packages

to people

On the street,

On the sidewalk,

On the bench,

In the park.

My interest piqued:

"Are y’all with an organization?"

One responds,

"It's just God's work.

He started, and I joined him.

Have a blessed day."

Yesterday, I made an assumption.

New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, where I meet guests and friends

Separate But (Definitely Not) Equal

Joining the YAV program was the beginning of my waking up process. I found a home in service and mission in solidarity and alongside communities who are already doing God's work. I was able to freely express myself, my theologies, and ask really difficult questions. I already knew I was going to the Philippines for a year when Ferguson happened and I felt thrust back to the Civil Rights Era of the 1960s. At Dis-Orientation last year, we discussed militarization of the police, white privilege, and delved into the nuances of the racial reality in the United States.

Then I lived in the Philippines for a year.

I was finally out of the environments that had formed the previous twenty-two years of my life. My theology grew and changed. I was in a place where I could ask questions and discover theologies that were not simply reactions to the more conservative bubbles I had called home in South Carolina and Washington and Lee. Not only was my progressive, open theology still narrow, but I discovered different flavors of liberal theology and ways of reading sacred texts: feminist theology, queer theology, womanist theology, liberation theology, empire critical theology, and the list continues. No matter how much knowledge I thought I had accrued over my years of dedicated study and thought, I was still a spiritual infant. God was still working.

In that ethos, I found my worldview recalibrating. I questioned what I had learned in history classes taught by white, conservative teachers in the South Carolina public school system. Over time, I found that my news sources came from voices of people of color. Facebook learned which of my friends' shared articles would attract my click of interest. I was waking up.

I stayed woke as I watched tragedies, disappointment, and unrest grow in Ferguson, New York, Cleveland, Baltimore, McKinney, and Charleston, among other places. I wrestled with my privilege, implicit biases, and ways I had previously lived my life in Rock Hill and Lexington. God used my time away to melt me, mold me, fill me, and then it was time to use me.

Upon my return, I was shocked by what I found in my hometown and places so near and dear to my heart. I heard ignorant white high school boys make anti-gay and racist comments about young black girls with no reprimands from adults around, including myself. As I made trips to my favorite places, I noticed a distinct lack of color in the spaces that I call home. I frequented "nice" spaces in towns across South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia, and because I woke up, I was taking notice of how white my world is.

Then, I moved to Washington, DC. Again, I am a privileged minority in my community, but it comes with less reverence from the majority. I feel out of my place in my majority black and Latin@ neighborhood and grapple with how my presence interacts with the gentrification occurring just a few blocks away from me that will creep north soon.

In our first week in the city, we went to a poetry night at Busboys and Poets, a restaurant named for Langston Hughes. We listened as people of color took the stage and voiced their anger, passion, frustration, desire, and art. It was beautiful. I took pictures and videos of particularly moving performances and posted them on Snapchat, where one was featured on the Washington, DC local Snapchat story. Over 60,000 people viewed the video of Kenny Sway making music. Then I posted to my personal social media accounts that I had made it to the local Snapchat story (a feat that surprised me, especially in my first full day living in a city that has multiple geotags and a local story). I had consumed amazing art from a young black man and given him a larger platform for people to see his work, but I had to take credit for it. I socially profited from his work. Even though I cited Kenny Sway as the artist, it shocked me how slimy I felt.

I am still struggling with the best ways to interact with the vibrant culture I find all over the city. My favorite coffee shop in our neighborhood is a black-owned business and features local black artists' work on the walls and musicians almost every night of the week. I love the community I have found at Culture Coffee, but I question what my presence and the presence of my predominantly white friends in a strongly black space does to the atmosphere. How can I best learn more about and appreciate black or Latin@ culture without contaminating or appropriating the experience? How do we appreciate the value inherent in each culture without diluting the experience? Does that simply lead to segregation?

These are the questions that I ask myself on a daily basis. For the first time in my life, I am living in an urban city and face issues of gentrification, poverty, homelessness, privilege, sexism, and God's face in the city every single day, and I love it. In this environment, I can finally receive an education on the diversity of history, culture, and stories of multitudes of black people that has simply not been an integral part of my life story until I woke up. Though I will never be black or know what it is to live in a black body in this world, I can get a glimpse of the experience of growing up in inner-city Baltimore in the 1980s through the eyes of Ta-Nehisi Coates. Through his words in Between the World and Me, I can start to understand the nuances and diversity of black experiences that can be found at Howard University, what Coates calls Mecca, where I frequently get lost while riding my bike. Learning more about the stories of black men wrongfully condemned to death row from Bryan Stevenson's book Just Mercy forces me to realize that systemic racism is not something that died with Jim Crow. It happened when my parents were my age and clearly continues to this day through the industrial prison complex.

Where is God working in all of these spaces and where is our place in it? Where is the dominant culture overpowering the conversation and how can we use our places of power to ensure a place for more unheard voices at the table? What are the stories we must unlearn and relearn in order to have a more realistic picture of our history? Who is in your spaces and would others who may not look like you feel comfortable in that space with you? How are we perpetuating the standard of separate but (definitely not) equal spaces in our lives? Is it time to wake up?

Ch-ch-ch-changes!

Wow. It's been quite some time since I updated this blog. My, oh my, so much has happened since that day.

I have said see you later to my friends and family in the Philippines.

Tindoy family and friends before I left for the airport
Photo Credit: Simon Grobe

I traveled to Northern Luzon and actually felt cold from the mid-60s mountain rain.

Rice and vegetable terraces, as seen from the National Highway between Sagada and Manila

I went caving, fell off a rope, and bruised a finger.

Feeling energized in Sumaguing Cave, Sagada
Photo Credit: My Amazing Guide, Kit

Don't worry. Everything is fine. I've gotten pretty good at falling without getting too seriously injured. ;)

Just a bit bruised and swollen. It's fine. Promise.

I traveled 9,000 miles back to my home of Rock Hill, SC.

The sunset greeted me when I landed in Charlotte after the longest day of my life

I caught up on some much missed family bonding time.

...which included realizing this little goober brother will have his own cap and gown way too soon!

I went straight back to work lifeguarding at my beloved Bethelwoods Camp and Conference Center. I witnessed two dear friends join their lives together in marriage and had a blast seeing old classmates.

Mr. and Mrs. Anton and Schereéya Reed

I visited and reconnected with friends in Harrisonburg, Charlottesville, and Lexington, VA. I got a sneak peek at being caregiver for my parents after my mom had rotator cuff surgery. I gave presentations at two different churches on my year in the Philippines. I went to the beach and had a wonderful time with some of the women in my family.

The first non-Philippine beach I've seen in a while

I got to reconnect with a fellow YAV, beloved former pastor, and one of my many homes, Montreat!

These gates always let me know I'm home!

I managed to unpack, organize, regift to a good home, and repack my belongings. I was able to go to Lexington (again!) and meet a younger, other half.

Being awesome runs in the Bombshell family. PPL

I have shared food, drink, stories, and memories with some pretty remarkable people, and I am so thankful.

Now, I am officially three weeks into this second year serving as a Young Adult Volunteer in Washington, DC. I have moved in with four wonderful housemates. I have wandered the National Mall and toured the monuments on bike.

I see this on a regular basis. I don't hate it.

I have gotten seriously lost multiple times, in multiple ways. I have walked the wrong way three different times at the same intersection. I have attended multiple open mic nights and even participated when one became karaoke!

Ron Ron, the amazing accompanist one-man band at our favorite Culture Coffee

I have found coconut, pineapple, and mango at the grocery store!

This is totally local, right??

I have had an exhausting hour and a half bus commute. I have felt completely overwhelmed. I have felt my heart break, as I hear stories of misfortune and injustice. I have helplessly watched as a fight broke out right in front of me. I have felt energized by the spirit and people of this wonderful city.

A wonderful twist on an old proverb on the wall of the National Coalition for the Homeless office

I have seen blocks where "The Wire" was filmed that have now been redeveloped. I have watched the sun rise between buildings downtown.

When you get to work at 7:30 on Sunday mornings, may as well enjoy the view.

I have heard some marvelous stories. I have made unexpected connections. I have reconnected with friends from college, YAV, and home.

I have started working with NEXT Church and The New York Avenue Presbyterian Church. With NEXT Church, I will be helping our executive director, strategy team, and various support teams plan the 2016 National Gathering in Atlanta February 22-24. I am overjoyed at the opportunity I have to learn more about the work of the larger church, as we seek to be the church in right relationship with each other and God, especially as we ask the difficult questions facing individual members, congregations, agencies, and the denomination as a whole. I'm learning a lot about conference calls and understanding what becoming the Church means.

With the historic New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, I am working with Community Club and Radcliffe Room. Both are long-standing community ministries that have decades of work that I am joining. Community Club is an after-school tutoring program for DC public school students. Mostly, I will be doing the administrative behind-the-scenes work for the program to ensure that everyone is supported and everything can run relatively smoothly. In the Radcliffe Room, I am joining a hard-working, committed team of people working to welcome our neighbors living without homes for breakfast and fellowship on Sunday mornings. I am quickly learning the difference between being an active member of a church and working on the staff side of a church. I am so grateful for these direct service opportunities so that I can continue to stay grounded by seeing the faces of the city on a regular basis.

The New York Avenue Presbyterian Church

Most of this post has been very self-centered. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the omnipresent God who allows these relationships to flourish and guides my path to these amazing vocations. Even when I am overwhelmed by the pace of the city and the massive influx of work emails that comes with starting two new jobs, I remember to stop and breathe. I am not alone. The Spirit is alive and well in the people I meet on the street, in the coffee shop, in meetings, at church, at work, and in my house. Community is hard. But I remind myself that it is so, so worth it. When I feel the draining effects of reverse culture shock and long for the simplicity of life in Kananga, I take a moment to remember the times and people God has lovingly placed into all pieces of my life. Eventually, I start to smile again because I remember I am loved, and that God is good. All the time.