I'm Not Going to Fall.

A few weeks ago, I went camping with some friends at the George Washington National Forest in West Virginia. Having started this blog just before the trip, I was hoping that at some point while stargazing, hiking or sitting on top of a mountain that I would think of some fresh ideas to write about. Blogging inspiration can be hard to find, but I was excited because it seems like people are always getting epiphanies on mountains.

The change of scenery and the slower pace of the trip definitely created an incubator for my thoughts, but for whatever reason, no writing idea ever hatched while I was out there in the woods, trying hard -- perhaps too hard -- to be introspective. Upon returning from my weekend getaway and logging into my blog to reflect, I could only recall trivial little things -- like how our crew burned a log that looked just like the legendary SR-71 spy plane or how mummy sleeping bags are amazing inventions. (Actually, the spy plane firelog was pretty sweet and in retrospect I wish I had taken a photo of it to share here). Nonetheless, I felt like the writing retreat component of my camping experience never took place.

However, while mentally revisiting the trip just recently, I thought of something worth writing about.

* * *

Being a city dweller in an extremely litigious society, I'm used to seeing guard rails along any place where there is a steep drop off. I'm thankful for this too since I'm slightly acrophobic. On the mountain trail that I was on a few weeks ago though, by contrast to the heights around my town, the only thing preventing me from plunging off some scary precipice was my own footing.

I didn't take many photos during the trip, but I do have one of myself crouching atop a boulder near the summit of Big Schloss mountain. When I looked at that image again recently, my mind -- which is highly visual -- started to replay my hiking experience.

I started to remember the chalky surface of the rocks and eating craisins at the summit. But most powerfully, I remembered walking towards the edge of a cliff and having all my muscles tense up along with my nerves shooting off. Fear, that intense physiological reaction, was a big part of that memory.

I've been thinking about fear a lot recently too. I wish I could say that I only get that tingling, choking sensation of fear in my body when I'm standing at the tip of a deadly precipice, but the truth is that I'm often just as -- if not more -- fearful while sitting on my couch, where I'll be fretting about work, relationships or something else. Fear has got me pinned down, I realized. But then something awesome happened while I was still reliving that memory. The Lord spoke to me through a visual metaphor.

I saw this: I was back on the Big Schloss mountain, and as I started walking towards the edge of a cliff, I suddenly saw a helicopter hovering in front of me, the chopper blades creating a lot of wind and noise. I could see the pilot through the open cabin too, and I just knew that it was Jesus. Although I couldn't really see his face since he had the big pilot helmet, visor and everything on, I clearly heard him yell, "Relax, I got you, bro!" And I knew in that moment that Jesus wasn't going to let me fall.

If you're laughing right now, don't feel bad because so did I when I first had this "vision". The all-out pilot suit and the language that He used cracked me up. God sometimes appeals to my humor while teaching me a lesson, which in this case echoed Hebrews 2:11-13.

Now, let me emphasize that this didn't actually happen in real life; it was a visual metaphor that I saw while reliving a memory. I can't give a physical description of Jesus now, but that wasn't the point because it was all about the Lord reminding me about this principle, which is: I don't have to be fearful because Jesus is with me! Christ has set me free from living in fear because He is watching over me, and it is His presence that casts out fear, making me confident in His perfect love.

Before God gave me that message, I had actually been trying to acknowledge Jesus' presence in my life more, and I thank Him for blessing me with that image of His love for me.

I don't know when God will encourage me with another visual metaphor again, but until then, I'll be joyfully reminding myself that Jesus has already said, "I am with you always".

One Year

I’m never not going to miss you.

But it’s no longer heavy; I have the lightness

to run, to travel, to meet new neighbors.

It doesn’t feel like nothing else

is important, or joyful. There is making music,

and cooking tasty (meatless) meals,

and loving the people around me

like you did.

I don’t dread Thanksgiving, because

my gratitude is deep. I’m thankful for family,

content to sit with them eating food I don’t love,

telling stories that seem to signify little,

where before I would have been restless, unsatisfied.

I still think about you every time I drive west on the Beltway

towards Bethesda.

And every time we sing of resurrection, I sing

to your rising.

Every piano suite I play is somehow for you,

not to make up for all the songs I couldn’t remember

how to play for you and Mr. Baer at the end,

but because life is rich with the

food of music,

and you are still alive and part

of its music.

untitled

How it started, I cannot remember..
An upcoming meeting at St Elizabeth’s, their impending demands…
Boom! A white scratch by the door handle
A couple odd fellows, odd characters, odd companions.
An older white man with white hair,
A middle aged black woman with black hair.
Slowly trudging by
anger exploded
Alabama Ave parking lot.

Taken aback by the vibration
An old-fashioned way of communication.
Spinning, swirling, simply detached, floating, painfully.
Car: melted into a burgundy puddle
Anger: clear steam, evaporating.
Sitting, sweating, heavy as lead, yet free floating and free falling.
A search for seltzer,
Images racing.
Beautiful baby with a brother, hand-sown dolls, clinging metal spoons in teacups,
Colorful scarves, the war’s soldiers, quiet after the storm,
Rebuilding, brick buildings,
Education, factory work, part of the movement,
Scientists’ playground, overcoming gravity, flowers, patterned wallpaper,
Marriage, smooth skinned photographs,
A quiet and curious little boy chasing chickens,
Military seriousness, relocation,
Sending him off, meeting the grandbabies,
Driving the red car, henna haircolor, relying on eyeglasses,
Fussing around, butter and jam on white bread cut into bite sized pieces
Radio talks, herbal remedies, superstitions, sharing wisdom, generosity:
Stuffing a fifty into our bag thinking we wouldn’t see.
Goodbyes, trains, the cat’s dish, and gauze headdress.
The dotted spotted injury site and the cheerful voice.

A search for seltzer. Beautiful brown skinned people paying no attention to me.
Colorful headlines
Jewelry, latest hairstyles, the gossip and never ending musical chairs of celebrities’ romances.
Is this a fucking joke?!
Slam this empty glitter and scream.
Drive.
Stop sign.
Turn.
Pull over at the side of the road. Many stares.
The river is pretty. Tears. The film plays back.
God is the master of it all. He owns the day that’s falling out from under our feet.
I am powerless.
Somehow it is at peace.

On the cusp of fall

Here is a poem I wrote nearly a year ago, October 2, 2010. I thought about it this weekend with the sudden chill in the air.

Saturday night on the porch

Fall has surprised us.
I like surprises, when
they are made of cinnamon
sticks in hot chocolate, my breath
visible in frosted air, a friend
on the porch shivering in a scarf.
Another sip of hot chocolate
and I remember that even near the city,
sirens and rushing people and trash
on the ground, the garden in front
of our porch is wild with untamed shrubs.
Baby's breath bloomed last week,
another surprise.

As I think back on it, a lot of things surprised me last fall, some good and some hard. Almost a year gone since all that now, and there is a lot of beauty and newness in my life, and a lot on the cusp of change. Who knows what will have to die, and what will grow this fall. I'm glad to know one thing I didn't know for sure last fall, that I have a friend who will sit beside my on the porch for the rest of my life through the trash and tumult and the new blooms.

It's already been done.

CS Lewis brings up an interesting point in the Screwtape letters. He speaks of humans’ preoccupation with the present vs. future vs. past, and reminds us that both God and the devil are outside the frame of time. He mentions that temptation is easy through setting future-related anxieties into the humans’ minds. This is interesting to think about in the mind frame of a movie, where we have not yet seen 5 minutes ahead, but that does not mean that it doesn’t already exist. Furthermore, if you videotape an event (like a kid on the swings, who then falls off and cries), playing the tape back (or videotaping it) does not stop the event from occurring or take away the unpredictability of falling off. The kid whose knee starts bleeding likely does not know that 10 minutes later he will forget about it, stop crying, and smile again. But we as the viewers (also as creatures more complex who know how these things work) can know what happens 10 mins ahead of a given point.


I think it’s like that with God. Somewhere else I heard this concept of “the Battle is already won.” And come to think of it, it really is. All the things we are longing for and praying for have already happened, if you look at it from eternity’s point of view. Our death and salvation, the end of the world, the New Earth, the fulfillment of prophesies.. they have already happened. Everything we are anxious about and fear has already been resolved. God has already taken care of it. All of our battles against our own sin and that of others, against temptation of the devil and weakness of the flesh – they are done. We are just in the early part of the movie, but that doesn’t make the later part of the movie any less true. Another theme in the Screwtape letters: ongoing small battles over the human’s attention that the devil and God both try to capture. Devil aims to tempt, God tempts to free and offer a better way. Lewis describes the devil’s attempts to bring the human farther away from God and we watch the human live, struggle, grow, and then die and enter the warm glow of heaven where everything finally makes sense and is as it was meant to be. The battle had been won. Now, instead of looking at the human’s life on earth as it is in each specific moment in life, let’s look at it as a whole timeline, or a movie. At each moment he was preoccupied with that moment or the time before or after it. But having read the book (or having ‘seen the movie of his life’), we already know the ending. We already know the battle has been won. So when we look at each moment’s struggle or joy that he is focused on, unaware of the bigger picture, we could laugh or cringe because he is preoccupied with the time frame he lives within. However, God, as not only the viewer of the movie but as the master of the world the movie takes place in, already knows the battle and how it is won. It is mind boggling, I know.

So, if you look outside the frame of time, the battle over that human’s heart had already been won even when he was just born. It had been won at the moments of his worst failures and the most uninteresting of days.

Perhaps we will not see how it all plays out, but we can trust and know that the battle has already been won outside the frame of time. The people we have been praying for – God has already heard our prayers. It has already been done. The Battle is already won. His good has already overcome the sin and evil. And while this concept is kind of tough to chew and swallow and comprehend, it can also be calming. We worry what will happen tomorrow and how this and that will turn out. We fear for the future of our parents and our children, and what the earth will look like when it runs out of natural resources. We worry whether God really hears our requests and petitions and we worry that we have not prayed enough for the people and things that truly matter. But that all has to do with the worries of tomorrow, which Jesus himself asks us to not worry about (Matthew 6:34). Outside the frame of time, it has already been taken care of. The Battle has already been won.

I think this idea can be especially comforting in the times of anxiety, because anxiety revolves worry over events on the small scale and within the frame of time. His Victory in the battle is beyond time and beyond our lifetimes. And it has already happened. It’s like if we lived in a snow globe and worried about interactions and events within that snow globe, but all that mattered was whether or not God moves the snow globe over from the bookshelf to the table. And that part has already been done. The battle has already been won.

Another interesting thought: when describing heaven, Lewis states that the human recognizes the angels and God and says something along the lines of “I should have known all along”. In The Great Divorce, Lewis also mentions, though, that life and reality and truth can only be understood through living them forward in time. but the days and years lived forward on earth are not all. there's more. the way eternity works can't be fully explained or understood while we are here on earth.

This brings me to this thought I once had that maybe we already know heaven and God, and just “forgot” it. We run around this maze of life as conspirators, tagging each other, recognizing it through touch, or running into things that make us remember bits and pieces of Heaven. Maybe our whole lifetimes are the journey of recalling our already existing familiarity with Him. And in the frame of eternity, (not necessarily today or tomorrow), we can say we do already know Him, and we do already know Heaven. Because in eternity we have seen it, and are already there since the Battle has already been won.

Only one thing

This weekend I visited the camp where I worked for years as a counselor, and earlier attended as a camper. It is always beautiful to return. After a day full of sailing, volleyball, swimming, catching up with a very dear friend, I lay on a bench and looked up at the (rather cloudy) sky.

There was a time, here, 3 years ago: lying under the stars with my 16-year-old girls, I ask the question "Where have you been in your relationship with God over the past year?" They all share, and one girl is left. "I can't have a relationship with God," she says, and after some prodding..."because I am gay." And after that moment of truth come many difficult and beautiful and important conversations, whispered in a bunk, confessions, assurances that God's love is bigger. We can't resolve things this summer, but we've cracked through and we are dealing with the real stuff, the gospel, our longings and fears, the stuff that counts.

Another time, sitting on one of these very benches, 5 years ago: hurt and confused and doubting and crying to my director Ellen, telling her the gospel feels empty to me, that I don't need to be forgiven of sin, that while I know I still love and need God, the message of the cross is a formula that doesn't ring true. She retells the message of the cross to me in a way that lets me hope it is my very uncertainty and brokenness that Christ bore.

Waking every morning to this lake, to prayer, to knowing that this may be the one or two or seven days that I have left to love these 10 girls that are sleeping in my cabin, these girls who flirt for validation or cut themselves or have too many questions or long to be closer to God. These girls who need the gospel, need to know God's infinite love.

Look at me now, I've forgotten to live this way, this simple way, where there is only one purpose---loving people and helping them encounter God. To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me (col 1:29). Now, rather, it's checklists, and getting things done, and making sure I am seeing the friends I should see, and conserving the resources I should conserve, and teaching the people I should teach, and defending myself against the ever-encroaching conflicts and weariness and demands.

Unfortunately this is all too familiar. Posted above my desk at work is an index card which I don't see anymore because it's been there too long: "Martha Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed."

Press on the gas and press on toward the goal

People visiting America from abroad always have insightful things to say about the culture here. With their outsider's perspective, they notice and remark on aspects of our society that I often leave unexamined but that are worth contemplating.

A few years ago, I was listening to a radio interview with an Italian musician who was traveling America at the time, Vinicio Capossela, and he made one of the most shocking and revelatory observations I've ever heard. He said something along the lines of, "When I travel from city to city, I notice that Americans are a very lonely people. They spend so much time alone in their cars, just going back and forth, looking sad."

That social observation may be obvious to a lot of people, but to me, it really struck an emotional chord because when I heard it, I instantly realized that I am totally that lonely American, the one who is always making long drives alone, who longs for company but is walled off by not only a car's protective steel cage but also by other barriers -- some perhaps stronger than any industrial alloy.

When I heard that interview, I was, of course, sitting in my car by myself.

One would think that with cell phones there's no reason to ever really be lonely in the car. I thought about that too, but it only made me realize another thing about my isolation, which is: to a great extent, I'm lonely by choice.

If my social life were an orchard, then my friends would be like fruit on the branches. All I have to do is reach out and grab them. The only problem is that I've got my hands stuck in my pockets a lot.
Fortunately, I've been blessed with many friends who constantly reach out to me and continually forgive me when I selfishly ignore them. (I am after all, as many of my friends know, a fiercely independent and often aloof CAT -- or at least a very cat-like person.) The point is that I'm often lonely by my own accord -- and I'm still figuring out why I'm like this, as many Americans probably are too.

* * *

Lately, as I've been driving myself home, I've been experiencing myself taking this strange enjoyment in some of the hardships in my life, including loneliness. I roll the windows down, suck in the fresh wind and just sort of smile to myself in spite of the pain. Maybe the suffering makes me feel like a true artist. Or maybe it's finally getting past my thick skull that "all things work together for good." (Romans 8:28). Am I actually starting to rejoice in my suffering as per the Word's instruction? If so, praise God! (Footnote: the oft-quoted Romans 8:28 doesn't say that the things we suffer are good; it says that God makes them work together for good. Cancer, death, accidents, etc. are still tragic.)

Upon further reflection, being alone in my car really isn't that bad of a deal. First, something that the Italian musician probably doesn't know about America is that there is essentially free access to incredibly uplifting wisdom and truth in every car in America. It can be found on Christian radio stations, which do send out some junk, but at the same time also regularly broadcast powerful sermons and messages for no charge. Europe doesn't really have that.

My favorite programs feature powerful Biblical counseling (Hope in the Night) and people telling stories about God's goodness and faithfulness in their lives (FamilyLife).

Also, for the believer, being alone in the car can be some of the best time to spend with God. For me, sometimes I'll turn off the radio and start thinking and acting as if Jesus himself is sitting in the passenger seat. I'll literally take a sip of my Gatorade and then hold out the bottle saying, "Here, Jesus, want some?" Then I'll proceed to talk out loud about my life with Him. It's kind of silly, but God is always with me and I do stuff like that just to try to remind myself of how real He is.

The other day, I was thinking about my habit of driving with Jesus sitting shotgun and I realized: wow, you know what, Jesus isn't just sitting in the passenger seat next to me, He is actually living within me too. That's how close my God wants to be with me -- so involved with my soul that He wants to dwell in me. Pretty amazing!

* * *

Christians often describe their lives as a "walk of faith." Well, since this is America -- the land of highways and byways -- it would also be fitting over here to say the "drive of faith."

In my "drive of faith," I'm looking forward to getting to know some of my permanent passengers better each day -- the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I've also learned that my relationships with other people will be healthiest when my relationship with the Godhead is healthy. By the grace of God, I've already seen salubrious gains there, and I'm excited to press on and cruise with friends as we road trip towards the Celestial City!

More Than a Game

Some of my fondest childhood memories are from when I played on a soccer team for the first time with my elementary school classmates.

When I think back about my "rookie" season, I remember all these fun moments like getting my own jersey and thinking that was so cool, playing in front of a cheering crowd in the rain, and cramming into a van with teammates and going crazy after we had all drank way too much soda.

Like a lot of activities at that age, sports were innocent in the sense that they were all about having fun and trying your best. What more can a kid do? That season, one coach said that our team was built on the foundation of three P's: positioning, passing, and pizza. Good times.

The age of innocence never lasts though.

The next season I played, I remember some of my teammates talking about "select" teams for the first time, which were exclusive squads that you had to try out for, a new concept to me. I also remember one game when I ran for a ball, got shoved to the ground by an opponent, and then couldn’t breathe despite gasping hard. I had never gotten the "wind knocked out of me" before, and I really thought I was going to die at that moment. While these examples of increased levels of competition were actually good for me (and in my opinion generally healthy experiences for kids), they were also early signs that sports were becoming a lot more serious -- more organized, more time-consuming, more violent, more important. As a kid who loved athletics though, I took most of the changes in stride, and I would go on to play various sports in high school and college.

Today, about 20 years after my first soccer game, I still feel exhilarated while playing sports and even still think it’s cool to have my own jersey (with my name on the back!) for my adult league hockey team. Essentially, being out on the hockey rink, tennis court or soccer field with friends makes me feel like a kid again sometimes. However, as a twenty-something who’s becoming more and more self-aware thanks to caring friends and God, I’m also coming to realize how I have an incredibly unhealthy relationship with sports.

Now, as the only male writer for this blog, I feel compelled at this point to present my worldview and gender theory on why guys are so obsessed with sports, because I’m sure that some people have always thought ESPN and the Super Bowl are much ado about nothing. Let’s start with the absolute basics: (1) men and women are different and (2) we live in a fallen world where we often base our identities on everything else except for being children of God who are unconditionally loved.

That being said, men and women both doubt their self-worth, yet they doubt themselves in very different ways. Men doubt themselves by asking, “Am I strong?” and “Do I have what it takes to succeed?” Women doubt themselves by asking questions such as "Am I beautiful?" and "Am I worth being pursued?" and other queries that are too complicated for me.

With that paradigm in place and with the knowledge that Satan attacks people where they’re most vulnerable by using lies, it’s easy to see why many men struggle with the fear of failure and why many women struggle with their body image.

Going back to my relationship with sports, my problem is that I derive a shameful -- and false -- amount of my self-worth based on my performance in athletic endeavors.

Since men are seeking the affirmation of their ability to perform, one can see how athletic competition is a de facto character proving ground. There are detailed statistics for measuring yourself. There are clear winners and losers. There are individual awards. Then of course, there are people who value your contributions and achievements and will praise you for them.

Now, at face value, enjoying sports and pursuing excellence in them are actions that fit right in with the Christian lifestyle. After all, the benefits are good health, which is treating your body like a temple; getting to enjoy the Creation; ministry opportunities; and more. The apostle Paul makes multiple faith metaphors using athletics as well. Yet for me, it’s the classic pitfall of a good thing becoming an idol because I value it more than Christ and his teachings.

To fully explain all the unhealthy aspects of my relationship with sports would be way beyond the scope of a blog post -- because there are so many. But I’ll close by detailing one dimension that I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, which is my desire to be the star, the center of attention, the frontman.

On one of the hockey teams that I played on a year ago, I had established myself as the best player by scoring the most points throughout the season, and I eagerly accepted the benefits that came with having that role.

In the world of team sports, when you’re the leading scorer on a team, you gain special privileges. You can berate your teammates for under-performing, you can take up as much playing time as you want, and you can generally “call the shots,” so to speak. Further, no matter how much you carry yourself like a prima donna, as long as you produce results that lead to victories, everything is justified. Also, when you're good at something that other people are trying to be good at too, those people will pay attention to you as they watch you a little more closely, trying to observe how you do things, their eyes sometimes transfixed on you as they seek to figure out your secret to success, even as they watch you do something mundane like walking through a parking lot. It's flattering.

It’s probably very similar to being the lead singer in a band, the star of a musical, the soloist in an ensemble, the head of a research team, etc. Basically, you know that you are needed, and that feels nice.

I wouldn’t say that I was a bad teammate on the whole, but I definitely needed to learn a lot about humility and leading by example.

On my hockey team that I mentioned, I was enjoying being the star up until a few months ago, when a new person joined the roster who was a vastly better player than I. Because my head was all puffed up from being used to receiving the star treatment, I resented having to downgrade myself to second fiddle. But soon enough, I began to recognize the benefits of not being the go-to guy.

I started to realize that being the star of the team was extremely stressful because I would put so much pressure on myself to perform since the team’s success was usually determined by how I played. When the new guy joined us and started dominating games by himself, that was actually a huge relief for me and it allowed me to simply enjoy myself again knowing that there was someone I could defer to. Instead of clenching my teeth until I scored the next goal and trying to will the team to victory, I found myself singing along with the music over the loudspeakers like I used to. It was great.

To make a spiritual analogy, it’s perfect how Jesus is the star of this game of life, the one who carries the load for the team. In all the difficult circumstances of my life, I know that Jesus is the one who will deliver. All I have to do is give him the ball (i.e. relinquish control) and follow his orders (i.e. obey). If it were all about me, then I would implode under the pressure and demands.

Am I saying that Christians should never relish taking the lead or seize the moment in the spotlight because it’s prideful? No. God blesses talented people with opportunities to use their skills -- and sometimes that involves being on a public stage. Ultimately, it’s all about acknowledging that anything good that we accomplish is only possible through the grace of God.

As I continue to enjoy playing sports in my "adult" years, I need to remind myself that the chief gameplan is to glorify God.

I think if my six-year-old self were to see me playing hockey today, he would ask, “How come you never smile when you play?”

“Thanks, kiddo,” I would respond. “I’m working on that.”

Discoveries

The thing about being in your mid-twenties is that you start to realize who you are, the things you like and the things that scare you. You see where you are like your parents, and pray for the God's grace to keep you from generational sin. You see too where God is in your heart, and you bow to your knees in gratitude, that yes, Screwtape has not completely infiltrated your soul. Your mid-twenties are the first time you can really stop, pause from life's race to check your heartbeat, where you have the wisdom to sense the venom and the gifted righteousness coursing through your veins. It's a time for deciding on what roads to take, but when you know that you will constantly be deciding.

My friend Hlase claims women reach their age of wisdom at 27- I think there's some truth to this, or at least that's the age where we can start to understand what the scope of wisdom might be and appreciate it. At 26 though, I stand in wisdom's shadow. Wisdom to me, is a serene woman, not bowled over by life's storms, an edifice looking upwards. At 26 though, I toss and blow too often like the detritis in the fierce weather patterns in the valley just below that edifice. At 26 I feel the chill of the possibility of a loveless life; not that I am not loved, but that I have not loved. And yet, I know enough to have hope and look towards that edifice, and know that at 36, 66, 86 I'll continue to look to that edifice, for wisdom, like love, hopes.

The Saddest Eyes.

the sun's reflection in the saddest eyes,
the soothing music that will save our lives,
the bitter taste of swallowing goodbyes
that she would rather feel in salty tears we cry…

the tears come down your cheeks in streams
the headache lingers on, it seems.
daydreams of smooth smooching and the saddest eyes...
those big colorful eyes, long lashes, and the tears they cry.

twas not his fault, nor was it God's.
was your own fault all along,
for building "mental castles" over parking lots
that could never fulfill their full potential.

vivid and livid, like wrestling and rising,
uprising, if i may say so, within our hearts,
conflicting thoughts; spinning and pressuring frustration,
your head explodes, but there's still no explanation.

why do we fear? why do we mumble? why do we hesitate?
our world needs more of love and courage, less of fear and hate.
And Jesus said, tomorrow will take care of itself...
So, why do we let our fears put us on the shelf?

the saddest eyes, the stabbing jabs of loneliness.
a sunray that's joyful, a sister that's playful,
a heart that is prideful, and another one that's fearful.
what could have been, would have been so good...
the saddest eyes once again grow tearful.

the sun reflecting in the saddest eyes,
reminds him of the foundation he denies.
he is familiar with the charm, enamored with the glow,
never expected to feel so low.

the summer wind rustles the leaves, the kids around are splashing,
moments of truth are still rehashing
why is it like this? I don’t even know what’s wrong.. why can't i make it full of wonder?
can't God bring a miracle? or is this presumption?

the leaves are green and time keeps going at its speed,
each second our lives are ending
the dusty wind warms up your tired flesh,
the scars won't heal, nor will they remain fresh,

in this lifetime we'll never fulfill the longings..
ego, beer, sex, marriage, and affection,
the people with whom we feel a connection,
the more we get, the more we seek another direction.

even music itself - the active act of worship,
the life dimension that makes her heart thaw -
even music itself is not enough, we know we need something more.

nothing on earth satisfies,
said the one with the saddest eyes.

Deepening

A confession: It's hard for me to see growth in my life in the recent months.

Another: Or even recent years.

But a month ago, catching up with old friends, I chose "deepening" to describe my experience of the past year. Deepening, I said without thinking too much. I meant vaguely that I'd been affected in a profound way by the challenges of work, the challenges of community, the challenges of relationships, and most of all the experience of finally--for the first time in my sheltered, blessed life--tasting the sorrow of death.

Sometimes I feel silly bringing up again and again Grandma's death. It is not unique. Almost everyone age 12 and up has experienced the death of a grandparent; many of you a death of a friend or even parent. But Grandma's death, like her life, has affected me deeply. I still am trying to understand why, how, and how long. With grieving, what is too much and what is not enough? What is love and what is wallowing? I know that I was zapped of energy the first 3 months. I felt sad that people didn't understand that. I know that I am more scared of losing people, more aware of mortality, hold my family more precious. I'm playing the piano again sometimes. I've added two items to the queue of jobs to consider: "nursing assistant in a nursing home" and "hospital chaplain." I hope I also have a deeper understanding of loss and more compassion for those who are experiencing it. I think that's what I mean by deepening.

The plants in my garden this spring are waiting for something. The basil, peppers, and tomato plants haven't grown any taller than when I planted them. But I just learned their roots are probably very active right now. Deepening. Healthy root growth happens under two conditions--the soil has to be warm and loose enough, but also the roots grow most when the shoots aren't growing--early spring, late fall. You might plant a tree one summer and it spends a whole year seemingly dormant. It doesn't grow much until the following summer, but the roots have been deepening all along, preparing the way.

Like our lives. There are times, I am learning, where we don't grow above ground. I feel like I'm still in the same place I was 3 years ago. Still pattering around trying to make up my mind about "vocation" and "work." Still waiting for things to settle with my community, my city, to feel like I belong in a place long-term. Still making the same mistakes, the same sins, even moving spiritually backwards in some cases, or so it feels.

But surely I am deepening--learning to garden, learning to pray, learning to accept the loss of a leaf here and there, learning to mourn. Surely these roots will soon drink some living water and bring forth a mangled, misshapen, worm-filled, delicious tomato.

This is the day that the Lord has made

This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. ~Psalm 118:24.

That is all. Just stop for a while, think about that. This day, is not ours. It is God’s. God made it. It belongs to Him. Just like the thousands of other days in our lives. That can both speak to the day’s beauty, and the day’s responsibility. But it also speaks to who is really in charge – whether we fulfill our responsibility or fail to, whether we appreciate the beauty or not. This day would not exist if the Lord did not make it. We are not the masters of our time, nor our belongings, nor our surroundings, nor the air we breathe. Each day and everything it entails is manufactured by He who is far stronger and greater than us and beyond our understanding.

How do we apply that? Perhaps it can put things into perspective. Help not waste time. Appreciate, be thankful for… everything that is in the day. Acknowledge that our time belongs to Him and seek out His purpose in it. Pray and reflect with thanksgiving. Share joy. Be silent. Make music, make art, make beauty. Give up our belief in our power over our days. It belongs to Him.

child of God

i was thinking how this has been a great spring, a great lent/easter season, etc. a part of me is a bit nervous that future ones will never live up to as good as this one, with so many revelations and joy.

and then i thought about this concept of being a child of God. i remmember so recently, this past fall, being mad at God, bitter, and cynical. i was mad at Him, and in return He gave me knowledge, passion, joy, and growth. that's God's terms of justice and fairness. i am just His small child, throwing temper tantrums from time to time, but realizing that He loves me all along and no less. as time goes on i get over the tantrums and notice that all along He's been building up good gifts for me. i am a silly , immature, moody child, but He loves me so much and gives me so much.

most of these moments of clarity came about while driving.. huh. interesting. i have been feeling increasingly guilty about the environmental impact and whatnot.. yet it's been so good to have clarity and peaceful thoughts and revelations practically every day. i think i am seeing myself submit to Him much more and grow lots. perhaps biking can provide revelations, too.

gotta remember. God chooses the lowly things of this world to educate the higherups. He chooses the children and the unwise. and i am a child of His and He loves me so much! i am not worthy, but i am lowly, that is why by His grace, He uses me.

perhaps y'all can relate?

Decisions.

Why do I feel so incapable of making any future decisions? I know that God is good, but I don't know what's a better path to take. I do not feel a pull in either direction, and I am afraid I don't know what's my interest and what's God's. And discernment aside, logically, one could justify taking either option. How will I know where to go?


In the Screwtape Letters, CS Lewis writes that God wants us to be concerned with what we do, whereas the devil wants us to be concerned with what will happen to us, producing anxiety and worry. In this situation, i think i really am trying to find what to do and how to serve Him best, but i am anxious about letting somebody down. what is one to do when they really don't know what direction to take?

I have thought back to what my roommate had said, that sometimes God gives us answers in bits and things may be revealed with time. That pushes me to strongly focus on patience and trusting that He WILL provide direction. But time is running out and I am being asked what I have decided..

Hmm.

Broccoli and Brain Food

One of my favorite pop culture moments happened when the crafts tycoon Martha Stewart made an appearance on CBS's The Early Show in 2002. At the time, Stewart was under intense public scrutiny because of allegations that she had cheated the public by fraudulently trading stocks.

During the cooking segment of that show, Stewart was shredding lettuce when one of the hosts started to aggressively question her about her legal troubles. As the tension on the set rose, Stewart awkwardly continued mixing fruits and vegetables. The host would not relent, but Stewart eventually performed a brilliant evasive maneuver by cutting the host off and then delivering the now famous line, "I just want to focus on my salad." Everyone was stunned, and Stewart was temporarily off the hook as the hosts tried to process her remark.

Even though she would later be found guilty of the charges, I've always liked her quote because, first, it's hilarious and also because it touches on a concept that I really like, which is finding peace and refuge in a hobby.

For Martha Stewart, there was shalom in making a salad.

Now, I'm not trying to argue that it's acceptable for people to suppress the truth or to escape reality; however, I believe that there are legitimate situations when people should block out the rest of the world and simply enjoy a hobby.

In my life, there have been times when I was intensely struggling with something -- from physical trials to unrequited "love" -- and I felt like my entire existence was being hijacked by my problem, despite my best efforts to resist. No matter how hard I tried to focus on God, his Word, his goodness and his promises, I couldn't stop myself from being consumed by my own sin-tainted thoughts and worries. Yet I've learned that one of the ways that God has comforted me during those hard times was by blessing me with the opportunity to do a hobby I love such as building Legos or playing hockey, which provided me with some much needed mental relief.

I think a lot of people would say that some of their favorite hobbies actually require very little brain power too. When you're doing them, your instincts take over and you don't even have to think -- or at least not very hard. There's freedom in that. You're having fun and you don't even know it.

As magnificent as the human mind is, with its power to create massive fictional worlds and its ability to process incredibly complex ideas, it is also vulnerable to going haywire. For me, when I'm under stress and I allow my thoughts to wander freely, it can get ugly. That's when I need my "mindless" fun!

I think the Apostle Paul experienced the blessing of hobbies too. While it's clear from his writing that Paul was a very intelligent and highly educated man who could debate philosophy, law and ethics with the best of them, Paul was also someone who worked with his hands as a tent maker (Acts 18:3).

I'm sure there were times when Paul was in the midst of a crazy trial -- such as persecution -- but in spite of that was still able to find moments when he would think about nothing else except for one simple task: building a tent. Maybe one time his friend was pestering him about preparing rebuttals for certain arguments against the gospel that they would hear at the synagogue the next day, and Paul responded with something along the lines of, "Honestly, I'm just focused on cutting this fabric right now. Hand me that knife please."

Does this mean that Paul was ignoring God or distracting himself from his true mission? No, in fact, I believe he was glorifying God through his work, which rejuvenated him and in turn prepared him for other kingdom work. When Paul finished a high-quality tent, I think God would have said -- though maybe not explicitly -- "well done good and faithful servant."

It's a beautiful thing how God has given every person certain interests and desires that can serve as their outlets in difficult times. Because of that blessing, someone can say, "Yeah, the divorce is getting really messy but I'm going to go practice organ now because I'm playing at service tomorrow." Or someone can say, "I'll deal with that after I'm done sailing." For those people, it's nice to momentarily live in a peaceful world shrunk down to the size of their crafts.

These days, I do have some things that are weighing heavily on me, and I know that I need to get in the Word and pray while "girding up the loins of my mind." (1 Peter 1:13). But I also need to remind myself that when I go to lunch and get to the salad bar, I have to remember Martha Stewart's quip, to put all my trying circumstances aside, and to just enjoy myself and "focus on my salad."

early in the morning on the first day of the week...

from a woman not so unlike me, 2000 years ago:

i had just begun to think maybe it was all worthwhile. all the smallness, the awkwardness of my early life. the way i lost my family when i went to my husband, the fisherman. the many times i wanted to say something to my husband, to explain, but didn’t. because i knew he wouldn’t understand.

i had finally found someone who let me belong, who listened. even when i didn’t speak, he seemed to understand. seemed to take all that fear and drudgery and infuse it with hope.

but i guess i was wrong. and now its over, and what is hope? why did i put all my hope in one place? he is gone now. i saw it myself, when the light went out of his eyes. that terrible day, i was reduced again to silence in the face of his mockers.

and the worst is that despite all appearance of despair, something in me won’t let go. it seemed, as he sat silent before the crowd, and silent on his cross, that he knew something more than we know. it seemed that perhaps he would defy them all and come down, miraculous...make all things well...

but instead he left us alone. i’ve no idea what to do, but keep attending him, loving him now as i did then, hoping in him now as i did then, though it is hopeless now. i can’t sleep this morning so mary and i will go down to his tomb and bring fragrances, our last act of love to him who left us on a path to nowhere.

God please make something beautiful of this mess...

to a friend

i thought of you today,
driving around in the blooming air of springtime, breathing in fresh grass,
it reminded me of beautiful times with you, and your appreciation for every day of life
the blue skies and warm breeze reminded me of your desire to live on a farm in the country land,
and your house with the barn

i remember being so jealous of you due to a certain circumstance,
wondering why i got stuck behind in the previous stage of life
you, with your jacuzzi and your furry cat, and games to play and wool to knit
you, with your colorful and artful side.
you, taking in with joy each breath of life.

and now we see the crystal vows have become dull and lost their shine
the dreams shattered into pieces,
yours and mine.
we also see rebirth and resurrection:
joy, fresh grass, renewed life, and spring.

and you and i have ended up similar to each other
(i would say),
except this sunny april day, as i breathed in the freshness,
i have concluded it's ok for you to stay
right where you want to be, out in the country,
i won't keep pressuring you to move into the city,
(unless of course your calling takes you here)
because i care for you, and want you to enjoy nature to the fullest.
thousands of years have not undermined God's creation's glory
on this april day, go take it in.

A life imagined

I wake early and I am out the door in minutes. I cannot be groggy in this brisk morning air. The walk through the woods is a mile long, but the birds sing, and so do I. You are with me when I sing. I sift dirt through my fingers as I pull weeds; I sift the thoughts, relationships, and responsibilities through my mind but they do not worry me. Tiny green leaves miraculously rise from the ground. When I return I think of sitting down to pray, but find I've been praying all morning long. I go to see my good friend Georgia this morning. We drink a cup of coffee and laugh. Then we work to write about her family, her songs, her history. It is a project that I began several years ago. We work slowly, but there is time. The afternoon is for the children. I arrive early to practice the piano. It is discipline that brings joy. When the girls come at 2, we sing, learn piano, and talk about the things that people talk about in quiet voices at night. I feel you in the silences, and know they do too. There is no doubt they are yours. The day closes and I sit on the porch to thank you and to write these interwoven stories that beg to be told. A friend interrupts, and we run out in the street with a frisbee. I will not get back to my writing tonight. Even as the night falls I do not fear the time; I am younger now than when I was not so old. The golden trees will be there tomorrow. The children are sleeping and they are loved. This longing as I gaze at the moon is neither sorrow nor anxiety but only the certain hope that I will see tomorrow, for I know that tomorrow will be as pregnant as today.

Resurrection(s)

When my good friend Margarita invited me to contribute to this blog, I was excited at the prospect and I asked her what the title was.

"Resurrections," she said. Honestly, I wasn't too crazy about that title right away because, for me, it conjured up images of zombies, vampires and other nasty things crawling out of graves and wandering in the night. (Yeah, I've seen too many sci-fi movies.)

I also rarely think about resurrection in the plural sense, and further, I don't think people even say "resurrections" -- just like no one says "furnitures" or "pastas". There's the resurrection in the same way that there's the White House, singular.

However, once I put aside my gut reaction and started thinking about what it means for the believer to be "raised with Christ," it didn't take me long before I figured out that the founders of the blog were probably exploring this idea of how resurrections are all around us in various ways.

At the individual level, each believer is a new and glorious creation in Christ, a resurrection. And within the story of that person's life, there will be many parts where the gospel makes seemingly dead things come to life, such as broken relationships, forgotten and suppressed talents, and lost hopes. At the Creation level, there are villages that have seen land that had previously been absolutely barren for decades suddenly flourish after prayer.

These are all, for lack of a better term, mini or micro resurrections. Christ rising from the grave and securing eternal life is the macro and ultimate resurrection.

Maybe I'm getting the concept of resurrection confused with restoration since the two are closely related, but either way, it's amazing that true life is springing forth here and now, that it's a free gift, and that it will one day be the only thing we know.

The background graphic of this blog, a grass field with plants and seeds, is somewhat ironic because all those things will eventually die, yet I also think it's a good image for celebrating eternal things because, as the Bible says, "So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable." (1 Corinthians 15: 42)

What has been resurrected is eternal -- along with the good works that come out of that -- and I'm looking forward to celebrating those things through this blog.

the tragedy of disconnectedness

i do not think we'll ever get to be what we could be
we are already not what we have been,
at least not what i thought we had been
sometimes i look at these things you say and wonder , "who are you?"
i thought i knew you,
i thought i knew you well
it's sad: it seems we cannot be what i thought we could be
because i think it could have been quite good..

it's a little painful, swallowing the bitterness of endings
and new beginnings that do not include us marching to the beat of the same drum
but i will vow to be patient.
God has something good for me,
i know He does, it just takes time to watch it blossom
but every time i get the joyful reminders,
they come around the same time as the bitter stabs of pain,
i am reminded that i can be patient, for His promise is good.

someday it will all make sense, and the bitter pain will melt away
i will be at peace completely, and be happy
as will you.

i watch you chase your own tail and the empty packages filled with nothing
it's sad and i miss having you around
i miss having you understand me and knowing that we share in life.

perhaps one day you will see what i'm running after
and it will illuminate your life
perhaps one day you will no longer chase the crap
perhaps we'll finally share in Life.

until then, i promise to be patient
cuz God is working, every day.

i think this is the biggest tragedy of humanity:
missed opportunities
to get to connect with each other
sometimes i long to get to know a person closer,
but they resist out of their own accord.

and i think this is why facebook takes up so much of our time-
we long to grow in our connections to others,
we want to know that we belong,
but throw away the chances God gives us to do so in real life.
do we really know each other?

Rest in Pillows

One sunny afternoon, I was running down the national mall in my ripped corduroy jacket and sweatpants with an abnormally light backpack on my back. Struggling to run across the grass as quickly as possible, I passed by two tall twenty-something white guys and giggled. Their large Target brand bags revealing the obvious pillows, they smirked and asked if I was going to the same place. “Uh huh!” I exclaimed, with an unmistakable excitement in my voice.

My friend Ryan was sitting by the fountain and smiling as he waved me down. “I think they are starting,” he said as soon as I took off my jacket and backpack. We heard cheering as we ran in, leaving behind everything but our pillows.

There it was. Pandemonium! People – humanity - dancing the soulful dance of life without missing a step. Sprinting to sneak slams of softness, we giggled and grunted. We came there, weary and bogged down by the obligations and notions, and we climbed out of them the way we did our jackets, tossing them aside with backpacks, to be forgotten, even if only for a minute. We engaged in childlike play, and I pray that at least some of us can taste the childlike faith. No time or opportunity to over-analyze or trivialize. We existed in simple thankfulness, confidence, and peace.

I saw the reflection of the sun in the stranger’s eyes and giggled with her as we were both ambushed by the pillows of grown adults and small children. People of all shapes and sizes were laughing together, sharing in joy, and connecting in a nonverbal way. Now, that’s what I call nonverbal communication! On the outskirts of the naturally formed circle, photographers performed complex acrobatics as they struggled to protect expensive cameras while documenting the beautiful battle of peace.

An outsider approached me asking what it was about, and I said honestly that “people just decided to have a pillow fight and there it is.”

Nothing else mattered besides the energy exchanged between the tens or hundreds of us, constantly in motion and squishiness. Issues of race, identity, sexuality, purpose... They didn’t matter anymore. Neither did our political views, church affiliations, self-image, choice of words, salary, dating history, number of friends, and guilt. It didn’t matter if we did our devotionals or lived sustainably, if we drove or biked or rode the bus. It didn’t matter if anyone in our family had cancer or if we had a 401k account. It didn’t matter who might like who or who is getting married next, or who told a lie, or who didn’t like their roommates. Didn’t matter if your grandma is alive or if you were a bad friend because you didn’t provide your friend the right kind of support when hers was dying. Didn’t matter if you missed the fun concert your friends all went to, or if your crush was potentially interested in somebody else. Didn’t matter what your parents think of your life choices or what you will be like as a parent yourself. Didn’t matter how many people thought you were ugly or cute or what your grades were. Didn't matter if you had pimples and which desires of yours hadn't been fulfilled. Didn’t matter if you were an awkward loner or had a hard time trusting others in the past. Didn’t matter what sin you struggled with for hundreds of days. Didn’t matter what mistakes you or your parents or your spouse made. Didn’t matter whom you have hurt or where you have failed. Joy was present and the struggles were forgotten.

“What a bunch of fools!” one may exclaim watching the occasion from the outside. Many of us were young professionals, college graduates who carry important titles and wear black socks to work. But today, we shed these scaly dead skins of identity and were just children of God. I think that is why so many people wanted to watch and document the occasion.. Because it was so freeing to see the simple things transcend the complexities of modern society.
“Come to me, all you weary,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest.” (Matt 18:28) His yoke is easy and his burden is light (like a pillow!). We came weary of our job titles, degrees and snobbery, heartbreak and arrogance, selfishness and loneliness. We came weary of wearing black socks while watching radiation spread in Japan, and weary of hurting the humanity that Jesus loved so much. Weary of our own sin and the sin of others, the toils and tears of life. Weary of banging our heads against the wall and failing to find Peace on Earth. And He gave us Rest - in pillows, but not in sleep. Rest in a joyful mystery that transcended the politics and confusion of this political place.

“I think there will be pillow fights in heaven!” I blurted out, my joy uncontainable. People around me laughed in a way that made me think they did not understand.

I had seen glimpses of God’s presence in a Heavenly way. Maybe some prophet spoke of something like this. I don’t know. This reminded me of the time that I saw the patients of a local psychiatric hospital going out on a day pass. Smelly, stuttering, unsteady gait… Looking misshapen and confused. I saw them and immediately thought of the Heaven that Brennan Manning talked about in the Ragamuffin gospel: a heaven of clowns and weirdos, or something like that. When I saw them, I thought, this is what heaven will be like. Joyful, with a bunch of misshapen unsteady ragamuffins. Today, on the national mall, I got to be one of them.

Flash forward two days. Several people sent me a link to a photo of myself in the Washington Post pillow fight archive. Excited to share the joy of the experience, I also felt stupid and self-centered. “What a bunch of fools”, one may say… spending so much time and energy on pictures of a childish pillow fight, when the world has got wars and disasters to worry about. When the US government is about to shut down, AIDS epidemic is infecting and killing people by the second, thousands of people are oppressed by dictators and greed, and the earth’s resources are running out...

Maybe it is foolish, to care so much about just a pillow fight. Or is it not?

The old order of things has passed away

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

-Revelation 21:1-4

There is a 62-year-old woman who is my client, and my friend, let's call her Georgia, and she doesn't know how to read. She loves the Bible (Hallelujah!) so I'm teaching her to read Psalms (Amen!) and I decide to show her Revelation 21. So we read, slowly, stumbling over first, earth, Jerusalem, bride. The first time through Georgia confuses them and they, live and like, heaven and holy. It's harder than I thought it would be, takes us about 10 minutes to get through the 4 verses. So I say, OK, I'll read it through one time, and then you'll do it again. I read slowly as she points to the words, and when I get to verse 4 Georgia is just whispering every word along with me. I finish and we look at each other, in silence. There are still tears on earth so we're almost crying it's so beautiful, and she shakes her head. "Katie, thank you for showing me this one."

Today she tells me something I don't know: "Way back in the seventies, I had twin baby girls, and I lost them. Katie, my mother told me that some day I would understand why." Georgia lost her mother, her role model and best friend, 4 years ago. "My mother told me, look at you a single black woman on welfare, you already have one child. Maybe God has a reason for everything." Georgia's other child, a son, is now in prison for life. "And when my son started going with the wrong crowd, and got locked up, she told me, everything's going to be OK." The old order will be gone. The pain will be gone. Her sins and the sins of her son will be gone.

I ask Georgia to read the passage one more time. She reads slowly, but this time she only needs help with holy and throne. When she gets to the end she holds her hand up to the sky, to God, and says "Amen."

Normally when we finish reading a passage I ask comprehension questions. I think she already understands this one far more than I do.

first post

once upon a time, there was a community living at the west hyattsville house. one girl who lived there really enjoyed writing. one day, her roommate was having a hard time, and the girl decided to share with her the gift of writing by sending her the written out story of her faith.

the roommate enjoyed the story and became inspired to share thoughts and revelations with others through the gift of writing. in fact, for lent she committed to a discipline of daily writing. the moments of clarity came and went, but now they were captured in writing. and although lent is not over yet, the roommate can already say that writing has been, and is, good.
we hope to be a collaboration of writers and have our friends write and share their thoughts and revelations as well.