And whither then? I cannot say

Words seem like broken cups that leak their meaning before I can complete the sentence. How to put the past weeks into words... I can only think in snapshots for now:

Lingira Island, the fishermen out on Lake Victoria with their floating lanterns in dark season with the late rising moon, it looked like hundreds of stars had fallen out of the sky and were burning on top of black glass, and the rich scent of drying fish still lingering on the rocks. One thing I've realized here is the sense of scent... America keeps things so sterile, grocery stores with everything sealed up in plastic... here aroma is everywhere, good and bad, but it makes life taste deeper. Running around the island (rock-hopping up the hills)... and talking to the beautiful people and playing with children.

Sipi Falls, meeting backpackers and fellow NGO workers, trading stories while eating a breakfast of bananas and coffees overlooking the valley and the 300ft waterfall. Hiking with our guide through the villages on an invisible trail and campfires on the side of the mountain.

Christmas, I think one of the best I've ever spent, worshiping God at church, then serving a feast to 20 widows and 50 children from the local community and having a program for them... their gratitude over the simplest things convicts me. Then, Shannon and I spent the rest of the day with Gerald's family at their home in the nearby village. (10 siblings and their mother, as well as some spouses and children.)

We've also been enjoying the fellowship of a team on their Discipleship Training School (DTS) outreach from the Swiss base (though I think only one is actually Swiss), and are expecting a team from Australia on Tuesday and in January two teams from the Tyler Texas base (home sweet home!)

I can hardly believe how quick time is passing here. Outreach begins in a month. We'll be spending some time in Pader, an internally-displaced persons camp. Then, four of us are going to South Africa where we'll be focusing more on urban development and community education/empowerment -- especially with street kids. We'll be spending some time in Cape Town, Jefferey's Bay, and Durban (which is Shan's hometown and working with her local church.) The rest of the team is heading to Sudan. I am really excited for them, and my adventurous side wishes to be trailing off with them into the intense and unknown but for now God seems to have another plan.

I recommend everyone read, What is the What- it is about the lost boys in Sudan. I can't come to grips with the intense violence and death these kids had to experience, but I think everyone needs to hear their story... if only because our hearts are often too calloused to learn from good examples but the atrocity of evil can cause us to repent and run from the same impulses in our own heart. We need to hear stories like this to be reminded of the value of every human life and how spoiled with God's blessings most of us are-- and to intercede. Because these are real lives. These are children who had to bury children, who watched rivers turn red with blood, these are innocent children and people who had to bear the evils of war and they might be your neighbor now. These refugees who turn into invisible people we ignore in our country, and yet, they have so much to teach us. (Jax and Kate, I am so proud to have two sisters who are serving refugees/immigrants in the US and listening to their stories.) Anyhow, read it, and let your heart break for these things.

God bless.

Life in Uganda

Red dust clinging to my shoes, and already so many images imprinted in my mind. It’s hard to know where to begin. Africa. It sounds so exotic, so mysterious, when you say it you can just see the ideas popping into people’s head. Not even a country, but the whole continent is boiled down into “Africa.” But here I am, and even this small town could fill a continent with words. America seems like a distant memory, or like life there is happening in the future.

“There is a poverty of soul in the suburban world that is almost too much to bear much of the time.” Yes. The truth of that statement was weighing on my shoulders before I arrived. Here being surrounded by people who have grown up in various countries in Africa, I sometimes feel a sudden stab of guilt at how easy my life has been. They call us (the white people)- “Muzungo”. The children shout it out gleefully, hoping for your attention, the shopkeepers greedily, hoping for your affluence. But it makes you aware, constantly, that you are different… that this continent has suffered a million tragic histories and joys and that your understanding at its deepest-- is shallow.

The generosity of the poor humbles me, makes me ache to find ways to express my heart. My roommate from Uganda woke up before me this morning and washed (-- scrubbed the red dirt from my white socks) because I’d left them soaking. They are so willing to serve, to trust God for provision as they share their food and money, to have the faith I often find difficult. Some moments I feel like I am just coming out of a deep sleep, shaking off the strangeness of individualism, of competition, of my own confinements & western socialization. I’ve spent too much time looking for friends of a certain demographic, being here with people who are not like me reveals so much in my heart… my gravitation towards those easiest to understand instead of struggling for love and communication. A few of the people here who are from "the West" have this mindset that we have something to teach, a subtle superiority… our glorious modernization… I want to shake that out of my system.

Each week I have two cooking duties—already the campfire like scent of the smoky kitchen with its ashy floor, piles of firewood (ie. trees), and half-wall windows is comforting. All the modernness of America proved no help in this kitchen. So, I am relegated to chopping watermelon and making salad after rolling out mostly square chapatti. But the Africans... singing and dancing, even in cooking they have rhythm and grace. I think when there's been as much hardship and suffering in a continent as there has been here, you learn to sing. You learn to sing as you work, sing as you celebrate, sing as you mourn. It's something quite beautiful. And they aren't judging me at all. The only thing that holds me back from their dance is the grasping fingers of my self -composure, of order... they don't care if I look like a fool, if I clap out of rhythm or sing out of tune... they don’t care at all, its me who cares. Intolerable I. But it’s so wonderfully invaded here.

Africa is teaching me to slow down. It is creeping into my soul, as my skin glares white among dark bodies, as the sun kindly turns me darker, as foreign words float around me with meanings waiting to be captured like butterflies in a net... as I let throw off the ways I've limited God.

As I sit outside the office I peer through a grove of trees, behind which the view of the cantina is crisscrossed with clotheslines flaunting their bright garments to the subdued rust-colored earth, the unruly grass that sprouts up like bed hair, and the muted blue sky. I am content here, not because trouble is removed, not because life is easier (at all) but because I am listening to our Dad, I am not thinking "am I growing" I am just conversing and responding-- becoming more and more alive. There is no other word for this feeling I can think of than being gloriously aware of being a living, breathing being. The breeze is cool and gentle.

Songs fill my life here. The music- more specifically the worship in any African tongue, I don’t know how to describe it, it flies into you like a flock of birds- inhabiting your hands and feet and stirring them to flight. You find the curtain of your lips drawn open into a sunbeam smile, and when you glance at others it’s like joy and light itself has been captured. The song itself is alive, like the heartbeat of Africa, and in moments you can forget everything in this simple, yet stunning harmonizing of voices and hands … and I think it’s a bit like Heaven must be or at least the nearest thing to freedom.

Red dust clinging to my shoes, and already so many images imprinted in my mind. It’s hard to know where to begin. Africa. It sounds so exotic, so mysterious, when you say it you can just see the ideas popping into people’s head. Not even a country, but the whole continent is boiled down into “Africa.” But here I am, and even this small town could fill a continent with words. America seems like a distant memory, or like life there is happening in the future.

“There is a poverty of soul in the suburban world that is almost too much to bear much of the time.” Yes. The truth of that statement was weighing on my shoulders before I arrived. Here being surrounded by people who have grown up in various countries in Africa, I sometimes feel a sudden stab of guilt at how easy my life has been. They call us (the white people)- “Muzungo”. The children shout it out gleefully, hoping for your attention, the shopkeepers greedily, hoping for your affluence. But it makes you aware, constantly, that you are different… that this continent has suffered a million tragic histories and joys and that your understanding at its deepest-- is shallow.

The generosity of the poor humbles me, makes me ache to find ways to express my heart. My roommate from Uganda woke up before me this morning and washed (-- scrubbed the red dirt from my white socks) because I’d left them soaking. They are so willing to serve, to trust God for provision as they share their food and money, to have the faith I often find difficult. Some moments I feel like I am just coming out of a deep sleep, shaking off the strangeness of individualism, of competition, of my own confinements & western socialization. I’ve spent too much time looking for friends of a certain demographic, being here with people who are not like me reveals so much in my heart… my gravitation towards those easiest to understand instead of struggling for love and communication. A few of the people here who are from "the West" have this mindset that we have something to teach, a subtle superiority… our glorious modernization… I want to shake that out of my system.

Each week I have two cooking duties—already the campfire like scent of the smoky kitchen with its ashy floor, piles of firewood (ie. trees), and half-wall windows is comforting. We were preparing for a love feast to rededicate the prayer garden and all the modernness of America proved no help in this kitchen. So, I was relegated to chopping watermelon and making salad after rolling out mostly square chapatti. But the Africans... singing and dancing, even in cooking they have rhythm and grace. I think when there's been as much hardship and suffering in a continent as there has been here, you learn to sing. You learn to sing as you work, sing as you celebrate, sing as you mourn. It's something quite beautiful. And they aren't judging me at all. The only thing that holds me back from their dance is the grasping fingers of my self -composure, of order... they don't care if I look like a fool, if I clap out of rhythm or sing out of tune... they don’t care at all, its me who cares. Intolerable I. But it’s so wonderfully invaded here.

Africa is teaching me to slow down. It is creeping into my soul, as my skin glares white among dark bodies, as the sun kindly turns me darker, as foreign words float around me with meanings waiting to be captured like butterflies in a net... as I let throw off the ways I've limited God.

As I sit outside the office I peer through a grove of trees, behind which the view of the cantina is crisscrossed with clotheslines flaunting their bright garments to the subdued rust-colored earth, the unruly grass that sprouts up like bed hair, and the muted blue sky. I am content here, not because trouble is removed, not because life is easier (at all) but because I am listening to our Dad, I am not thinking "am I growing" I am just conversing and responding-- becoming more and more alive. There is no other word for this feeling I can think of than being gloriously aware of being a living, breathing being. The breeze is cool and gentle.

Songs fill my life here. The music- more specifically the worship in any African tongue, I don’t know how to describe it, it flies into you like a flock of birds- inhabiting your hands and feet and stirring them to flight. You find the curtain of your lips drawn open into a sunbeam smile, and when you glance at others it’s like joy and light itself has been captured. The song itself is alive, like the heartbeat of Africa, and in moments you can forget everything in this simple, yet stunning harmonizing of voices and hands … and I think it’s a bit like Heaven must be or at least the nearest thing to freedom.

I made it!

Wow, where to begin. My plane flights were wonderful, I met a Christian teacher who's adopted 10 kids in Kenya/Uganda and sat next to an aid worker of Food for the Hungry/World Vision and spent lots of time talking to her on my way to Ethiopia. On the three hour ride from Kampala to the Hopeland base I spent the whole time looking right and left and taking in all the new sights and sounds.

It's hard to believe I haven't been here for more than the weekend, everything is so different I'm overwhelmed- but not in a bad way. It's just strange to be waking up in Africa and every American aspect of life is gone. The girls are wonderful though-- there are only five of us (and 1 married women) and ten boys (from India, Sudan, USA, Kenya, Congo, Tonga, & Nigeria.) Penny and Shannon are from South Africa and are 24 and 26. Shannon did her DTS at a different base in Brasil and did 1 month of outreach there, working with street children and a restoration home then her outreach was in Kabul, Afghanistan. So we've talked about the Middle East a bit. Judith is from West Uganda, and Cierra is from the states.

And the boys I haven't met much, except in class. They're mostly older- all over 26. I'm one of the youngest actually. It seems like it will be a lot of hard work and challenging, but I'm excited.

Today I had my first experience of an African church service and it just makes a smile grow across your face. We read Psalms aloud then repeated them turning it into a song, then start the clapping & drum and their harmonizing is so beautiful. And the children are so friendly and wonderful- climbing in your lap, climbing on you, following you around, laughing, singing.

Yesterday we went into Jinja town... Penny, Cierra, Nate, and I. They cram the minibus as full as possible so it's quite the bonding experience. Markets with goat & meat, clothes, sidewalks of shoes, and other trinkets. The streets are dusty and almost everyone walks (gas here is 10$ a gallon! and almost no one can afford a private vehicle.) Bicylces and motorcycles called (bodas) dominate the streets. And you see people carrying huge clusters of bananas or potatos on back-- as well as women and children carrying water on their heads. Compared to America everything is cheap - 1600 Uganda Shilling to 1$. The market place and street vendors is like Panama and Thailand.

The noises are funny too-- there are a lot of animals on base. (a small farm and lots of things growing and gardens we'll work in and such. Cows outside the window (moo shrieking- hard to explain), the toilet running, and the quiet noise of bugs in the grass. It is so quiet outside, from the buildings near the soccer field you can look out over Lake Victoria and its absolutely gorgeous. And the rain... sounds like a shower is turned on right next to your head (but so far its only been at night and the sun dries it up so quickly.) This morning we four girls went for a run up the hill and it was just after sunrise and misty. The stillness just creates so much space to think, meditate, and hear God's voice.

the road goes ever on and on

At last the day is here, the one I've spent countless time mulling over, wondering what lies on the other side of, the day of departure. It still seems a bit unreal. God has been faithful beyond my expectations-- financially, with the support of people and faith communities that will be praying for me, and with moments of peace, beauty, fellowship, and communion that have filled my spirit. These last few days hiking along the Patapsco, among trees soaked in gold, Isaiah 55 has been pressed on my heart.

"For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall make a name for the LORD,
an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off."

a cup of cold water in His name

"I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence.
I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love.
I felt in myself a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet life." - Tolstoy

Yes.

I want to taste of life.
Yonnie prayed for me once and had the vision of God doing eye surgery, correcting my vision, and every time God finished, he began again to remove something else. I feel like that now. In a current phase of absorbing books on: India, Arundahti Roy, and the Aids/Hiv epidemic)... in a place of preparing my heart for Africa- anxious to be broken down again, to taste and see reality more deeply.

"The American way of life is not sustainable for the world" and that is why we can not accept the American dream. I believe in a kingdom where nationalism has no place, I believe that in the resurrection of Jesus Christ we inherit hope, joy, and peace. I believe. And sometimes that belief tears at me. Stripping off layer after layer. And so I wait anxiously for Africa, because I know it is another stripping... to see what most of the world deals with daily, to push off the rose-colored glasses of my middle class American existence (again) and go to the "hurting, dirty, and dying" - and to learn from them humbly.

I am a learner.
I am a student.
Sitting at His feet as I struggle through these questions that threaten to unravel previously held assumptions, that threaten my comfort, the edges of my boxes. The uncertainty of the times could send me drifting, tossing like a toy ship in violent waves...
and yet He whispers, "Be still."
Not with my words, not with my actions but in my heart.

I want texture not text.
and it begins again, another journey, a step forward into the unknowns of:
Uganda
Community development
AIDS/HIV, Poverty, Hunger, Orphans
Humility, Love, Truth, Redemption.

I have little to offer of myself, but I can tell a story,
and share the richness of the inheritance of the saints.

Remembering

Thoughtful conversation:

[Friend:] He said he would not believe until he had placed his hands in Jesus' side and hands (Peter)

then, Jesus appeared to him, and asked him and all he said was "My Lord"overwhelmed with awe and love. I think sometimes it's like that for me, with all of the intellectual mess
and questions and discussions and doubt and politics of the church- then in such a simple way He reveals himself, and it's like that... suddenly there's a softness and all you can say or think is "My Lord!"

[Me:] I think the jealousy of God is a really wonderful attribute that we don't pay enough attention too. If God is jealous of our affection, our attention... then He's jealous of our communication too. So of course He is willing to speak to us more than Satan, more than our feeble brains filling our heads with our weaknesses, more than our flesh... He is jealous of us. And that's amazing. We're wanted and pursued by Him... if only we tune our hearts into that. I want that constant communion so much deeper, because its there- its like a radio channel always going on, but I just have to tune to it.

home?

Yesterday, I met with the leaders of the International missions team at my church. I immediately felt so welcomed and cared for (I've only been attending there a year with living in Portland in the middle so I don't know many people there.) Jim & Carol Gibbs walked me through some steps for preparing my heart, getting my world-view shaken again, and setting up a home team. It is a huge encouragement to have their support now and to find my fit in the local church. After all my uprooting - living in Texas, Hawaii, Maryland, Montana, Oregon, and a summer in Brazil... I feel roots again-- that will last the six months I am gone.

God does funny things- their house church (small group) is switching to Tuesdays which was when my African Dance & Culture class was supposed to be and I was disappointed by that. Tuesday, two hours before my class, it got canceled so now I can go to the home group and get more involved with the church here for the next six weeks... AND I'm still going to take a dance class.

Also, I found out more about my schedule/team in Uganda. They'll be fifteen students from Uganda, Tanzania, Sudan, Nigeria, South Africa, and the USA. For the first three months from 8am till 4pm every day I'll be learning & putting into practice development skills and doing outreaches in the area working with the community. Besides the development activities we'll also be preaching! Ahh! I am so excited, as it approaches the feelings grow that I both, have no idea how crazy this will be-- and will see again just how near God always is.

"I'm not an English garden."

Just forty five days till I depart.
These days are rich with life.

Twisting messy wind dried hair after rainshine leads down golden purple hued train tracks, and the tip tops of trees glow with light, white stallions rear up in clouds and race across an indigo sky, puddles reveal upside down skylines and the sky changes dresses like an insecure girl from magenta to scarlet, and giving up to rose. Old fields that swim with childhood memories, growing up with me-- the ordinariness of softball and soccer games, of first loves and friendships, of a summer job fading into the cool autumn , blankets and cups of hot cocoa-- memories lively as ever. Candle-lit picnics, framed knee to knee, with jeera, masala, and curry spiced tongues, mint leaves on water, autumn leaves in our hair, and the scent of fresh bread baked into our skin as night awakens and the storm rolls out.

and thoughts are heavy, pressing inward to shape my heart.

[August 27th]

I won't get long sidetracked on this because I have expressed myself at length before but, isn't it strange how desiring peace and as much as possible non-violence makes you a target as a traitor, unpatriotic, disrespectful. Since when does being American mean thinking her name is worth bloodshed no matter the circumstance? Surely I missed that memo. And yet I wish I could speak - not about wars- but about how our lives should be non-violent. Paul taught whatever was beneficial (as he repeats in his letters.) I am just discontent. With the differences, and not knowing where I should be- these opposing sides.

Like this, my friend had a note on facebook of Emerson's poem- and this guy started this long discussion about how God is a jealous God and Emerson had some messed up theories and therefore its wrong to read Emerson because we're aligning ourselves against God. "And Jesus isn't a pacifist (check out Revelations)" - yet Jesus was the one who blessed the peacemakers. I don't know it just upset me- because I wonder, am I wrong? am I decieved? Is God jealous and angry that I am finding the truth and beauty in those artistic expressions and straining out what I think is untruthful? Is that really how God is? It's just so extreme. And then I have friends drawing those lines and I feel exhausted by it. By my faith- not faith in God but my construction of theological beliefs and rights and wrongs and limitedness. Weary of the opposite views of God, and wondering if I am carving a God out of wood or finding the True one. But isn't He good enough to speak if we're trying? He has promised that. (So how do we still find Him so differently.) These are things without resolution but He will someday redeem.

Why can't we dialogue more? What makes us so convinced we are right? (and want so badly to shove that into other people? instead of allowing them to wander and fall upon the same Truth.) Not that we shouldn't share our experiences and give wisdom and the Gospel-- but, you can never make people change or make them believe. I preach to the choir... I can never find the words I mean when I am with the people I want to speak them too, I don't want to argue, I just want to somehow be able to convince people to listen and talk and try to understand. Peace is in my personality, that's probably why I love it, and desire to see non-violent movements. Yes God is violent and judges in the end- but He shows mercy and He has the advantage of being God- of knowing the heart, of knowing who deserves what and who has denied His Son. That's quite different from the wars we now fight. But now I've said a mess more than I meant too.

spin these webs and build a home

I was in Pittsburgh last weekend with my sister at her apartment and there is an old Cathedral converted into a college building - but it looks just the same except instead of pews there are desks and tables- I curled up for hours there reading and these were thoughts I scribbled down.

""If we are not outraged by the seed as by the bloom, there is not true justice in our heart. For all atrocity and the ugliest things of this life begin in our own hearts- in greed, in prejudice, in pride, in envy, in suspicion and fear of those different than us, in the way these fears threaten us. Activism must be every Christian's response, not to issues, but to life. We can not be passive-ist. Our imaginations should be exercised and stretched to match God's zeal for mercy and justice. We should be outraged by the systematic stereotyping and villifying of any people, of media constructs that spin our life. We should and must question the voice(s) behind the messages and adverts we consume as gluttons. We should refuse to stand (or swallow) such.

We have became a nation of passive-ist, not engaging- apathetic, uncaring, and utterly self-absorbed. The reality of poverty, of death, of the spiritual realm leaves us unmarked, and less inspired than the fictitious fables we feast on all hours of the day. The outside world is traded for the matrix of cyber-space, relationships for mirrors and echo-boxes. Our identity as Christians, as belonging to God through faith in Jesus the Christ- must never be sold for nationalist pride. Being a Christian should make our love and concern for those different than us- for Muslims, Buddhist, Atheist, homosexuals, (post-)modernist, new-agers, etc- greater. It should make us more willing to sacrifice to show them the heart of God. In the essence of Christ, it should make us friends and neighbors to our enemies. Because only through conforming to the nature of God will we preach truth. In my view, patrioism is valuable to the extent it produces thankfulness and commitment to making one's country a better place for the world."

But at what point do we resign ourselves to eternity's corrections? To what point do we resist? Should we stop at nothing to promote justice? Where do we draw the balance? How do you change a system/worldview/religiosity- that does not want to change, that would sacrifice you to continue in its way? And why are we so afraid of these questions? Of changing, of allowing that we were in error in our thoughts and practices? Why are we so prepared to be unnoteable, so afraid of taking any action that might effect us. We shrink from disturbing our own lives. What words could conjur a blow to this selfishness in me? Could stir up a true surrender to Jesus Christ? I'm trying to be unsettled, to understand, to be willing to engage, to seek, to change and allow changes, to be corrected graciously. Humility. It must run so deep- to allow anyone to be our teacher, especially those we do not want to be taught by. This discontentment must grow until we know our only choice is to change.

"High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art." I am so thankful for friends willing to question and seek- to put themselves out of comfort to allow change. They inspire me to be braver- to dare those things, to not allow discontentment to settle into apathy.

crimson salt shaped thoughts

Monday, I came to bed at 3am, kept awake by the Olympics and thoughts, and my sister waking said, "lets get up at 6 and drive to the Ocean." So we did. It was the calmest day I've ever been there. Almost no waves, so you could just float and float and listen to underwater noises. It is that type of stillness where God's peace soaks into me.

Everything feels right lately. Not perfect, not like I'd imagine it if I were daydreaming- but just the same, it feels right. Like its moving in the right direction, like I'll get there even if I take slow steps, like I am being drawn by the riptide out to the depths- but this is a good thing. I guess that's what peace feels like- amidst the rushing, rushing. Uganda is coming so quickly, and my heart is butterflies about it and there is so much to prepare for, so much I can't prepare for. It seems unreal. Like the garbled language of the underwater whispering.

I think clouds feel like children, so far above everything that they only see play houses and doll people and little matchbox cars, and very old at the same time because they've seen so much. I feel that way. but never 21. Twenty-one is a strange age. It's supposed to mean too much, It can't possibly. mm. my head is full of sun-bleached thoughts and too much commotion, too many questions and hopes. I feel small. I feel young. But joyful. I want to keep soaking this in, coming to a deeper, ever changing understanding of what everything means.

something I am trying to figure out

Blissful days with favorites this week. The first of which is books- and one in particular that has been stretching my thoughts. The second, my Maryland friends who know my knots and tangles. [Moments] like dobbing on our "European" picnic dusk at the baseball fields, sleepovers and joyful laughter, quiet conversations of truth and faith and doubt and wonder, finding treasures & Pocky at Asian markets, coffee & light rain on the patio of the Poor House, eating Thai at deserted restaurants with friendly owners, sleepy movie time, and pleasant car drives with summer warmth blanketed by beautiful music, and reading stories which perfectly sum up our friendship.

But, another thought has been dogging me lately... It seems so often we can only speak about God in cliches, in similies and metaphors instead of experiences. I want to know God in a way where I can express ideas and thoughts- without a language made of rhetoric, without a language s dressed up in religious garbs, I want to learn this language of the present - of Him "moving into the neighborhood." Fresh like the first bite of summer melon on the hottest day. mint thoughts. Something new, something that comes from prayer, something that blooms each day. Words that come from knowing God, words that are a new song, verbs that are to be that end in -ing, present tense.

God is near. God is - inside, without.
God is beyond, above, before, after, beginning at the ending, ending at the beginning,
outside. unlimited. utterly apart. He is.

I am frustrated by my limitations of grasping Him. He can not be fully known, and yet it is His nature to reveal Himself, to be known, and yet, to ever be mystery. I want to know God and Jesus Christ whom He sent and the Spirit was given me for this very purpose.

new words.
new understanding.
comes s l o w l y.

on the lawn late one summer

From the front porch steps, I see the tree bending like a weary homeless woman. She sags to cover her knobby, beat up roots. Shrinking beneath my watching eyes, in an attempt to hide her disgracing poverty. Scarlet creeps around the edges of her leaves, all she can manage of an apology for her offense to the ideals of beauty. Her branches waver, defeated by a strong breeze. She leans with age, and it is enough to make me burst into tears. I stand, I mean to throw my arms around her and reassure it by my embrace. But the fence frowns with such disarming disapproving, I repent of my emotions.

I stretch out my hand to catch the glimmering light, but it spills through my fingers like water poured out. This time of day kisses me, today with bittersweetness. It kicks my lungs like a mouthful of salt water, over ripe with memory and soiled by my lonely heart. The shadows grow and awaken with a stretch and yawn, lapping up the colors as they flee the skies blushing skin. The aroma of rain lingers as heat makes its departure, mocking me all the more for having counted myself its companion. Noise rings distantly in my ears, draining away beneath an inner commotion. I hold my breathe, counting, but this outlasts me. Like a bully, teasing, teasing. It's a neighbor in all the eyes I see. Every one is always further, everyone is getting farther away. I hug my knees to my chest in acknowledgment of subtle autumn's advancing steps.

The tree reaches for me across the fence and I smile. Ah, who can be lonely with these trees? She shakes loose one treasured golden leaf which floats towards me slowly. And as it falls she whispers with the timeless voice of leaves, that sounds like moss and tangled vines: Remember we are really growing younger. And I can not help but believe her.

loneliness

It taste like a mouth full of salt water.
Lingers of rich aromas without the hope of their return.
It rings distantly in my ears
mocks with the chill of burnt out embers
It fills my head with detached words
and smudges my skin as I paint a temporary escape
it always outlast me, holding my breath
it grows the more I ignore it
devouring the colors fresh on the page
its a neighbor to all the eyes I gaze at
as greedy as the grave, unsatisfied with short encounters
"did not our hearts burn within us?"
and You remembering me remind me
that the deeper night pulls up her blankets
the nearer is the sun.

This is how it begins...

Claire and I were driving home from a week of reflected skies and country roads and these words kept eating at my thoughts so I scribbled them down: "The metalic tongue licked up the miles, consuming the waves of blue and continents of clouds. Returning to a place I'd never been, a place inhabited by my dreams." A premonition passing through my mind like the window-down-breeze.

Later that night, I opened my inbox and found- without a completed application, without a fee, without the medical forms-- acceptance.
A door swung wide open.
I trembled, I leapt, I ran out of the room so that Claire expected the worst disaster or a letter from an unrequited love.
I laughed, I hugged her, I feared, I trembled again-- at the weight of meaning.
My stomach flips and butterflies escape to beat their wings in circles, somersaults, jumping beans.
and my heart wonders at You, at the whispered prayers, at the consuming thoughts, and the stillness to hear...
Then-- all seems to collide in a mass of color, a rushing river-- all Your leading, Your hand guiding me, the lessons of trust, the longing, the conversations-- have a name:

Uganda.
Land I know so little of, land a piece of my heart has already flown too. Time becomes long and short. I swallow:
the unreality. the reality.

"You are a missionary." Her gentle voice a mingle of joy and sorrow- oh how I long to pack them all up, wrap them lovingly in my suitcase and keep them in my pockets. You speak. this is it, the beginning.

Uganda.
Community development. My weakness. My trembling at the voice of Love. The Uncreated One beckons.
to take passage.
and I saw in his face-- the marks of one who has been, who has become a stranger, the loneliness, and the sorrow that has carved out deep joy- deep trust, how he knew the burden...
I tremble, I tremble... while I grasp Your hand.
"Here am I Lord, send me."
a heart that beats in weakness, sustained by You alone. "But David, strengthened himself in the LORD."

rowing on the lakes of Canada

Every song by The Innocence Mission is familiar to my heart- as if a brilliant person observed the moments (significant and seemingly not) and captured them perfectly.

Tonight my soul is wandering through forest of thoughts, I do not want to be tamed... llingering on faces that have meant something (significant and seemingly not), but always skipping or stumbling forward.

Those foreign lands call, away from this home I've already lost to my nomadic heart-- to a heavenly city. It calls like a ship coming into harbor, growing bigger (and more forbearing) as it nears this shore. Just a short time away. It is nearing and I stand watching, longing to breathe that ocean air, and secretly wondering about this trust- this love- that calls for abandon, for pursuit, to night after night drown in those waves and be baptized so He can rise in me.

I met a young man recently, a sailor on that sea, and I could hear in his voice the ache of a stranger, of a man who has no home but "seeks a better country." And it made my heart beat. to join him. to taste. to see. and it skipped, to run, to tremble before this burden. But, I could hear in his voice, what only those who journey discover, the deepest mysteries of Glory. And I was ruined for it.

Someday, someday... how the waiting stretches over me- sometimes suffocating, sometimes security.

but this says it all:

Walking in the circle of a flashlight
someone starts to sing, to join in.
Talk of loneliness in quiet voices.
I am shy but you can reach me.
Rowing on the lakes of Canada,
rowing on the lakes of Canada.

clear head, cloudy skies

the noisy language of florescent lights
unnatural and unappealing,
adds unnecessary ugliness
to these thoughts already pacing cramped spaces.

the noise, noise, noise
as it gathers into static between us
I can spread it with my fingers
swat at it like these summer mosquitoes

agitation evolves in each step
I stomp, I kick, I slam the door
I pluck the flowers and pull the grass's hair
all these signs of inner shouting
as I grow quiet here

you remember these things much different than I
much better.
you see much further, you look out beyond
etching a map for me
while I throw rocks in the pond

I turn up the noise to fall asleep
for you are too difficult to listen too
you dawdle, you whisper,
you are.
and your patience wears on mine

i want you to be louder.
I hide with the skeletons in my closets
so you'll be forced to call me out.
to find me out.
for at moments I can not stand your unknowns.
and that reaps my desperation to know you.

I do not want to wait in these rooms.
I do not like these clothes.
I do not want to be known by these names.

You breath. You dabble. You pause.
and I can not stand your stillness
for it strips off layer after layer.

You hold secrets I search out,
You speak of things above, beyond me,
things I will never figure out.

You wear on me,
with intolerable need.
with astonishment. with wonder.

"You are the sign. And You are the wonder."
and it is too much for me.
the new life stretches within me,
never content at the limits I relent to,
unsatisfied with the tiniest replacement
the smallest reliance on any other

His jealousy will not be denied.
this is a burden and a fire.
this is a baptism and a desert
this is a delight and a terror
this is beauty and holy fear...
the Uncreated One calls out: come.
"and whom have I in heaven but You?
and on earth there is none I desire besides Thee."

wonder.

//Charcoal smudges flew in shapes of birds,
across a sky of blue unparall'led,
and I believe we overheard His hymn,
hidden amongst the joyful woods,
as we tread between their dresses green
into innocence unspoiled. //

The hunger in my stomach is so small compared to the depth of how I long to know Him. Through a wondrous forest today and afterward I stumbled (no coincidence) upon these words: "Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make Him known. They speak without a sound or word; their voice is never heard. Yet their message has gone throughout the eart, and their words to all the world." Time spent well these days with hearts so close to mine, but closer to His and it draws me in -to mystery, to wonder, to innocence. And, I've made a decision, more compelled to it. be still my beating heart. but night can not calm these thoughts that fly to eternity.

"No such thing as too much passion. That's what dead people say... [well that might be a little too strong of language] but honestly. LIFE IS PASSION... and passion is purpose. and purpose is... people and ... yeah. NEVER lose that."

for Claire.

- Charcoal smudges flew in shapes of birds,
across a sky of blue unparall'led,
and I believe we overheard His hymn,
hidden amongst the joyful woods,
as we tread between their dresses green
into innocence unspoiled. -

smoke in the clouds

It always amazes me how the trivial can seem so big. In myself, in others-- these matters of the utmost mundaneness, spark arguments not worth their weight. Their voices rising while I turned the next page of This Voice in My Heart- a book of truly tragic proportions-- genocide, cruelty I can not imagine (and the gentle forgiveness only Jesus brings.) If only we remembered, this life is just a vapor... There is no place in my life for violence- either in action or word. And within the church, I think many of us are guilty of the later. Violent words that wound, tear, and scar-- sometimes deeper than an action would. There is no room for unkindness, for harm, for tearing down. Every man is capable of the worst atrocities- and only through the innocent offered blood of Jesus are we freed from our own evil. Only from following his example of humility, of preferring others above Himself, of coming as a servant, taking the form of a man...

How sweet the Name of Jesus sounds
In a believer's ear!
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.
It makes the wounded spirit whole,
And calms the troubled breast;
'Tis manna to the hungry soul,
And to the weary, rest.
..Weak is the effort of my heart,
And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see Thee as Thou art,
I'll praise Thee as I ought.
Till then I would Thy love proclam
With every fleeting breath,
And may the music of Thy Name
Refresh my soul in death!

anticipation

There is an unopened email in my inbox, it arrived around noon today but I am too nervous to open it as it would mean either a closed or open door of the future. I don't know when I'll open it, but I don't feel ready yet. It probably has less to say then I suppose, but I believe God has more to speak before I see the plan.

I've begun learning French and am thankful for my Latin training as it makes sense of the conjugations and forms. My kitchen counter is littered with note-cards and the air is filled with snippets of French conversation and my repetitions.

Lately, I've been studying the Bible with a renewed hunger, particularly Genesis, its stories draw me in and seem always full of new applications and new life.

Another journey

For one accustomed to finding comfort in words, lately I find them evasive- hanging on the peripheral, just out of grasp. Yet I taste them lingering on my tongue as they melt before the breath that would birth them audibly. Ancient words which return with the sweetest memories, redemption, justification, calvary. I wish I could explain to someone what I can only feel shifting inside me, a cavern being hollowed out, a canyon carved deep inside.

The answer to the question I'm always asked seems to deflat people, I am greeted with disinterest since I've become unimpressive, my travels momentarily ceased (at least on the outside.) But, the current is changing and as Amanda so aptly said, "everyone our age is at a crossroads." I've went on a hunt today for The Journals of Jim Elliot and Keith Green's No Compromise- I find myself, or at least my longings, scribbled between the pages. "I ask not for a long life, but a full one."

I want silence lately, every time I turn on music it irritates me. I'm in a sensitive state- a hard decision before me.

between treetops

weary hands
fold this map again and again
till the creases form new mountian ranges
in the paper and my skin
a pause, a moment of stillness
threatens to undo me
I belong to the trees
though You possess me

evasive, invasive as
the storms
that wrap around
my lungs and break them
till I inhale, swallowing
the waters and lightening
let it rage inside me
though it carve out
the hollows till a canyon
emboldened floods with fury

weary eyes
search the signs
till the scraggly forests rise in oceans
and the oceans sputter into dust
a step, a fraction of a distance
offers to unglue me
I belong to twilights
where only You obsess me

hail to what you see when you close your eyes.

I want to live at least nine lives, like Claudia my old cat. That reminded me when I was little my sister, her bestfriend, and I would play babysitters club, and I was always Claudia, because she was an artist and wore her hair in a side ponytail (how much cooler can you be?)

I live to worship God and love Him and others- through words and actions.

I want to own a hostel/coffee shop that educates people (like L'Abri) about their Spiritual needs as well as fair trade/global human rights issues, and the plights of refugees around the world.

I want to be involved with community development in the Middle East and North Africa (probably through YWAM) and learn to speak Arabic and French. I also want to be part of a 24-7 prayer community.

I want to backpack through South Asia or South America. live on a houseboat. in a tree house. and a teepee with Daniela. and an eco-friendly house like Simon Dale's in Wales and grow my own food in a garden. With a yellow kitchen that has big windows.

Almost every subject interests me, causing temporary paralysis in trying to make plans. I love learning, I make booklist off syllabi of interesting classes, I actually enjoy reading text books and have written essays just for fun to express my thoughts. (yes, I'm a nerd.) and I read Popular Science, its fascinating!

Crafts fascinate me. In life number four I would like to learn how to make jewelry, or pottery, and go to a folk art school. I like to paint and sketch and would like to learn to sew. I like simple clothes, jeans and sweaters but I adore fashion magazines.

I love "art for truths sake." I want to be a screenwriter and a novelist and be involved with a community of artists... or on staff of an arts magazine. I would love to do slam poetry with Claire when we got to coffee houses but I am intimidated by people.

Getting my private pilots liscense like both my parents is also up there on the list (write after getting a liscense, haha.)

I like kids. I'm undecided on the whole parenting thing. I would like to work at an orphange.

Communication is best in person or old-fashioned letters.

I want to hike the Appalachian trail (and learn wilderness survival.) and I am excited about kayaking with my brother all summer. I'd like to pick up flute again and learn folk songs but I can't decide if I'd rather spend that time talking to strangers.

I want to have a masquerade ball for my wedding reception in a field with lanterns. and blow colored bubbles (which are not avaliable yet so I guess I'll have to put off that wedding.)

'Bright as Yellow' is my theme song. "You live life with your arms stretched out. Eye to eye when speaking. Enter rooms with great joy shouts, happy to be meeting. And bright, bright, bright, bright as yellow, warm as yellow."

I'm also intolerably selfish, lazy, apathetic, weak, hypocritical, prideful, and flawed... sinful.

I guess this is all to say, I love to dream. and I believe in hope and redemption. "I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ for it is the power of God unto salvation."

and life excites me.

brother moon, you are so haunting.

Whispering from the bedroom floor
while light lays itself to sleep
and pulls the covers up tight,
beckons us follow
the hues dissolving from the sky
and breathing the cool spring air
reminds me that life is in here, in there.

revealing myself again--
the darkness night can not absorb,
proclaiming so nakedly
my need for love, my need
that it makes my soul shudder
at its own weakness
at the depth of this abyss inside
but your quiet pauses
speak louder than a thousand
phrases that I am, I am.

and she said never hide,
but oh how frightening the monsters
and nightmares can be
when they are only inside

and this is home, where my heart can rest
not the building or the trees
but the wonder. And had I always woken
at your window where "france blooms" and
the light strays across my face,
wrapping its arms around me
like a lost child looking for a lover,
a lover. Would I be waking from someone else's dreams then?

and beauty is not an end in itself
but her eyes can be so hard to resist
and love could be destroyed by beauty
if she were all we sought

but, You are the spring air
that reminds me that life is in there, in here.
And You are the sunlight that awakens me.

Hawthorne & Jesus

The last week I've been alone as my housemates, except Nate, have moved home, so I've occupied myself with homework, spending time with Grace and Jesus, curled up in Powell's, drinking coffee, trips to Portland State, and watching Little Mosque on the Prairie.

Today I was reading Hawthorne (for my Literature class) at the little Food for Thought Cafe. I forgot how interesting an author he is. After which I read his letters to Longfellow (how is it that all the authors used to be friends? Anyway, it brought me so much joy to read the affectionate, real personality in communication. Hawthorne was amusing, (I found myself laughing all alone at my table- I always imagine people think I'm crazy)-- telling stories to Longfellow or his wife about trying to learn to milk a cow (and he lived on a commune for a bit!) and how the cow's stubborn personality was like a woman they knew.

I couldn't suppress a smile and I just felt that warmth of joy bubbling inside me-- my heart hibernates at times, but oh it beats so strongly in the presence of Christ. Books can rejuvenate me like nothing else. I hope the same for my future that the stories and deep impressions of beauty in ordinary people can someday spill over into a story that would bring this smile to someone else. joy. that unexpected, piercing pleasure that bubbles up by God's embrace-- though it comes through the most unlikely sources and can't be felt in the physical, in the Spirit it lingers. I am so inspired by His love and creativity and glorious, confusing, earthly children. Our spirits aspire to heaven and our soils toil on earth-- the smile plays on my lips, something so deep within my heart, as Beatrice (Hawthorne's characters says)- "My spirit is God's creature, and craves love as its daily food." and Innocence mission: "there's a sudden joy that's like a fish, a moving light, I thought I saw-- rowing on the lakes of Canada."

and this is the intensity of an empty life... [Andrew Murray| Humility] -- "to seek a humility which will rest in nothing less than the end and death of self; which gives up all the honor of men as Jesus did, to seek the honor that comes from God alone, that absolutely makes and counts itself nothing so that God may be all, that the Lord alone may be exalted."

"Wash me and I will be whiter than snow." I am so thankful that redemption is a process, that God is faithful and knows my weaknesses and takes me through trials to perfect my faith. We have so far to go, but like Brian (my friend from DTS) talked about last week in comparison to Mormons who seek to become gods-- we seek not to become God, but to emulate him like a son does a Father, but our end goal is not to become something worshiped but to spend eternity worshipping Him. And that is the goal I fall short of, of living not to be good or moral-- but to worship Him and bring people to worship Him. On the surface it can look the same, but deep within the cracks and crevices of my heart need to be filled by Him, my motives must shift... I am just full of love today-- to gaze on Him.

i'm rambling, i'm listening to Leonard Ravenhill's Fire on the Altar... I think in a long time I have not thought, 'break my heart for what breaks yours, God' someone I forget who wrote about how when our love for mankind grows, it can sometimes diminish our love for the person right next to us-- like we're focusing on the huge picture and loving the world- but we overlook the person next door who needs to feel and see that love.. and I feel like that in my life at times. Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday... oh for a fresh breathe of God's spirit in us, that we would be filled with the knowledge of the love of God that brings down our pride, our self-- that we would stagger under the majesty of God... I want Him. Over and over. And no matter how deep I am it feels dry because He is real and He is life... and I want to taste the reality of that. I want my heart to be torn apart, slain, so I am more like Him. I feel so weak. Like Jim Elliot said, "Lord light these idle sticks and may I burn up for you." "my life for the gospel" those words ring with metallic emptiness in my life though they burn in my heart... but oh someday- today- even now... my desires must change to be more and more true to those words... "whoever would lose his life for my sake and the sake of the gospel will find it." It's becoming more and more an ache- to live only for Him, though my self and flesh are ever fighting against that. ... surrender is difficult but I want to lose this life. I want to die to myself. "I am crucified with Christ therefore I no longer live but He lives in me."

"Make me a captive, Lord, and then shall I be free... imprison me within your arms and strong shall be my hands." (english hymn)

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could wrap around our hearts the truth that He is all- that His presence which is never apart from us is the fullness of joy. The Spirit of God dwells in us, He has made our hearts His home. We have become part of the living mystery.

fear.

I should be concentrating on one of my many homework assignments. I have a killer week... tomorrow: 5pg. paper, news anaylsis, case study, and weekly responses due. friday-sunday 9am-5pm class. mon-wed working with a back-to-back shift (which means 11pm, spend the night at the hotel, 7am work till 3pm. crazy.) and Daniela and Hannie will be moving out. Everything in life seems to happen at once.

but, I got to see Brian from DTS this week and it was lovely. It honestly made my month, haha. He said something, "I think deep down you do really know what you want to do and what God wants you to." And he was right. But, there's this thing in my life... fear. I hate to not be in control. I hate having to rely on other people, or God. Little fears gather in the back of my head accumilating like snow... the fear of leaving comfort, the fear of being alone, the fear of learning a foreign language, the fears of inadequacies, the fear of forsaking stability. And before I know it there is a blizzard blinding me from the sight of Jesus and the promises I claim to have faith in. Fear is a tricky thing, because it disguises itself as being reasonable, as being prepared... but, sometimes all thats left to do is jump in boldly. But, the more I've been thinking what I'm afraid of, the more I realize that Jesus has already spoken to those fears. Fears demand trust. It's so hard, so not what I want to do-- as much as I idealize the simple, adventureous journey of listening to God's voice parts of me cling to stability and control. But, the road always forks where you have to chose between Love and fear. and... "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear."

so, I'm just going to have to trust. And, it excites and terrifies me.

Lessons from Native North Americans

Reading Elias Boudinot's An Address to the Whites, he used a scripture I hadn't read in awhile that is beautiful. He was the editor of the first Cherokee (and native American) newspaper. Unfortunately his eloquent words didn't prevent the genocide of his people. Also reading Chief Seattle's speech has some challenging confrontations to Christianity that still apply today to our actions in the world and the God we represent.

So, Chief Seattle's words, "Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine. He fold shis strong rpotecting arms lovingly about the pale face and leads him by the hand as a father leads his infant son-- but He has forsake His red children... The white man's God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers?"

Africa's been on my heart a lot lately, and I think that passage made me think if they would not ask the same question of God's existence and our "brotherhood" when we fail to be the representation of Christ to those in need. Last night I had a dream I was getting on the plane to go serve with YWAM there, maybe it was a premonition. :]

And the verse Boudinot quotes (in context) Acts 17:24-27, "He is the God who made the world and everything in it. Since he is Lord of heaven and earth, he doesn’t live in man-made temples, and human hands can’t serve his needs—for he has no needs. He himself gives life and breath to everything, and he satisfies every need. From one blood [one man] he created all the nations throughout the whole earth. He decided beforehand when they should rise and fall, and he determined their boundaries. His purpose was for the nations to seek after God and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him—though he is not far from any one of us." So beautiful.

***
On a continued note, of Chief Seattle's Speech, I love these closing parts:

"Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plan and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along hte silent shore, thrill writh memories of stirring events conneted with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet are concious of the sympathetic touch. ... And when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathles woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. ... for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds."

had to say.

Lately I have been itching to write, but there seems to be an overload of just what I want to say. But amongst thoughts on art, consumerism, status quo, and class that are probably more interesting and actually I'd rather write about-- this has been bugging me the most.

McCain has said that he see's the real issue facing American how to deal with the challenge of radical Islamic extremism, and his running platform has been all about his foreign policy experience and knowledge of the Middle East, etc. BUT he's not only once, but repeatedly mixed up information- interchanging Sunni for Shiite and misidentifying who is supporting who. THESE ARE MAJOR DIFFERENCES.

To quote an article, (from the Washington Post)-
"He said several times that Iran, a predominately Shiite country, was supplying the mostly Sunni militant group, al-Qaeda. In fact, officials have said they believe Iran is helping Shiite extremists in Iraq. Speaking to reporters in Amman, the Jordanian capital, McCain said he and two Senate colleagues traveling with him continue to be concerned about Iranian operatives "taking al-Qaeda into Iran, training them and sending them back."
Pressed to elaborate, McCain said it was "common knowledge and has been reported in the media that al-Qaeda is going back into Iran and receiving training and are coming back into Iraq from Iran, that's well known. And it's unfortunate." A few moments later, Sen. Joseph Lieberman, standing just behind McCain, stepped forward and whispered in the presidential candidate's ear. McCain then said: "I'm sorry, the Iranians are training extremists, not al-Qaeda."

This is a BIG deal. To me its entirely disheartening to see someone who wants to lead and represent America being so... disinterested? that he doesn't have time to get his facts straight, or learn the difference between Sunni and Shiite Muslims. Epsecially while he promotes that as a strong point... even little things like not learning how to pronounce people's names... it makes him come across as "the ugly American" stereotype.

Also on a different note, if our biggest challenge is going to be Islamic extremism (which, I won't comment on) I think we really need to focus on communication, peace, cultural understanding-- not creating a new enemy for America or an us vs. them mentality. We need to be working, as individuals, to break out stereotypes and prejudices against people from the Middle East. The best way to do that of course is to befriend immigrants and refugees, Americans of Middle Eastern heritage -- already around ... but if that's too scary and uncomfortable at least pick up a history book, a novel, or watch a movie by a director/author from the Middle East. It worries me to see this 'enemy' mentality beginning and the fear and ugliness it brings out in people.

Jesus said to love our enemies, and pray for those that hate us. I'd like to see that happening, to see Americans (and more speficially Christians) reaching out to understand and relate to Muslims. We're supposed to stand apart by our radical love.

** To clarify, this note is not about politics, my point is the concern I have for our Middle Eastern brothers & sisters and the way our foreign policy and attitudes will effect them, and I want to encourage love and understanding not prejudices. I'm not attempting to be an objective journalist, so if you feel this is one-sided, good, do some studying... but, the point is this is a concerning goverment/national attitude.**

Consumption

Shortly after WWII and economist advisor wrote this which has become the standard for America...

"Our enormously productive economy... demands that we make consumption our way of life, that we convert the buying and using of goods into rituals, that we seek our spiritual satisfaction, our ego satisfaction, in consumption. ... We need things consumed, burned, up, replaced, and discarded at an ever accelerating rate."

Currently 99% of the things we buy are discarded/used/replaced within 6 months.

We see more advertisements in one year than people 50yrs ago did in their entire lifetime. Our "national happiness" peaked and started decreasing in 1950 at the same time consummerism/advertisments began to increase. What is an ad anyway except selling discontent to convince you, you need something more/new/different?

[Short movie that breaks down the whole process: www.storyofstuff.com and things to do about it: www.storyofstuff.com/anotherway.html

you watch the stars fade, they gather you back to their home.

Fearing is such a useless pursuit.
The future never occurs as I have imagined or worried about it,
and had I the foresight to worry about the correct things,
I'd never change them by the worrying anyway.

Life unfolds, like a flower. Unravels like a scroll,
revealing its deeper beauty, its deeper pain
it's hidden mysteries...
I want to wake wrapped in them.
"For, I will be satisfied when I awake in Your presence."
I love, horridly, miserably, humanly...
but as often as I weakly and halteringly stumble into the sunlight
as often as I blink before the brightness of His Glory--
I am changed.
Into a strong, braver self.
I lack courage.
I lack consistancy.
In short, I lack it all.
but my need makes me in the perfect position to recieve the One who is all.
To dependently sit at His feet. I am learning that childlike trust, its been a slow process that's taken me through a series of events I wouldn't have desired had I forseen them... but from it all arises the peace from letting things go into His hands, from knowing that grace abounds deeper than any of my failings.

Truth, not theories. Not loving and embracing ideas but realties, revelations.
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the holy consuming fire, and the voice of the wind-- the Holy Spirit.
I want the reality of the spiritual world as rich as I percieve the physical with my senses.

...and all of these things are being developed in the simplest moments of eating coffee icecream with Nano and Daniela in our kitchen, painting a flock of blue birds across our wall, trailblazing with my dad on the coast, resting my head on a table in some diner to resist a laughing spell, or wathcing people on the bus. Life is rich with the image of God, and if I open my eyes I see Him everywhere. He's near. So near.

I hurt because I am alive and until death I will hurt over the stamp of eternity, the fingerprint of God upon my heart. I will groan with creation and cry over movies and books and personal defeats and tragedies- and if I am among the blessed I will cry over the beauty, over the sensation of a glimpse of eternal things, over the smallest taste of communion with God and other men. And my tears will baptize my heart with gratefulness and wash my needy hands as they stretch out to be grasped by God. There is a dream inside me that will not die, that can't be extinguished... in that dream it snows inside my heart.

... In that dream I am finally awake.