What it said it was, and then what it really was: Hearts & Hands Workshop

Here’s what I thought I signed up for:

HEARTS & HANDS WORKSHOP – ST. CROIX LUTHERAN ACADEMY – WEST ST. PAUL, MN

• Tuesday, June 18, 201912:00 PM- Thursday, June 20, 20191:00 PM

The Hearts & Hands Workshop is a three-day workshopping event for artists, worship leaders, and pastors seeking to integrate creativity and art into worship settings, specializing in discussions on the following topics:

• visual arts | creating original works of art to edify Christian worship
• musical arts | from creating new songs or song settings to accompaniment in Christian Worship
• technology | the use of lighting, video, and creative tech in Christian Worship
• modern rites | being creative within the Lutheran liturgical tradition, such as the use of ordinaries and confessions & absolution

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And by all means, it was that. It was integrative. It was creative. There were people with things to share. There were even doughnuts. But what they didn’t tell me… that’s the part I want to write about.

They didn’t tell me it would be like witnessing a family who had been scattered across the country for the last twelve months, come ‘home’ to each other. Grins and exclamations and back-slapping and a general disregard for being four minutes late to each breakout session because it was just so good to talk to ‘their tribe’ again.

They didn’t tell me I would sit in a snow-globe of a chapel- floor to ceiling windows- but not be able to take my eyes off of musicians who poured their hearts out and UP to rejoice and praise their Savior. (They also didn’t tell me I would barely be able to set foot in that chapel before my protective shell would be pinged and my emotions would surface.)

And– maybe because I’m new to this group– I sure wasn’t expecting the level of talent that just seemed so… assumed. Like… of course the same woman who lent us three of her exquisite fine-art portraits to display was the same woman leading a soulful worship group on the stage. (Sorry American Idol, ya missed one).

And how are the same people who are clearly incredibly well educated, also so humble as to start their breakout session with, “Well I have a little something put together, but what I really want to do is write down your questions because that’s what we really should talk about.”

After soaking in as many new ideas as I could in a few quick hours, (everything from how to creatively light your worship services to an architect’s perspective on visual media for worship) we headed to an ethnic restaurant nearby. (Go. Just go there. You’ll thank me.)

I was seated next to a few people I had seen at the workshop but didn’t know well. By the middle of our meal, I had heard conversations about the frog in boiling water as it relates to Lutheranism moving toward a contemporary trend, drinking the wine but avoiding the headache… and a few things in between that I struggled to relate to. Then I realized the guy to my left was a world-traveling photographer which explained why he was so good at eating the ethnic food without watching to see how everyone else did it. He reinforced my thoughts that each of these people was incredibly multi-faceted and beyond talented. By the end of the meal, everyone was drawing one-minute-portraits of the person across from them on the paper table cloth. So I guess being that smart and creative doesn’t mean ‘socially awkward’ either.

These are my observations. Things I mostly saw from the outside, but maybe did just that- observed from the outside. And I would love to say it’s because the whole time I was at the workshop I was being a studious Bread for Beggars employee taking notes and preparing this super-informative post like I should have been. The painfully honest part? Groups of people give me stomach aches. Also the crushing anxiety that sits on your windpipe like the fourth-grade bully who means it. No deodorant can keep up. The ‘protective shell’ I mentioned before? I don’t like it being pinged. But I/we (my fellow BFB introvert Christy and I) tried to be brave by going to the workshop because we really wanted to watch and learn. (Okay, so we mostly hid in the back row or behind a camera lens whenever possible but we showed up). By lunchtime day two we were both feeling what we call ‘the introvert hangover’ which results from being around LOTS of people for LOTS of time with nowhere to hide and decompress alone. So when we saw the choice between the crowded cafeteria and a beautifully empty table outside with three chairs, it was a no-brainer. And I’m a little ashamed to admit that I moved the third chair to a different table.

And then Mike came outside. And he pulled up a chair between us.

And sat there. And smiled.

And I don’t even know how to explain this, but I might as well have been on the lounge couch you see in every therapist’s office in every movie ever. Because as soon as Mike started asking questions about who we were and why we were there, it was like he loosened the cap on a relief valve.

And it. Was. Not. Pretty.

Insecurities, tears, and missing my own bed just came spilling out.

And he sat there. And listened.

Have you ever had anyone do that for you? A near stranger (who later told me he had actually seen me move the chair away from the table) who didn’t let the introvert-on-a-ledge-vibe deter him from reaching out and putting us at ease.

He listened.

And then, he didn’t preach law at me or even worse, try to tell me I should ‘feel happy’ because I am a Daughter of the King. He told me I was good at some things, even if it wasn’t being part of a big group. He encouraged me.

Then he had us all hold hands at that table in the sun and he prayed for me.

Well if you can imagine the ugly cry before, and the makeup… it didn’t get any prettier at that point. *I think it was at this point that Christy pulled out a handful of tissue from her purse and I may have interrupted the prayer by shouting, “You’ve had those the WHOLE TIME?!”

Christy and I had a lot of time in the car together. Ten+ hours in two days will help you get to know a person pretty quickly. On the drive back, what we talked about the most is the fact that I had actually MOVED THE CHAIR away from our table, and Mike still showed up. And how we were so glad he did because God knew what we needed to hear.

The next day (after I had caught up on sleep and spent some time blissfully alone) I got a text from Christy. She had highlighted a line on the welcoming note from the red folder at the workshop:

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