What are words? Are they not but a tool by which we paint a picture? A medium aimed at creating an experience?
I think in both words and images. Regardless of what the verbal language communicates it is always the images that are much more poignant because they give life to words. If one has not at least seen an apple the concept behind the meaning of the word is non-existent in one's mind. Therefore, the experience is lost. It remains true though that one can know what an apple looks like and not have a word for it. However, the gift of language/word is the manner in which it allows us to communicate what we experience via our five senses, however slow or inaccurate it may be.
If you are wondering exactly why I am dissecting the place of spoken/signed language, images and experience in communication...
Today a friend sent me a picture that was worth a 1,000 words. In viewing the image I felt as if we had in an instance had a 1,000 dialogues, and in that moment a world of conversations fell into place. I gained understanding in studying that photograph that words alone could never convey.
Much of the understanding that came from this photo was the result of personal experience and understanding that has been processed via the use of words. I cannot deny the validity of language, both written and verbal. However, I can now better understand the depth of the adage "A picture is worth a 1,000 words."
Language and experience are intertwined. Images convey hidden meanings while words establish a common manner by which we can communicate and process information. They shall therefore be forever conjoined.
What is a picture but a visual experience?
“The fact is that if you have not developed language, you simply don’t have access to most of human experience, and if you don’t have access to experience, then you’re not going to be able to think properly.”
- Noam Chomsky
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Discovering my Multi-Racial, Multi-Ethnic, and Multi-Cultural Self: A New Language—Reconciliation
(It has taken some time now, but I think I am ready to start processing in writing this passion for reconciliation. Please bare with me. It may be a little rough. I plan on doing this in a series of thoughts over the next few… well, however long it takes.)
I am mixed. My Father is black and my Mother is white. My grandmother on my Father’s side, based on what I have been told, was ½ Hope Native American making me a 1/16. I have a cultural understanding that has developed out of my identity as a multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural individual. I identify with each of these racial and ethnic identities excluding the Native portion of my cultural heritage. I often consider myself to be a “Third Culture Kid” (TCK).
I make the distinction between multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural because they are not the same. In the United States we live in a racialized society that has a narrow understanding of the differences between race and ethnicity. We often times combine ethnic and racial categories and view them as being one. I also make a distinction when discussing what it means to be multi-cultural. One can be multi-racial and/or multi-ethnic, but not know or understand culture or potential cultural relationships connected to the racial and/or ethnic identity to which they may or may not subscribe.
A Little History…
My Mother grew up in Elwood, Indiana. This area is notorious for overt racism. She grew up in a community that was segregated. Her family, excluding her Mother (my Grandmother), was against interracial relationships. My Mother and her sisters all eventually moved to Indianapolis—the largest city in Indiana (also the state capital). My Mother and all of her sisters chose partners who were African American/Black, thus all of my cousins are multi-racial. My Grandfather for the longest refused to fully associate himself with us. In his eyes, for most of his life, we were not his Grandchildren. He recanted what had happened and asked for forgiveness on his deathbed. I was not there, but my family says that it was a redemptive moment for all.
My Father grew up in between Indianapolis, Indiana and a factory town in Louisiana. His Father and Mother, my Grandparents, were both the children of sharecroppers. His parents made the trek north to Indianapolis when the plastic factory closed in their hometown. My Grandparents were factory workers the entire time they lived in Indianapolis. His family accepted my Mother, but they were not necessarily happy with his choice.
Growing up my cousins and I existed in our own world. We lived in an area of the city where there were quite a few multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural children and couples. Most of my friends having similar experiences contributed to me thinking that being multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural was normal.
As a child I quickly learned how to move seamlessly between each of the groups with which I identified, or so I thought. I understood the differences, I knew the lingo, and I did so unconsciously. Despite all of this understanding, other people struggled to understand me. I was rarely fully accepted by the groups that I identified with outside of other multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural people. It is hard for people to grapple with my ambiguous identity unless they are able to intuitively understand it.
Growing up I was not unaware of racism. One only had to drive to the outskirts of Indy to encounter it overtly. Just a few blocks from my high school, close to the heart of the city, people did not hesitate to display confederate flags. So, even in the city it was present and visible. My parents being Black and White in a hegemonic racialized society often took the brunt of these racial attacks. I remember times when we would not be served in a restaurant in the appropriate manner, and those moments stuck with me. I remember being with my biological Father in public when I was younger, and people would ask if my sister and I were his children. They would even stare, and be protective when he disciplined us. As I got older I would go shopping with my white friends and I would be followed through the store. This made me angry.
At the age of 14 I began working for a Christian campground. I would be gone two months of the summer and I loved it. Even on the camp ground though racism existed. Very few urban churches would send their youth for summer, but when they did those youth were always placed in my cabin. If there was a problem with one of those young people I was consulted. Everyone on the campground knew how to work with youth. Why was I consulted on all matters with urban youth or youth of color? The older I got the more questions I asked and the fewer answers I could find. A deep seeded festering lie began to develop in me over time, and bitterness slowly made its way into my heart.
Fast-forward four years…
I moved to Seattle, Washington to attend Seattle Pacific University. In October of 2004 Dr. John Perkins came to speak to the entire University. His plane didn’t come in on time, and so his daughter spoke at the afternoon convocation. It was at this convocation that the realities of ignorance and the need for reconciliation became startling evident.
In Dr. Perkins absence his daughter spoke. The University had not intended for Elizabeth Perkins to speak, but she was phenomenal. It was obvious that God delayed Dr. Perkins plane for a reason. As she walked up to the podium my heart beat with anticipation. Out of the crowd in front of a friend of mine the voice of a young woman rang out in a condescending tone, “Who is she—John Perkins’ mascot? I thought he was going to speak, not her.” My friends tried to ignore the comment, but it stuck with them. After the convocation they shared with us their experience. We, together, felt the sting of her words, and she most likely didn’t realize what she had said.
Dr. Perkins plane was set to come in that evening. A time was arranged for him to speak at a local church. The moment he arrived on campus they hurried him over to First Free Methodist. It was a packed house from the first floor to the balcony to the foyer. It felt like the entire campus was there. The scene quickly brushed the chip off my shoulder that had developed from the young woman’s comment.
As he spoke my heart, mind and Spirit had an encounter. He brought a truth that I had hungered to hear my entire life. The message of reconciliation both horizontal and vertical hit me like a ton of bricks. My local church had skimmed over this message my entire life; and yet I had felt it deep within the core of this faith in Christ from the moment I first encountered the Lord, but I didn’t have a language to express it. He was unafraid and he called out the devil’s lies around me, but more importantly he spoke the truth against the lies that were buried deep within me. Suddenly I had a new language to talk about all that I had been feeling and experiencing for so long. That day hope re-entered entered my life. The chains fell off and I was free.
It was God’s good planning that I was there because I discovered one of the greatest passions in my life—reconciliation. This is at the core of the Gospel. The hope that we can be reconciled both to Christ and to each other is powerful. I am thankful for my multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural identity because the message of reconciliation has been made real in my flesh and it is a message I am honored to carry. The being of such people challenges the systems. This ambiguous being begs us to ask questions about reconciliation and what it means to be united to God and to each other even in our flesh.
My life will never be the same because of the hope that permeates this life that is the message of reconciliation brought to humanity through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I am mixed. My Father is black and my Mother is white. My grandmother on my Father’s side, based on what I have been told, was ½ Hope Native American making me a 1/16. I have a cultural understanding that has developed out of my identity as a multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural individual. I identify with each of these racial and ethnic identities excluding the Native portion of my cultural heritage. I often consider myself to be a “Third Culture Kid” (TCK).
I make the distinction between multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural because they are not the same. In the United States we live in a racialized society that has a narrow understanding of the differences between race and ethnicity. We often times combine ethnic and racial categories and view them as being one. I also make a distinction when discussing what it means to be multi-cultural. One can be multi-racial and/or multi-ethnic, but not know or understand culture or potential cultural relationships connected to the racial and/or ethnic identity to which they may or may not subscribe.
A Little History…
My Mother grew up in Elwood, Indiana. This area is notorious for overt racism. She grew up in a community that was segregated. Her family, excluding her Mother (my Grandmother), was against interracial relationships. My Mother and her sisters all eventually moved to Indianapolis—the largest city in Indiana (also the state capital). My Mother and all of her sisters chose partners who were African American/Black, thus all of my cousins are multi-racial. My Grandfather for the longest refused to fully associate himself with us. In his eyes, for most of his life, we were not his Grandchildren. He recanted what had happened and asked for forgiveness on his deathbed. I was not there, but my family says that it was a redemptive moment for all.
My Father grew up in between Indianapolis, Indiana and a factory town in Louisiana. His Father and Mother, my Grandparents, were both the children of sharecroppers. His parents made the trek north to Indianapolis when the plastic factory closed in their hometown. My Grandparents were factory workers the entire time they lived in Indianapolis. His family accepted my Mother, but they were not necessarily happy with his choice.
Growing up my cousins and I existed in our own world. We lived in an area of the city where there were quite a few multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural children and couples. Most of my friends having similar experiences contributed to me thinking that being multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural was normal.
As a child I quickly learned how to move seamlessly between each of the groups with which I identified, or so I thought. I understood the differences, I knew the lingo, and I did so unconsciously. Despite all of this understanding, other people struggled to understand me. I was rarely fully accepted by the groups that I identified with outside of other multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural people. It is hard for people to grapple with my ambiguous identity unless they are able to intuitively understand it.
Growing up I was not unaware of racism. One only had to drive to the outskirts of Indy to encounter it overtly. Just a few blocks from my high school, close to the heart of the city, people did not hesitate to display confederate flags. So, even in the city it was present and visible. My parents being Black and White in a hegemonic racialized society often took the brunt of these racial attacks. I remember times when we would not be served in a restaurant in the appropriate manner, and those moments stuck with me. I remember being with my biological Father in public when I was younger, and people would ask if my sister and I were his children. They would even stare, and be protective when he disciplined us. As I got older I would go shopping with my white friends and I would be followed through the store. This made me angry.
At the age of 14 I began working for a Christian campground. I would be gone two months of the summer and I loved it. Even on the camp ground though racism existed. Very few urban churches would send their youth for summer, but when they did those youth were always placed in my cabin. If there was a problem with one of those young people I was consulted. Everyone on the campground knew how to work with youth. Why was I consulted on all matters with urban youth or youth of color? The older I got the more questions I asked and the fewer answers I could find. A deep seeded festering lie began to develop in me over time, and bitterness slowly made its way into my heart.
Fast-forward four years…
I moved to Seattle, Washington to attend Seattle Pacific University. In October of 2004 Dr. John Perkins came to speak to the entire University. His plane didn’t come in on time, and so his daughter spoke at the afternoon convocation. It was at this convocation that the realities of ignorance and the need for reconciliation became startling evident.
In Dr. Perkins absence his daughter spoke. The University had not intended for Elizabeth Perkins to speak, but she was phenomenal. It was obvious that God delayed Dr. Perkins plane for a reason. As she walked up to the podium my heart beat with anticipation. Out of the crowd in front of a friend of mine the voice of a young woman rang out in a condescending tone, “Who is she—John Perkins’ mascot? I thought he was going to speak, not her.” My friends tried to ignore the comment, but it stuck with them. After the convocation they shared with us their experience. We, together, felt the sting of her words, and she most likely didn’t realize what she had said.
Dr. Perkins plane was set to come in that evening. A time was arranged for him to speak at a local church. The moment he arrived on campus they hurried him over to First Free Methodist. It was a packed house from the first floor to the balcony to the foyer. It felt like the entire campus was there. The scene quickly brushed the chip off my shoulder that had developed from the young woman’s comment.
As he spoke my heart, mind and Spirit had an encounter. He brought a truth that I had hungered to hear my entire life. The message of reconciliation both horizontal and vertical hit me like a ton of bricks. My local church had skimmed over this message my entire life; and yet I had felt it deep within the core of this faith in Christ from the moment I first encountered the Lord, but I didn’t have a language to express it. He was unafraid and he called out the devil’s lies around me, but more importantly he spoke the truth against the lies that were buried deep within me. Suddenly I had a new language to talk about all that I had been feeling and experiencing for so long. That day hope re-entered entered my life. The chains fell off and I was free.
It was God’s good planning that I was there because I discovered one of the greatest passions in my life—reconciliation. This is at the core of the Gospel. The hope that we can be reconciled both to Christ and to each other is powerful. I am thankful for my multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural identity because the message of reconciliation has been made real in my flesh and it is a message I am honored to carry. The being of such people challenges the systems. This ambiguous being begs us to ask questions about reconciliation and what it means to be united to God and to each other even in our flesh.
My life will never be the same because of the hope that permeates this life that is the message of reconciliation brought to humanity through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
What is in a Favorite Color: Simple Intentionality
At my age certain questions now seem juvenile. The question in particular that spurred this train of thought is, “What is your favorite color?” Recently I asked a friend this and they laughed at me. At first, I thought they were right to laugh. In that moment I said to myself, “That is a stupid question. I know you work with elementary students, but you are not in elementary school.”
Later as I reflected on the day I replayed the evening’s conversations in my head. I reviewed this specific conversation and I noticed a tension. The Word of God frequently points out how children and youth, those whom society most frequently views as juvenile, are those who are closest to the heart of God. It is in their simplicity that they are able to best understand what it means to have an intentional relationship with God without all of the complexities, responsibilities and theological mush that adults typically allow to cloud the picture.
During the holiday season we have a habit of encouraging children to make cards for those whom they love. When they do so you will see that they are intentional about the colors they use so as to make those cards genuine and personal. Knowing a friend or family member’s favorite color allows one to specialize the gift; to make it personal and meaningful based on the individual preferences of that person. People can show love to one another in a simple, but intentional manner when they know someone’s favorite color. It is a small and simple detail, but nonetheless it is valuable. It is a way of showing intentionality within a relationship, and it really does not take much effort.
So, is this a juvenile question? I honestly do not think so. Ageism is a prevalent –ism in the United States that is often ignored. Children and youth do a lot of things that seem odd or juvenile, but they are really foundational concepts that we, adults, have forgotten. We have written off the value of how something as simple as remembering your friends favorite color can be a stepping stone towards building intentional relationships that seek to understand personal preferences that are both big and small. If I buy my friend flowers they will pry mean more if they are their favorite color because I showed them how much I valued them by remembering their personal preference.
I think that the Word directs us to observe our children because those foundational concepts are still so fresh in them. They can remind us of the basics. When learning to read, write or perform mathematics it is the basic concepts that are the most important because without those you can’t move forward to anything more complicated. Even though one does eventually move on it is still important to remind one’s self how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. A lot of people would say that they have forgotten how to do basic algebra, and it is because they do not practice. If we want to continue to be intentional in our relationships we have to continue to remember to practice the basics.
The beauty of this question is that it is a simple and basic intentionality that can lead to more complicated showings of love and affection. When you remember someone’s favorite color you show that you are not only intentional, but that you can be trusted to remember details. If you can be trusted to remember small details you can be trusted to remember the big ones. These are the building blocks of healthy relationships from the mouths of babes. Isn’t God funny?
Later as I reflected on the day I replayed the evening’s conversations in my head. I reviewed this specific conversation and I noticed a tension. The Word of God frequently points out how children and youth, those whom society most frequently views as juvenile, are those who are closest to the heart of God. It is in their simplicity that they are able to best understand what it means to have an intentional relationship with God without all of the complexities, responsibilities and theological mush that adults typically allow to cloud the picture.
During the holiday season we have a habit of encouraging children to make cards for those whom they love. When they do so you will see that they are intentional about the colors they use so as to make those cards genuine and personal. Knowing a friend or family member’s favorite color allows one to specialize the gift; to make it personal and meaningful based on the individual preferences of that person. People can show love to one another in a simple, but intentional manner when they know someone’s favorite color. It is a small and simple detail, but nonetheless it is valuable. It is a way of showing intentionality within a relationship, and it really does not take much effort.
So, is this a juvenile question? I honestly do not think so. Ageism is a prevalent –ism in the United States that is often ignored. Children and youth do a lot of things that seem odd or juvenile, but they are really foundational concepts that we, adults, have forgotten. We have written off the value of how something as simple as remembering your friends favorite color can be a stepping stone towards building intentional relationships that seek to understand personal preferences that are both big and small. If I buy my friend flowers they will pry mean more if they are their favorite color because I showed them how much I valued them by remembering their personal preference.
I think that the Word directs us to observe our children because those foundational concepts are still so fresh in them. They can remind us of the basics. When learning to read, write or perform mathematics it is the basic concepts that are the most important because without those you can’t move forward to anything more complicated. Even though one does eventually move on it is still important to remind one’s self how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. A lot of people would say that they have forgotten how to do basic algebra, and it is because they do not practice. If we want to continue to be intentional in our relationships we have to continue to remember to practice the basics.
The beauty of this question is that it is a simple and basic intentionality that can lead to more complicated showings of love and affection. When you remember someone’s favorite color you show that you are not only intentional, but that you can be trusted to remember details. If you can be trusted to remember small details you can be trusted to remember the big ones. These are the building blocks of healthy relationships from the mouths of babes. Isn’t God funny?
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I am the Enemy
This morning I was reading Psalm 3, Isaiah 2 and Lamentations 2, and something hit me. "I am the enemy." All of my life I have been reading those passages, and others as if I am the one being saved. Now, I am not saying that God is not saving me, but I am asking questions about perspective, perceptions and "the Other".
I wonder, "Do people pray for God to save them from me (me--personally, figuratively, the United States, etc.)? In what instances am I the enemy/the villain? How often in relationship have I hurt someone and they have in turn prayed for deliverance because of my actions?"
This is why I need saving. I need saving because for the past 22 years I have struggled to see where "I am the enemy."
Now my actions and choices are challenged, and I can see where I have pillaged much and many...I further understand why I need to be saved.
I wonder, "Do people pray for God to save them from me (me--personally, figuratively, the United States, etc.)? In what instances am I the enemy/the villain? How often in relationship have I hurt someone and they have in turn prayed for deliverance because of my actions?"
This is why I need saving. I need saving because for the past 22 years I have struggled to see where "I am the enemy."
Now my actions and choices are challenged, and I can see where I have pillaged much and many...I further understand why I need to be saved.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Faith and Prayer
As I spend time in the company of "true" Saints I am thrust deeper into what it means to believe, to have faith.
Faith is not simply believing in the unseen. While that is quite the anecdotal answer I believe that faith is much more.
Faith is believing in what one cannot see, but it is also acting upon movement that one cannot see. A movement that comes from an unseen place, but that is clearly real. Acting with vigor--knowing (different than thinking) that what has been said will be done.
On Friday I listened to a woman tell me that she prayed to God for direction. God gave her a list of ten initiatives for the group that she is leading--and all in the same leading told her to quit. Now as she is on her way out she watches as this list of ten is slowly but surely completed. In the world of faith-based non-profit a list of ten items flowing smoothly has to be the work of the LORD.
As I reflect on where I am in life and as I attempt to follow the modeling of "true" Saints around me I feel pushed to pray. This woman prayed and God lead. God told her exactly what to do next. Now God did not give her the plan in its entirety, but God gave her the next step.
As she talked about her career change she said to me, "God will give me my next job. I am know that God will lead me to it."
What more would it be for me to believe that God will lead me to the next place that I should go? To believe that God will give me the plan for my current position?
Nothing more.
I must pray.
I fear though that I do not know how to pray. In that instance though, I can remember what a wise woman said to me. She said, "You have a beautiful voice. A gift from God. Pray to God. Sing to God. Pray in song. As you read the Word sing melodies using the Word of the LORD. That too is prayer."
I will pray and know by faith in God.
Faith is not simply believing in the unseen. While that is quite the anecdotal answer I believe that faith is much more.
Faith is believing in what one cannot see, but it is also acting upon movement that one cannot see. A movement that comes from an unseen place, but that is clearly real. Acting with vigor--knowing (different than thinking) that what has been said will be done.
On Friday I listened to a woman tell me that she prayed to God for direction. God gave her a list of ten initiatives for the group that she is leading--and all in the same leading told her to quit. Now as she is on her way out she watches as this list of ten is slowly but surely completed. In the world of faith-based non-profit a list of ten items flowing smoothly has to be the work of the LORD.
As I reflect on where I am in life and as I attempt to follow the modeling of "true" Saints around me I feel pushed to pray. This woman prayed and God lead. God told her exactly what to do next. Now God did not give her the plan in its entirety, but God gave her the next step.
As she talked about her career change she said to me, "God will give me my next job. I am know that God will lead me to it."
What more would it be for me to believe that God will lead me to the next place that I should go? To believe that God will give me the plan for my current position?
Nothing more.
I must pray.
I fear though that I do not know how to pray. In that instance though, I can remember what a wise woman said to me. She said, "You have a beautiful voice. A gift from God. Pray to God. Sing to God. Pray in song. As you read the Word sing melodies using the Word of the LORD. That too is prayer."
I will pray and know by faith in God.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Arise with Hope and Vision!
This summer has felt as if someone is punching me in the face over and over again. I feel unrecognizable. This veil of frustration covers my face so thickly even I cannot see. I ask God for wisdom and receive more strife. I ask God for patience and find more resistance. I ask God for grace and find more unforgiveness.
Youth work is a thankless job. I don't mind that at all though. What bothers me is that I feel so discouraged. How can I be discouraged when God reigns supreme and victorious?
This summer the high school students lack hope and vision. They cannot see their own potential. They are unwilling to accept the love of Christ. They fear their own greatness. They see any attempt at boundaries and accountability as some sort of ploy to hold them down. Every standard is a conspiracy to dismember their youthful freedom. Why can't they see that they are allowing themselves to be chained to stones and cast into the ocean? Their disregard for standards will most likely be the demise of their actual freedom.
It is clear to me that God redeems, but even so He still allows us to feel consequence. We cannot avoid the truth of our choices.
In the evening when I get home I am drained. I am exhausted because I feel so much. I am so sad, so angry, so frustrated, and so passionate... I cannot bear to see them act so callously with their lives, but they cannot see the gifts they possess. I want them to instantaneously see in a moment of revelation and grow up, but that is not how it works.
I lay awake thinking and asking God for the next thing to say--for the next prayer to pray--in hopes that they might wake up and together we might rise up.
As a generation they hold so much power, but they suffer from the same youthful complacency that we have all encountered. We can have so much power and yet never touch it, and never see it come to fruition.
We are creating a generation that can talk using internet intelligence about issues, but that cannot act with historically grounded intelligence on issues.
Oh that God would wake this generation from their slumber. Oh that they would cry out in lamentation and mourn the lost. Oh that they would stand up out of their lament to by God's power act in Christ-like victory.
Oh that we could encourage them and not see them filled with anger when faced with accountability. Oh that we could be one in mind and purpose in the Lord. That we could cry out as one to the God of Israel and in the power of the LORD step forward in a spirit of truth. That we would as one people rise up as Children of the Light--together.
They are our Oaks of Righteousness. They will rebuild the city. Together we will rise up out of the ash heap--they needy, the poor, the disenfranchised, the overworked, the discouraged, the wayward youth, the lost soul, the thirsty, the hungry, the prostitute, the embezeller, the tired, the searching, the happy but not joyful--unmasked and revealed--together we will rebuild the city.
Oh God will set us free from complacency. Give us a hope and a vision.
Let your servants not weep and suffer the singe of discouragement in vain. Let your servants rejoice for the joy of the LORD is our strength. We know this momentary discomfort is nothing in light of the cross and what Christ has done.
Youth work is a thankless job. I don't mind that at all though. What bothers me is that I feel so discouraged. How can I be discouraged when God reigns supreme and victorious?
This summer the high school students lack hope and vision. They cannot see their own potential. They are unwilling to accept the love of Christ. They fear their own greatness. They see any attempt at boundaries and accountability as some sort of ploy to hold them down. Every standard is a conspiracy to dismember their youthful freedom. Why can't they see that they are allowing themselves to be chained to stones and cast into the ocean? Their disregard for standards will most likely be the demise of their actual freedom.
It is clear to me that God redeems, but even so He still allows us to feel consequence. We cannot avoid the truth of our choices.
In the evening when I get home I am drained. I am exhausted because I feel so much. I am so sad, so angry, so frustrated, and so passionate... I cannot bear to see them act so callously with their lives, but they cannot see the gifts they possess. I want them to instantaneously see in a moment of revelation and grow up, but that is not how it works.
I lay awake thinking and asking God for the next thing to say--for the next prayer to pray--in hopes that they might wake up and together we might rise up.
As a generation they hold so much power, but they suffer from the same youthful complacency that we have all encountered. We can have so much power and yet never touch it, and never see it come to fruition.
We are creating a generation that can talk using internet intelligence about issues, but that cannot act with historically grounded intelligence on issues.
Oh that God would wake this generation from their slumber. Oh that they would cry out in lamentation and mourn the lost. Oh that they would stand up out of their lament to by God's power act in Christ-like victory.
Oh that we could encourage them and not see them filled with anger when faced with accountability. Oh that we could be one in mind and purpose in the Lord. That we could cry out as one to the God of Israel and in the power of the LORD step forward in a spirit of truth. That we would as one people rise up as Children of the Light--together.
They are our Oaks of Righteousness. They will rebuild the city. Together we will rise up out of the ash heap--they needy, the poor, the disenfranchised, the overworked, the discouraged, the wayward youth, the lost soul, the thirsty, the hungry, the prostitute, the embezeller, the tired, the searching, the happy but not joyful--unmasked and revealed--together we will rebuild the city.
Oh God will set us free from complacency. Give us a hope and a vision.
Let your servants not weep and suffer the singe of discouragement in vain. Let your servants rejoice for the joy of the LORD is our strength. We know this momentary discomfort is nothing in light of the cross and what Christ has done.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Whose Not Who
In the search for my identity I have often asked the question, "Who am I?" Such an open ended premise being asked only in the caverns of my own mind is bound to be answered incorrectly or not at all. I find that my mind is so finite that I answer all questions with finite answers. Instead of allowing questions to answer questions and accepting the ambiguity of things I simply cannot understand I fight for clear cut and defined definitions.
The question of "Who am I?" is most certainly answered only when followed by another question. "Who am I?" is not nearly as pertinent as "Whose am I?" Which interestingly enough fully informs the "who" by asking the "whose".
The Bible says that God calls us by name. By asking "Whose I am?" as opposed to "Who I am?" I am seeking out the wisdom of my Creator. Who better knows the name, role and function of an item than its creator. So, why would one think to attempt to inform themselves as to who they are by seeking out there self or others--since neither are the one who created them.
Now that it is clear that I am God's the question I ask the LORD is "What is my name?". In knowing my name I will hear the LORD when He calls and then I can reply, "Yes, Lord your servant is listening."
The bottom line is:
If I do not know "whose I am" I will not know "who I am".
If I do not know "whose I am" I will not know my name.
If I do not know my name I cannot know when my Creator, the LORD, is calling me--since the LORD calls us by name.
I am not defined by "who I am", but by "whose I am".
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
With this Pen
"Granted this talk Unusual"
Granted this talk unusual,
Surplus of my mouth.
It overflows and spills anew,
These torrents old and new.
Granted this talk goes on and on,
But reaction to anxieties mound.
If I were silent I would explode,
And in my own I'd drown.
But cautions not my tale,
I'd rather walk the edges than in the center fail.
So, granted this talk unusual,
I suppose it's all okay,
Cause someday it won't matter,
For in my talk I'll lay.
"She Says"
"I'm going away," she says.
"Where no one will every find me," she infers.
But in her mind she knows that she won't stumble far from home.
She says, "I feel a push and pull."
And states, "I don't know why."
But in her heart she knows its because her heart is neither far nor nigh.
"I hate and yet I love," she says.
"Confused, I truly am," she proclaims.
But in her soul she knows that she is saved and bound for day.
So though she says and states and infers and even at times proclaims,
She truly knows it is all just fine no matter what the pain.
"It Is"
It is funny,
I love you more than you will every know,
And every winter I sit and wait for you as the falling of the snow.
I hoped you would return with love inside your heart,
But something held you back, away, you left a lonely part.
I tried to say "goodbye" to you,
But your face it clouds my mind,
And when I try to sleep at night in my thoughts you are entwined.
It is funny how I feel this way,
For a man I hardly know,
You come around as often as the falling of new snow.
You emptied out your pockets for a coin you thought was love,
But then you were mistaken by a child from up above,
Children won't be bought for trinkets or shiny toys,
They need their parents hearts and love to teach them how to fly.
So when you decide to open up,
To share with me your life,
I cannot guarantee that I will be here,
Waiting with all this strife.
"With this Pen"
A pen and paper shall be the way I clear my mind to free the day.
And when at night I feel consumed by this ink release is coming soon.
And by God's grace a prayer I write a time to breathe this freedom life.
When the storms and torrents roar,
When my fears abound once more,
And the waters never cease,
I will fear the LORD.
When the sun and moon are right,
When the sky is filled with light,
And the night gives way to sleep,
Still I will fear the LORD.
For His promise never fades,
My sins are set a breadth away,
As east and west stay part,
His love is near not far.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Daddy's Girl
Growing up in the absence of a father isn't easy. So many young women act out, and justify not only their actions but also the consequences as a direct result of an absent father. While I give some weight to such an argument I have often found it offensive, but now as I mull my offense over in my head I am finding that I am far from offended--I am wondering if it may be true and that scares me.
I realize that for twenty-two years I have been searching for a father. But, while I was searching, somewhere in the midst of the darkness, I was supposed to grow up. How does one grow up fatherless? I have often wondered what would it have been like if he had been there? What would I be like? Would I be better? Worse? Simply different? I was never sexually promiscuous, a drinker or smoker, and for the most part, by all earthly standards, I have beat the odds.
Despite "turning out ok" I see my friends and mentors with their children and somewhere deep inside it still hurts. It is the same pain I felt as a child when I would visit a friend's house and see just how much their daddy loved them. A river of tears wells up from a hidden cavern of pain and it is at that point that all of my insecurities come out to feed. I fall apart and at the place of least resistance every father and every father figure becomes like a falling stone of disappointment.
I know I have a Heavenly Father who loves me, but sometimes even that hurts. That simple truth can leave one with so many questions and so few solid answers. I suppose sometimes the only answer that matters is the truth and accepting it at face value, but that is easier said than done.
The challenge then is to grow-up regardless. The search now has to end both in light of my age and in respect to the truth. My greatest struggle though is that adulthood, at least in the United States, is one of individuality and the development of one's own family unit--thus far success is without crete. Why is that?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Inability to Grasp Freedom
I had hoped that with the ending of a strenuous period of life would come freedom. After four years of full-time school and almost always full-time work (sometimes plus) I thought that I would feel a sense of relaxation. Instead, I feel fear and anxiety not only of the unknown, but of my abilities and even more my inabilities.
The me that exists in the university classroom does not, and for the most part cannot, exist in the real world. She is her own creation. In that context knowing it all is expected, implored, and appreciated. In the world this is not the case.
In the world the same people who implore you for your knowledge will most often be the same people who condemn you. The amount of information is never right. It is always either too much or too little. You are either living under your potential or trying too hard. Such inconsistency only exasberates this struggle and leaves me exhausted.
I had hoped that in this transition I would feel relieved and revitalized. Instead I am tired and depressed. I am not worn out, per say, but the years of work do not seem to have reaped the return I had hoped. I wanted to walk away with my degree and years of work experience "happy", but I am far from it. As the saying goes, "Where I go there I am" (PMVC).
In a sense I have raped my body, mind and spirit of its energy and reserves to climb a mountain that may not have been worth climbing. I am lonely as ever. Books do not bring the same safety they did even a day ago. I am striving nonetheless as best I know how. With book after book in hand I am searching for the message I never heard. The message where if I had heard it I may not have tried so hard in years past because trying would not have been as necessary as being.
The hope in my spirit does not burn the same as it once did. Could it be that it was all in my mind? A false sense of idealism built on the knowledge of men lacking the wisdom and heart of God is no place to stand, let alone a place to build a light house.
I cry from what I know, and even more I weep for what I desire. The weight of the world is terrible--full of pain. Too much to bare. It leaves me tattered and naked stuck beneath its torrent and fear. How can I be still when everything is dying around me? When I can see and smell the rotting? And yet, I know that I by myself am without power--I need the Lord.
I desire wholeness and freedom that I may be able to throw off these weights and be free, but I do not know what freedom means? Why didn't I spend four years searching after God and God alone. I thought that I had found Him, but I know the truth is He found me. Why did I turn my back so coldly to bury myself in the words of humanity?
I have lost the ability to connect. Sleep no longer renews me. It is what I do when I need to escape, and even then there is no escape from oneself. Why then can I seemingly escape the presence of God--even when I do not want to?
For these I have no answers, but the Word says,
"The LORD is my light and my salvation--whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life--of whom shall I be afraid?" (Psalm 27:1)
"Give thanks to the LORD for He is good. His love endures forever." (1st Chronicles 16:34)
"I am the good shepherd. The shepherd lays down His life for the sheep." (John 10:11)
"I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep and my sheep know me." (John 10:14)
"God so loved the world that He gave is one and only Son that who so ever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life. For God did send His son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him. Whoever believes in Him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe in Him is already condemned, already because He has not believe in the name of God's one and only Son." (John 3:16-18)
"This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men love darkness instead of light because of their deed were evil. Everyone who does darkness hates the light and will not come into the light for fear that his deed will be exposed." (John 3:19-20)
I do believe. Why am I still bound? If I cannot break free by my own volition, why then can I be bound by my own action even though my Spirit craves the freedom that only God can provide?
I do not know. I suppose I will have to wait on the Lord.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Becoming Vulnerable (Pt. 1)
In the past, and by that I mean a few weeks ago, I discovered that I had made work and my ability to work my god. I had begun to consider working for God equal to loving God and believed that sacrifice would earn me a slot in heaven. I wanted so badly to be in a place of honor before God that I idolized the human desire for perfection and saving face over the truths of forgiveness, redemption and grace. I became prideful in my abilities, and as a result what were meant for gifts became chains. I feared my needs and saw neediness as a sign of insecurity, incompetence and incapability. Burnout was a quick term that meant "You are weak, lazy and unwilling to work hard enough to push through, to persevere". I feared trusting others. The words "group work" made my ears bleed. The idea of dependence on another to complete my tasks was gut wrenching. And last, but not least, vulnerability was out of the question.
To be vulnerable meant that I was open for attack. That at any moment anyone or anything could hurt me. Life has taught me to guard myself. Broken trust and physical abuses have left me fearful to leave myself open in anyway. I have struggled to see that my inability to be vulnerable has made me not only unable to love, but unable to receive love. So, I have adorned myself with protection. Education and achievement have been my shield. If I can play the game and place myself high enough up I become untouchable, unbreakable, unable to be harmed. This is a truly lonely road.
The beautiful thing is in the midst of all of this stone has always been a heart. A heart that has been created for and is known by God. A heart that still beats and bleeds regardless of being deeply buried and burned. Our God is victorious, even over death--physically, mentally and spiritually.
Just recently I told a friend of mine that I longed for simplicity. I wanted to live where there was very little physically for me to hide behind. From make-up and clothes to computers and television I wanted to be materially stripped down to a minimum.
One day God said to me, "It is good to live simply. What is more is that I want you to be stripped down mentally and emotionally so that you are open to me spiritually. And do not worry about how this will happen. Trust me. Trust is the beginning of vulnerability." The moment God put that word upon my heart I was in pain. I'd been vulnerable, especially as a child. Here I am twenty-two, a college graduate, at the top of my game (or so I thought), and I am supposed to be vulnerable again. It felt as if God were asking me to strip down naked and stand in public. I realize now though that even when I was protecting myself I wasn't safe. I was able to hurt myself. Furthermore, I locked God out isolating myself from His healing power.
All of this is not to say that I will never be hurt. Pain is a reality of life--after all, we are only promised a cross. What it does mean though, is that I am open to a real healing and genuine relationship with Christ. A relationship in which I can be real and honest about who I am, where I am at and God will meet me there.
God is helping me to reclaim my natural self. The one who has no earthly adornment, but is open is to being loved simply for being. The one who does not work for a place in her Father's kingdom and is open to both the giving and receiving of love regardless of accomplishment, education or achievement. The one who can be still and know, who can sit and by God's grace be moved to stand and walk.
God has not forgotten my heart of service. The strength in Jesus ministry was not in His power per say, but in His vulnerability. Being vulnerable may be risky, but trusting God and being vulnerable to God is real and allows one to truly serve others as Christ. This is not to say that I expect that I will never be hurt. I live on the earth. The same earth upon which the Messiah was crucified. BUT, Christ vulnerability, His sacrifice, gave way to redemption.
I have sought redemption through my own work and protection, but that has left me in chains. I am no longer afraid to leave my prison garb behind to be clothed in the arms of God the Father. It is in this place of vulnerability that the reality of Christ's redeeming act becomes real. It is at this point where God can help me enter into a life that is truly led by the Spirit.
To be vulnerable meant that I was open for attack. That at any moment anyone or anything could hurt me. Life has taught me to guard myself. Broken trust and physical abuses have left me fearful to leave myself open in anyway. I have struggled to see that my inability to be vulnerable has made me not only unable to love, but unable to receive love. So, I have adorned myself with protection. Education and achievement have been my shield. If I can play the game and place myself high enough up I become untouchable, unbreakable, unable to be harmed. This is a truly lonely road.
The beautiful thing is in the midst of all of this stone has always been a heart. A heart that has been created for and is known by God. A heart that still beats and bleeds regardless of being deeply buried and burned. Our God is victorious, even over death--physically, mentally and spiritually.
Just recently I told a friend of mine that I longed for simplicity. I wanted to live where there was very little physically for me to hide behind. From make-up and clothes to computers and television I wanted to be materially stripped down to a minimum.
One day God said to me, "It is good to live simply. What is more is that I want you to be stripped down mentally and emotionally so that you are open to me spiritually. And do not worry about how this will happen. Trust me. Trust is the beginning of vulnerability." The moment God put that word upon my heart I was in pain. I'd been vulnerable, especially as a child. Here I am twenty-two, a college graduate, at the top of my game (or so I thought), and I am supposed to be vulnerable again. It felt as if God were asking me to strip down naked and stand in public. I realize now though that even when I was protecting myself I wasn't safe. I was able to hurt myself. Furthermore, I locked God out isolating myself from His healing power.
All of this is not to say that I will never be hurt. Pain is a reality of life--after all, we are only promised a cross. What it does mean though, is that I am open to a real healing and genuine relationship with Christ. A relationship in which I can be real and honest about who I am, where I am at and God will meet me there.
God is helping me to reclaim my natural self. The one who has no earthly adornment, but is open is to being loved simply for being. The one who does not work for a place in her Father's kingdom and is open to both the giving and receiving of love regardless of accomplishment, education or achievement. The one who can be still and know, who can sit and by God's grace be moved to stand and walk.
God has not forgotten my heart of service. The strength in Jesus ministry was not in His power per say, but in His vulnerability. Being vulnerable may be risky, but trusting God and being vulnerable to God is real and allows one to truly serve others as Christ. This is not to say that I expect that I will never be hurt. I live on the earth. The same earth upon which the Messiah was crucified. BUT, Christ vulnerability, His sacrifice, gave way to redemption.
I have sought redemption through my own work and protection, but that has left me in chains. I am no longer afraid to leave my prison garb behind to be clothed in the arms of God the Father. It is in this place of vulnerability that the reality of Christ's redeeming act becomes real. It is at this point where God can help me enter into a life that is truly led by the Spirit.
Hope
"People who claim to be without options are in actuality lacking hope."
Imagine you are in a room with 17 high school students ranging in age from 14-19 on the southside of Seattle. There is a tension in the room that is layered with sadness--at times it almost even reaks of distrust. When you look into their eyes it is at times as if one can see their spirit sinking into their bellies. It pains you from the inside-out; so much so that you can't help but want to reach deep down within them and pull them out, but YOU can't.
So, you pray. You ask God, "I can see that they are hurting. Often I hurt both for them and with them. LORD, please the violence. Please stop the killing. It seems that every time another young person physically dies another experiences a spiritual death. What can I do LORD?"
The LORD says, "Fellowship. Talk. Morn together. You all have lost. You all must weep. The you all MUST rise up together in my name and Spirit."
So, I call them together. They think that we are going to have usual days debrief. (They are the staff for the Urban IMPACT summer day camp.) Instead, I say, "Circle up. Closer. No, closer." They are some what anxious. I can hear the murmurs, "What the hell are we doing?"
I say, "I know that we are hurting. God knows that we are hurting. We need to talk about this. I am going to step out of the circle and you all start where you want to--with whatever you want to talk about."
They start...
A voice says, "You got to respect someone who is a drug dealer or a stripper. They pry feel as if they have no other option."
This was where they chose to start.
The conversation went for over an hour after work. Typically they are running out the door five minutes before work is over.
At the end of the conversation we concluded: "People are never without options. We always have some sort of choice, but it is when we are hopeless that we cannot see the options."
You can be so profound.
Imagine you are in a room with 17 high school students ranging in age from 14-19 on the southside of Seattle. There is a tension in the room that is layered with sadness--at times it almost even reaks of distrust. When you look into their eyes it is at times as if one can see their spirit sinking into their bellies. It pains you from the inside-out; so much so that you can't help but want to reach deep down within them and pull them out, but YOU can't.
So, you pray. You ask God, "I can see that they are hurting. Often I hurt both for them and with them. LORD, please the violence. Please stop the killing. It seems that every time another young person physically dies another experiences a spiritual death. What can I do LORD?"
The LORD says, "Fellowship. Talk. Morn together. You all have lost. You all must weep. The you all MUST rise up together in my name and Spirit."
So, I call them together. They think that we are going to have usual days debrief. (They are the staff for the Urban IMPACT summer day camp.) Instead, I say, "Circle up. Closer. No, closer." They are some what anxious. I can hear the murmurs, "What the hell are we doing?"
I say, "I know that we are hurting. God knows that we are hurting. We need to talk about this. I am going to step out of the circle and you all start where you want to--with whatever you want to talk about."
They start...
A voice says, "You got to respect someone who is a drug dealer or a stripper. They pry feel as if they have no other option."
This was where they chose to start.
The conversation went for over an hour after work. Typically they are running out the door five minutes before work is over.
At the end of the conversation we concluded: "People are never without options. We always have some sort of choice, but it is when we are hopeless that we cannot see the options."
You can be so profound.
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Circuitous Route
"The shortest distance and quickest route between two points is a straight line, but the circuitous is never wrong."
This is indeed a revelation. One in which I did not come to on my own. In fact, I have often worried that my inability to take the "straight line" is a fault, a disadvantage, the path to my inevitable demise and destruction. In a sense I was right and yet entirely naive and ignorant to reality. My inability to follow the straight line has indeed led to a destruction, but the question to be asked is, "What has been destroyed?"
It is most certainly not me, or at least not me in my entirety or what is truly me. Being that I am a Follower of the Way, an attempting Imitator of the Lord Jesus Christ I believe that I have been born into sin and yet set free by the blood of the Lamb. The old has gone, destroyed. The new has come. No longer am I bound by the chains of death.
For years I listened to Satan's lies. He is indeed the Father of Lies. From birth I had forgotten my one true God, but God has not forgotten me. For so long did I dress in the rags of facade, clothed in the bastard garmets of sin and deceit, but even so I was not forgotten. God forever knows my name. God forever knows my face even when it is cloaked in darkness--for as the Psalmist says even the darkness is as light to God. I am a Child of the Light, a Daughter of Zion, an unworthy heir, but none the less welcomed home as a prodical son.
Being in the world and yet not of it there are times when confusion is the result. Feelings of being lost or lonely, feelings of purposelessness, feelings of fear and doubt, but those are not of God--they are of the world. While in the world we are in tension. Our spirit and flesh are at war within us. We seek to be free because we are free and yet we must be reminded of grace and remember that earth is short and life is eternal. We must hold in tension the kingdom now, freedom from fear and doubt and the kingdom to come, freedom eternal.
It has been a circuitous route to such knowledge, but even more it has been following the ideas the world labels as folly and non-linear that have led to belief for me. I have had to feel the weight of title and the wave of success to understand the beauty of simple gifts. I had to make mistakes and bleed the consequences to experience truth. A truth that heals. To heal a pussy wound one must first scrape and dig out the infection for the healing process to begin. In reality the circuitous route is not the truth, but it is a way for the hard headed of the world to be re-acquainted with the truth.
The fact of the matter is it is neither the straight-line nor the circuitous route that matters. In the end the truth is there is nothing you nor I can do to earn the Love of God. There is nothing we can do to procure forgiveness. There is nothing we can do to obtain our own freedom. It is by grace alone that we receive this gift of true life. It is by grace alone that we, who are indeed unworthy, will drink living water, and it is because of grace that we can choose to take the circuitous route, that we choose to take the straight-line, that we can even choose to stand still or even sit in the embrace of our loving God and encounter a healing truth without even moving.
I will admit I still cannot stand nor sit in the midst of such love, but at least I know that regardless of my path it is not earned nor bought by my actions but instead is freely given. The Lord will meet us where we are at no matter our route and His love remains the same enduring forever.
So it is not so much the route that matters, but the truth revealed in the midst. For the saying is not the route shall set you free, it is the TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE.
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