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We only brought enough for ourselves. This story is actually a very ancient one. But while this story is pagan in origin, it seems to my eye to be stitched through Barnhilll this very Christian notion of bearing Barnhil — not in terms of courts of clqssifieds or statements of fact, but in terms of how we bring the fullness of ourselves to bear in our work, in our interactions, in our willingness to do right by others. We bear witness by refusing to look away. We bear witness by showing up to our lives, and classigieds our full selves to the task. Now this Christian notion of bearing witness has always delighted me, actually, because it has, at its center, a subversion of what we expect from a faith that clasisfieds operated in the historically patriarchal way that it has for the last two millennia.

Our faith has always sought to find sly and unexpected ways to uplift the downtrodden and to shine light on the forgotten among us — we see this in scripture and we see it in the lives of the Saints, even though sometimes the most faithful among us tend to. We live out a faith that insists on the fundamental humanity of sinners and lepers and deviants; we live out faith that insists that it is the poor and the meek and powerless who will one day inherit the Kingdom. So too, with this notion of bearing witness.

Because the first witnesses to the faith — the very first ones — were women. She brought her whole Self to the task, literally witnessing with her body and her life. And it was a grieving woman who not only wished for miracles but insisted that there must be miracles when she scolded Jesus as she mourned her brother Lazarus. And this was a form of witness too. The acceptance of miracles. The utter embrace of the Divine. And then later, in the process of engaging in the deeply female task of cleaning and caring for and coddling and swaddling the body of Jesus one last time before laying him to rest, it was women who saw the stone, and it was women who saw the discarded shroud on the dirty ground, and it was women who spoke to the angel, and it was women who went back to declare the story.

To speak loud and true. We have a great history, dear women, of bearing witness. And it serves us to remember it. When I was a student at St. Kates, my professors demanded that I bear witness. That I vigorously confront each task, each problem, each paper, each test, bringing the fullness of my intellect, my curiosity, my knowledge, my logic and extrapolation, my supposition, my analysis to bear. And to bear what, exactly? I was terrified of her! The text is dead without the force of minds to make it new. It was true in my Shakespeare class when Sister Margery Smith — who we just lost this year, and oh!

And I gotta say. My professors wanted me to bring it. To bring the fullness of myself to myself, and then go farther. They wanted me to bear witness to my education, to my intellect, and to my life. Because of that training, that rigor, that insistence on curiosity and analysis and hunger, I ended up on a path not fueled by ambition, but rather fueled on a need to make things better. To connect and feel and engage with the world from a place of radical empathy. As a writer — specifically as a writer for children — I take this notion of bearing witness very seriously. Through my work, I ask my readers to engage with their imaginations and to ask big question — about love and faith and justice and hope, about tenacity and friendship, despotism and division, and the arc of the universe bending towards something greater than ourselves.

Through my work, I bear witness to pain and loss and grief. I bear witness to tyranny, propaganda and deception. I bear witness to honest mistakes and unintended consequences. This is what it means to be a writer. But this is also what it means to be a person in the world.

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All of you have the claxsifieds of a Saint Kates education, and all classkfieds you are personally called to bring that Barnhill adult classifieds to bear in the larger world — to bring your light to dark places and hold it high. The gift of ourselves is only relevant when it is given — a light under a bushel is a useless thing. She brings the gift of herself to bear. And that gift matters. And yours matters too. Classifides strife and division are cottage industries and where the task of witness and kindness and empathy and connection are hampered by so much noise. It makes our job harder. Once upon a time, trolls only lived in stories, but then the people who once told stories somehow invented the internet, and now trolls roam and snarl and howl hateful things at good people.

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Your witness — and your willingness to bear witness to yourselves and to your work and to humanity and to the world — matters. And it is vitally important. Kates graduate, who was, once upon a time, sitting where you are now. And I was filled with plans and hope and excitement and juice. But I was also scared.

What Sister Mary and Sister Margery were trying to tell me all those years ago was this: Together Well, first things first, we met in a bar Barnhill adult classifieds downtown Annapolis about 17 years and have been married for 15 of those years. For our 10 year anniversary, we renewed our vows in the Barnhill adult classifieds that we met and fell in love. While it was one of the highlights of our lives, we decided that for our 20 year anniversary, we just need to go away on a long vacation together. And, together, we use our individual strengths to support your business and make it successful. Allison After graduating college, the first seven years of my career were with a large management and information systems consulting firm.

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