Who better to weigh in on the future of Anabaptism than the person who, when the question “From whom do Mennonites take their name?” was asked during a Mennonite trivia game, confidently shouted, “Jacob Menno!”?

What can someone like me — new to faith, new to being a Mennonite — have to offer a conversation about the future of Anabaptism? I have been asking myself this, and I have found the answer in the place we often find answers: the church.

Historian Howard Zinn wrote, “The future is an infinite succession of presents.” How hopeful I find this! We are constructing the future today. If we don’t like today (or don’t like the future we see coming), we can start doing things differently.

I do not always like the present. Specifically, I do not always like the present I construct. Frankly, sometimes it’s like there’s a worm in my brain that eats all my good thoughts. On the road, I conduct an endless negative internal commentary about other drivers. Let me tell you, it is exhausting to be the best driver on the road. Always.

For a long time, I believed that making negative assessments about other people — their moods, their personal lives, their intentions — was a sign of discernment. Not biblical discernment (obviously), but that I was a discerning person. Only recently have I come to understand that a constant barrage of negative thinking does not a discerning person make. Only an unpleasant one.

Luckily, I get to think (and act) differently today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. I can make a new present.

For me, a new present involves attending and joining a Mennonite church. And no small part of what is attractive to me about it is its positivity.

To be a follower of Jesus is to be a follower of kindness, of love, of acceptance. To extend a hand to the lonely, the suffering, the outcast. To be a place and a source of welcome.

Jesus didn’t deny anyone a seat at the table, and neither does Hyattsville Mennonite Church. I mean, they made space for me, worm in the brain and all.

The future of Anabaptism is to be seen in its present.

I look around the pews and see the 20-year-olds, earnest, warm, interested.

I see the 30-year-olds and their toddlers, joining along in song.

I see the teenagers, their inventive, engaging youth group and how they invite the rest of us into their rich worlds.

I see the adults of all ages, serving the community in so many ways: giving rides, sharing food, donating money, starting foundations, supporting refugees, reaching out to each other, reaching out beyond their own friend group or their own known community.

How can I not be heartened about a future made up of such a present?

In such a community, we are transformed. The more I am around kindness, patience, soft talk, understanding, compassion and gentleness, the less the negative part of me is fed — and the less I want to feed it.

Now, when a negative thought pops up, I no longer congratulate myself for my insight. Instead, I think, “What would Mary Hershberger do right now?” While I do not know the answer, I am pretty sure it’s not “give the finger to the person who just pulled out in front of her in traffic.”

I may not know exactly what to do, but I know what not to do.

I want my new friends to be proud of me. I want to build a present that is beautiful for them, and for me, and for the friends we haven’t met yet.

I, too, have a hand in building the future. I, too, can be a source of kindness, welcome, acceptance.

As was so freely given to me, as God so loved his Son, we build the present, and through it, the future.

Go, us. May we build it beautiful.

Kyla Hanington is a Canadian writer, animal lover, reader of mysteries and human rights advocate. She lives just outside of Washington, D.C., with her family and is a member of Hyattsville Mennonite Church in Maryland.