Hands Possessed by Violence

It's everywhere. It's suffocating.

I was just talking to a dear friend of mine. The conversation began with small talk, proceeded to future plans in life, and then moved into the deeper parts of life. The deeper parts of spiritual life. I am not "in the know" as far as movies and up-coming movies are concerned, and he was filling me in on the list of flicks about to emerge. Things like movies on Spider Man, Thor, Superman, Batman, and Mortal Combat. As we spoke, I was struck hard by just how much violence is on the TV screen. How much violence is rooted into our culture. How much violence we tolerate and celebrate. Daily.

This year I had an interesting experience with a movie based on the popular book "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" which left me reeling and broken inside. I used to be a violence addict in high school, my favourite movie was "300" and if an action movie wasn't rated at least R, then I wasn't interested. . . . But I can't stand it anymore. My nerves can't take it, my mind can't take it, I get sickened by the children of God bashing each other around on screen. Yes, it's all fake and dramatized. But it's based on life. Real life. A life where killing and murdering are both done in the name of freedom, justice, peace, and even love. . . . LOVE. "Killing in the name of love." Now that is one messed up sentence.

When a murderer gets murdered, it's seen as good. When anything that infringes our rights as a human being or a citizen, we want to see it dead. Yes, freedom, justice, peace, and love are all things to be sought after and are dear to God's heart! But if stopping the violence is done through more violence... is that right? No, it's not. it's not even close to being right.

We're possessed. We're possessed by a spirit of violence. It flows through everything we do. The way that society views relationships, friendships, social structures, work, sex, and justice is completely rooted in violence. We live out our lives on a battle field where only the brutal survive. Evil necessitates evil. Yuck. That sickens me. There's no such thing a lesser of two evils. EVER. Yet we sit here convincing ourselves that evil men deserve evil ends. Who are we to decide what anyone deserves??? Who are we to say that they don't deserve God's grace, just as much as I do?? Who are we to say that there's no chance for them and their road needs to end????

I'm tired of it. I'm tired of hurt people who hurt people. I'm tired of hands that are possessed by violence.

I want hands that heal... at least I can hold onto a hand that heals...

I want to live in the culture of Heaven. On earth, as it is in Heaven.

Nothing.

I want God. I want Him every way I can find Him. I don't believe that all roads lead to God... But I desire, more than anything, to go find God on every single road.

I'm in Canada right now, but I don't want to be here. I want, more than anything, to jump on a plain right now - heading to Calcutta. I wish I was already there. I wish Mother Teresa was still alive and that I could go learn from her and work beside her. I wish that Dietrich Bonhoeffer was still alive so that I could go and learn from him about giving everything for Christ. I wish that I could go anywhere, so long as it was not here, and learn what it is to be nothing. But I'm still here... trying to learn what it is to be nothing.

I want God. I want Him every way I can find him. I want to spend my life living in the culture of Heaven. On earth as it is in Heaven. Jesus tells me to care for the widows and orphans. I want to go and do that. I want to be selfless. I want to be fearless. I want to be loving... But I'm not.

I want to have nothing and give everything.

But I don't.

There's a lot of things I don't do. There's a lot of things I want to do.

I want so badly to go travel every road. and find God there.

I want God. I want Him every way I can find Him.

Hmm... Words

Today at church, I was given a word... I was given a prophetic word. I've been given these before. This isn't the first time that I've been handed a message from the Lord, and I'm ALWAYS blessed by them. They are usually inspiring, insightful, encouraging, and meaningful. . . I usually leave ready to conquer my new battle and take on the world.

This time I was scared. Really scared... God's been giving me lots of words, texts, conversations, all of them pointing to one thing... all of them pointing to something I need to do. And I don't want to do it. I'm scared. Really scared. Well, that's not completely true... I do want to do it. I do want to grab hold of this word and run with it... But I'm scared. The fear of failure overwhelms me, and I know it shouldn't. Honestly, I don't usually struggle with this. Failure is never on my list of greatest fears... or at least it rarely is.

But here I find myself... afraid to fail. My Bible is packed with texts reiterating to me the fact that I don't serve a God of failure, and that my God is ready to back me up and pour through everything I do in His name. Not only are they in my Bible, but those texts are highlighted, underlined, and commented on... So how am I in this position? Why am I in this position? And why can't I get out? . . . I want out.

The word I got in church was a good word. It was a holy word. It was from a holy man of God... I want to embrace, to cherish it, to be inspired by it, and run with it.

Pray for me.

Everything...

Something In the Eyes of Prostitutes...

I can still see them, all of them, face by face. They stand, side by side, glancing up and down at you, taking you in. I feel taken in. I feel exposed. Their looks are a mix of fear, hatred, hurt, and need. I’m not sure what to do with myself, and I look away awkwardly, continuing my run home. I am in my jogging shorts and tank top, they are all clothed in worn silk dresses or scanty shorts and low-cut necklines. These girls line the bars and clubs along the Garapan Strip in Saipan. Heading back from a market night or from my routine jog, I pass these innocents as the sun is setting just off shore.

I wake up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, disoriented. I’m in dorm room #602, Foreman Hall. My room mate sleeps beneath me. I know immediately that I’ve had the dream again, and I set my head back down on my pillow and try to clear my mind of the pictures. I can still see them. All of them. Face by face. Soul by soul. They stare into my soul and ask me what I’m living for. My heart stutters, and I don’t know what to say. I am at a loss for words. How do you tell a battered heart and a cynical mind that there’s more? It’s harder than they say it is in Sabbath School. “WWJD?” is harder to apply than your Youth Pastor said it would be. As those young girls stared at me, I knew that no words I possessed could ever lead them from their prison of prostitution into the sunlight of love.

My mind would start to argue with me: I was a Student Missionary, wasn’t I? What was I doing if wasn’t helping people who couldn’t help themselves? What was I here for anyway? Wake up, Sacha! There are people in pain lining these streets and you just keep jogging!? Then logic would fight back: I’m here to teach. I’m teaching 1st and 2nd Grade at Saipan SDA School. That’s what I’m doing. I’m reaching that group of people, those hurt souls, and the innocent hearts in my class room.

Now I find myself awake night after night, seeing faces that I passed by day after day... and I can’t tear away. I keep asking myself what I should have done. I keep re-thinking my words and my thoughts; trying to put something together that could touch these broken slaves in a sexual world. I feel their pain, their hurt, and their need; I cry for their hatred and fear. It’s extremely inconvenient. I don’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now... Oh how I wish I knew. Oh how I wish I had known.

I am not Jesus. I won’t always know what Jesus would do; but I can ask Him to be in whatever I end up doing. I can guarantee that my heart will still stutter, I can guarantee that my mouth will stutter even more. But maybe those prostitutes in Saipan weren’t interested in my eloquence or my heart’s stability. I think they just needed me to look into their eyes and feel. Feel everything that they couldn’t understand; and let them know that it hurt me too. Sometimes the walk to freedom begins in someone else’s eyes and someone else’s heart; the knowledge that you can get where they are going. We are all in slavery, and we all need help. We are surrounded by slaves every day, passing them on our way to class, or in the lines at Starbucks. We all need each other, and your problems are always worth my time. I need to be able to look in your eyes and know that what you have conquered, I can conquer too; what I have conquered, you can conquer too. Simply the knowledge that you can be free, releases a kind of freedom into my life.

Someday I’m going back to Saipan, back to the Garapan Strip. I won’t jog past this time, and I won’t regret what I do. I may stutter and I may look stupid, but I’ll do what I should have done a year ago. I’m going to let them know that there’s love. Real love. And I’ve found it, so they can find it too.

Furious activity is no substitute for understanding.

20 Years With God... What Now?

I don’t feel mature. Nope. Not even close. As a child, I thought that by the time I had reached the amazingly-awesome-crazy-cool age of 20, I would have the entire world figured out and spend my days stunning the world with my abilities and my maturity. Then I woke up as a 20 year-old going on 21 and realized that I was no where near mature.
I remember the day I was baptized. I was a 9 year old in the College Church (Yes, it was called that back then...), and Pastor Karl Haffner was my hero . As I waited in the wings behind the baptismal tank, I was nervous and excited. I felt ready. I stepped down into the tank at my official cue (Something like, “Sacha, will you please join me.”) and climbed on the stool placed in the water for me. Yes, I was short, thanks for noticing. I went under just like I had practiced, and as I came out of the water I realized something... I was not very mature. Even at age nine I noticed my own immaturity. I had expected some great revelation from God or a dove to appear, but instead I only thought about how nice it was in the water, and I hoped that Pastor Karl would hold me under longer so that I could swim around a little bit. Yeah, I was definitely feeling immature.
Sometimes I wonder how much has changed. Probably not much. And, in some ways, probably a lot. Not much has changed because I still find myself in these amazing “God moments” that are intended to change my life forever, and all I can think about is swimming. But a lot has changed because now I’m seeking out more of those “God moments.”
Inadequacy. That’s a pretty big word. And an even bigger concept. Try wrapping your mind around it sometime, and let meknow how it goes. I believe that my feelings of immaturity radiate frommy need for “adequacy.” What does God want from me? Am I doing the wrong things? What can I do to be more “spiritually mature?” What is the meaning of life? Okay, maybe not the last one, but the rest of those questions rear their ugly heads in my life far too often. I think God curses the day “living for Christ” became translated as “living up to the standard.” Adequacy. Yuck.
I asked my grandma about this the other day. I said, “Grandma, do you feel mature?” You wanna’ know her answer? Blew me away... She said, “No.” I turned to look at her with amazement and said, “Me neither.” She told me that it’s like learning a language; the more you know, the more you know you don’t know. A Chinese proverb says, “The wise man knows that he is not wise.” I’m not quite sure what that means, but it makes me feel a bit better to know that other people are confused too.
God never asked me to be mature. He never asked me to be adequate. He just tells me that He’s adequate - that He is MORE THAN ENOUGH. So I don’t have to worry. He gives me what I need when I need it. I’m glad I don’t have it all figured out right now... I’m glad that I am still looking for my purpose in life. I kind of hope that I’m looking for it until the day my life ends. I hope that I’m searching, always searching, and always unlocking new doors.
20 years with God... Maybe now it’s time to become a kid. Time to stop worrying about how mature I am, and just be happy making mud pies with Jesus. When I grow up, I want to be a kid. I want to be a kid with Jesus.

Love? Love... Love.

Love. Yeah, i just went there... Love. What are you going to do about it? It’s everywhere, isn’t it? According to everything around us, if we’re not in love, we should be in love; if we are in love, we need to be more in love. Love love love love love. Love.

I’m probably not the greatest expert on this subject. I don’t intend to date until I’m 23, and I’m extremely picking about what my man will be like when I actually do start dating him. As an RA in the Upper Columbia Academy dorms, I always told my freshmen girls “Boys are smelly, throw rocks at them.” Luckily, I never had to apprehend rock-throwing girls before they brained groups of innocent boys, but I did get the point across over the course of a year. Those freshmen girls are almost seniors now and are careful about who and how they date.

But, did I write this column just to talk about my exploration of the freshmen mind? No. That would probably be an interesting column, but it’s not quite what I intended.

Love. There I go, saying it again. What are we supposed to do about this word? Is this word all about dating? Is it just this awkward, supposedly “all encompassing” description of God that the Theology Professors throw out there all the time? Did Jesus say I’m supposed to do this with my neighbor? When I love someone, does that mean I’ll grow old with them and be wrinkly in rocking chairs with them someday? How do I love people?

What’s odd to me is how the world around us tells us to fall in love, when flipping the card over reveals endless amounts of hate. Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Which one do they really want us to do? By their standards, love means sex... I’m sorry, but that makes it really awkward to love my neighbor... And hating my neighbor makes life irritating for both of us.

So, how about we forget the world’s perspective of love, and we just focus on God’s perspective of love. It doesn’t get much easier. In fact, I think it gets harder. But it gets so much more beautiful.

This past summer I was lamenting over the idea of love. The idea of loving others. When I read my Bible, I see Jesus telling me to love like God loves... So how do I do that? It was quite a huge task laid down before me, and I felt lost to pursue it aimlessly and hopelessly until He came the second time to find me not loving like I was supposed to and therefore not worthy... Lame. That’s a sad ending to the story. And I hate sad endings. So I started talking to God about learning to love like He did. I wanted the heart of God. He was pretty darn straight with me about it, and began slowly laying out in front of me what that would look like. There was a lot of stuff I was uncomfortable with. He said that to get to know Him, I had to get to know people. He said that if I wanted to get to know people I had to get to know Him. Both are scary. Because if you want to get to know people... if you want to get to know God... you have to be willing for them to get to know you. That, my friends, is no small matter. I mean, I don’t mind spending all day telling you how wonderful you are, but turning around and telling you how much is wrong with me... No. Not so easy... and definitely not pleasant. At all. Uncomfortable is an understatement. But I told Him I’d do it. I said yes...

I really wish that my last paragraph could describe to you in detail how much of a saint I’ve become, that I love everyone unconditionally, I never judge, and how I never have struggles, so telling people about myself is easy. That would be grand. But, that would be a lie. And lying is a sin. So, I won’t lie to you... I judge. All the time. I struggle opening myself up... all the time. I struggle choosing to love... all the time. But the other side is that God slowly, day by day, gives me more of His heart. Day by day He gives me more love. I see more hurting people, and fewer social rejects. It’s a scary way to live. The search for God will lead you to people. The search for people will lead you to God. You have to be ready for both. And you have to accept them even more willingly than you feel. Acceptance isn’t what you feel, it’s what you do in spite of a feeling. I accept you because you’re a person, because you’re a piece of God, and because as we accept each other, God will meet us and show us His heart. I’m a fan of that.

The world will keep pervading us with their ideas of love and lust, with all of their ideals that all lead to hate. I’m just glad that I don’t have to be a part of that. I’m glad that I’m free and I can choose to love. Even when it sucks... Even when I don’t want to. And I guarantee there are times when I don’t want to. But I can meet God. I can meet you. I can love.

MELODY OF YOU (Sixpence None The Richer)

You're a painting with symbols deep, symphony

Soft as it shifts from dark beneath

A poem that flows, caressing my skin

In all of these things You reside and I

Want You flow from the pen, bow and brush

With paper and string, and canvas tight

The ink in the air, to dust Your light?

From morning to the black of night

This is my call I belong to You
This is my call to sing the melodies of You
This is my call I can do nothing else . . .

I can do nothing else.

You're the scent of an unfound bloom.

A simple tune

I only write variations to sooth the mood

A drink that will knock me down to the floor

A key that will unlock the door

Where I hear a voice sing familiar themes

Then beckons me weave notes in between

A tap and a string, a bow and a glass

You pour me till the day has passed....

This is my call I belong to You

This is my call to sing the melodies of You

This is my call I can do nothing else . . .

I can do nothing else.

Something To Give

It’s a loud, busy place. I would usually consider myself a confident, outgoing, unafraid university student who can blend in with almost any social structure. But every time I step through those doors and immerse myself in the crowd, I get nervous.

Every Tuesday I go to Wa-Hi and eat lunch with the high school kids. More specifically, I am eating lunch with the students currently attending the after school program and youth group every week at the City Church. Part of my job as a leader is to go and hang out with my kids every Tuesday in the midst of mayhem known only as a “public school lunch room.” The crowd is intimidating, the meals are barely palatable, and my job description is obscure. It’s an odd place to find an Adventist teacher’s kid who has been brought up in private schools their entire life. But, this is exactly where I find myself every Tuesday.

I must admit that I always end up enjoying myself as I mingle with the students. It’s refreshing to be immersed in an environment that is less. . . mature. Odd, I know, but true. Life is still mostly about fun for them and they aren’t afraid to let you know. They think that they rule the world and aren’t afraid to let you know. But I’ve found, in my interaction with them, that there are even more things they are terribly afraid to let you know.

What am I supposed to do about this? As I sat there at the lunch table, endeavoring to choke down what I hoped was chicken, I looked at all the young faces around me and I had to ask myself, “What do I have to give them?” By all accounts, it’s not much. I’m an over-worked college student who has $4 a month to her name. I hang out with a lot of other, over-worked college students who might have $14 a month to their names. We live in a world of over-worked people, who all work for over-worked people, and somewhere near the top of the food-chain there’s supposed to be someone who has it all figured out and can show us all how it’s done. ... I’m still looking for that person. I’m still looking for something to give.

In reality, when I look at those kids I see a lot of hurt. I see a lot of pain. I see empty eyes, beating hearts, and some clever masks. And the scary thing is, it looks a lot like my mirror. It’s too familiar. Far too familiar. So what makes me different? What am I supposed to give these kids? What am I supposed to do about this?

The truth is, I’m not any different. They’ve been hurt, I’ve been hurt. They need love, I need love. They are searching, I am searching. They mess up and make mistakes, I mess up and make mistakes. They fall and it hurts, I fall and it hurts. And I’m so glad that we are the same. Because I have been healed, so they can be healed. I have a God who chases me, and they have a God who chases them. I stand back up when I fall, they can stand up too. I’ve found something worth living for, and they can find something worth living for. Because there is a God who died for both of us...

I’m still not sure what I have to give to these kids, or to the world. Tuesday lunches will still be intimidating and hard to digest. But maybe the kid sitting across from me finds lunch time intimidating and hard to digest. And that’s all I need to know... God doesn’t need me to have a resume ready to hand people so they can hire me to fix their problems. I just need to know that I need Him. And I need to know that you need Him too. End of story.

FRIENDS

I have a lot of friends. I've been referred to as a "social butterfly" on many occasions... (What does "social butterfly" really mean anyway?) But I've been thinking a lot recently about those relationships that mean the most to me. The soul-mates that hold me accountable, the friendships that speak into my life, and the relationships that draw me to God. I love to see God in people. If I find a soul that draws me closer to God, they will be my friend for life. No matter what. I will cherish that relationship.

I am blessed with so many of these. I am surrounded by so many breaths of fresh air...

God's been good to me

Hangers

Tonight I attended the Walla Walla Symphony's dress rehearsal with my wonderful parents. As a child, symphonies put me to sleep and I would spend the entire performance getting elbowed in the ribs by family members because of my slumbering noises. It's not that I didn't appreciate the symphony. Not at all! But the humming of strings accompanied with the brazen noises of brass and the rhythmic patterns of tympani mallets had a calming, lulling affect on me that no other music had. I had hoped that as I grew I would become less prone to my sleepy symphonic episodes, but tonight found me struggling to keep my eyes open as I sleepily read the textbook propped up against my legs. It was time to come back to my cubicle of a dorm room and let slumber claim me in its proper place: my bed.

Being as tired I was, I took the elevator to the 7th floor of Foreman Hall with two other traveling companions. The elevator ride is relatively long compared to the average elevator ride because everything in Foreman hall is old and decrepit... Except, perhaps the people in it... The long ride means that Sacha Kravig must make more conversation because I hate the awkward "I-don't-know-who-you-are-but-I'm-gonna-try-not-to-stare-at-you-across-this-little-box-because-even-though-we-both-go-to-the-same-school-and-see-each-other-rather-often-in-this-elevator-I-don't-actually-know-you-and-I-don't-want-you-to-think-I'm-a-stalker" mentality that always accompanies long elevator rides in the dorm. Glancing around for some conversation starter, I noticed something in the corner of the elevator... it was a hanger. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a hanger... Like, the kind you use to hold clothes in a closet. A white, wire hanger abandoned by some poor soul who saw no real purpose for it and chose to leave it alone and helpless in the great wide world of the elevator. I stared at it for a moment and then stooped down to pick it up. Holding it up just above eye level I paused and then said out loud, "Curious." The three of us began to make up stories deciding what a hanger in an elevator would be good for. We laughed, cried, and generally had a merry time until the elevator stopped on the 7th floor and we all exited.

I am now in my dorm room. Ready to fall asleep. There is a white wire hanger on the wall above my desk. And there are two new friends of mine living on the floor above my head. Friendships found on a hanger. Friendships hung on a hanger... Let's appreciate the little things. Like little white wire hangers trapped in slow elevators in Foreman Hall.

eat pray love

Eat. Pray. Love.

Having watched the movie and now attempting to read the book, I have come to some undeniable conclusions. Sacha Kravig is Elizabeth Gilbert.

Looking back at the movie “eat pray love” and realizing just how much of myself was compacted into those short 133 minutes, I wonder that I didn’t cry or become excessively terrified as I watched it. Looking back, I almost wish I had. But, instead, I am offered the same odd feeling one gets after watching movies like “Julie and Julia,” or “My Fair Lady,” or perhaps “Persuasion.” This queer feeling that you should have been in that story somewhere... that perhaps a deeper pondering of that story will unleash some hidden wonder in your own life. You hope that perhaps your own biography will someday contain hints of the enchantment your found in the lives of your strong female heroes. Or perhaps your strong female nemesis...

I found that I don’t always like the people I resemble. Usually I am scared of them and vow that I’ll never become like them. And then, later on down the road, I find myself looking at these people I loathe and feeling like I’m gazing into a mirror. Luckily for me, I do not loathe Elizabeth Gilbert. Luckily for me, as I watched “eat pray love,” I didn’t mind seeing a mirror...

I did not come out with an urge to travel the world. Surprisingly. I did not come out with some insane desire to go find the man of my dreams on some enchanted evening... Also surprising. But I did come out desiring to find myself. I came out realising that all of the restlessness on earth, and all of the traveling this world can offer won’t teach me who I am. It will just keep me running... I do need to breathe deeper, take in more, and care about people more, troubles less. But most of all, I need to be able to look into the mirror of my soul and not be afraid. I need to stop squinting. I need to open my eyes wide, take a breath, and be ready for the person I will see. I need to stop loathing, I need to stop comparing, I need to stop... just stop. Stop and listen. Stop and see. And then move on, and become what I’ve always dreamed.

I don’t think that my dream personality will be found half the world away... I think it’s here in my room. I just have to be ready to embrace it.

The Redeemed:

Those who received their sight

Who have jumped up and walked at the Master’s touch

They’ve chosen to brave the eye of the needle

They are leaders of children

Those who slave for all people

They sing to the Glorious One

They’ve found the Answer

They have left everything to follow Him

Their lives declare Him holy

They’ve cried out for mercy

They realise that they cannot save themselves

Those who seek peace

They are ever taught, ever instructed

All have realized that none are good... only God

Those who have seen the demons cast out of their lives

The saints of God, serving the Holy One of Heaven. They’ve found their hope... hear them, rising up to praise the King. And I? I want to be with the Holy.. I want to be at His side..

suspension.

Say anything but say what you mean

watered down

Last night a friend called. On Skype, of course, because I don't have a phone here. I hadn't talk with them for a while, so there was a lot to catch up on. After all the inside jokes were used up, the one liners were all old, and as the yawns got more and more frequent, the subject matter turned. And it turned toward my favorite topic... my God

We discussed how the world waters down Jesus. How we second guess God. The devil doesn't need to make us mass murderers to keep us out of heaven, he can just give us a fake, watered down, twisted version of the truth that gives some strange sense of security. Misplaced security... We discussed the way that Christians forget the miraculous they forget the God behind the God-man, and they neutralize the gospel. "Christ in me, the hope of glory" becomes "I'm in church, I'm obeying rules, why isn't my life going perfectly?"

My friend was so tired of the pastors, preachers, and minsters who can stand at the pulpit and preach a gospel that is only half there. These lukewarm doctrines that feel good... or, at least, feel comfortable. Leaders who seem so ashamed of the gospel, and so unaware of whom they believe that pretty soon no on even cares, and the purpose is completely forgotten. Morality, purity, and faith go down the tubes with church attendance. People are lost, hope is lost, and Jesus just stands there with arms wide open, ready to chase us again.

As we talked, I started thinking about all of the people I know who have headed down that road. Who walked off into the world of comfortable doctrine, and were swallowed by the sea of lukewarm. Lost to all feeling, and passion, they're paddling about, looking for the next ship. Ships that make them feel like they're going somewhere. Robbed of all purpose, life becomes grey and fogged over. Erased steps in a world of sand. I started crying. I thought of friends I know and love who don't want to drink it straight. They want the watered down version...

Paul says that the gospel of Jesus Christ is water to a dry and thirsty world. So why do we try to make it look like something else? Every human heart needs water, so why do we think they won't be attracted. The pure, unadulterated gospel of Jesus Christ is what every soul craves. In the core of every being is a hunger. And no watered down, twisted, mislabeled version of the truth of salvation is going to satisfy that.

I'm so glad I had a friend to have that conversation with. I'm glad that others want more. Lukewarm will never do...

EQUATIONS

by Sacha Kravig

Oh the arithmetic of life

How many are lost

How many fall

How many decide... oh, how they decide

Decisions, decisions

Spinning our world

The globes of time, governed by equations

The minds of men, governed by sensations

Oh the arithmetic of life

How you move me

How you thrill me

How you fear me

And I fear you

Your everlasting monotone

The cadence that flows freely

And the rhythm that kills slowly

And slowly lives. Slowly gives life

Arithmetic. Breath.

And still we believe.

We believe in something more

We endlessly open doors

We ponder equations,

We experience sensations.

We live... believe

Oh the arithmetic of life

Oh the arithmetic of war

The battle of equations

The lifetime of sensations

stop and listen

Just do it. It's crazy what you'll find.... find out. About yourself.

it all looks different. but that doesn't mean anything has changed

Through the mud on my eyes

I couldn't walk

I couldn't see

I couldn't love

Until you found me.. in my deafness

You swung open the curtain

And I found the courage to get up and walk

I forget my weakness

For You've answered my loneliness

My hope has come

too easy

Lady sings the blues so well... as if she mean it... Blue lips, blue veins. Blue. The color of our planet from far, far away...

I vote Regina human of the year.... outside the cars are beeping out a song just in her honor. And though they do not know it, all mankind is now her brother.

Autumn wind turns again
The days are warm, start to fade
All that's here is still the same
Memories fall like rain

The only world I know
Steady as you go
It's too easy, it's too easy for you...

There's something amazing about OneRepublic. Something you can't really put your finger on. Not one of their songs leaves me unaffected.

Too Easy is drifting through my headphones right now... "It's too easy, it's too easy for you..." That line will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. As I jog I will play it over and over again thinking about what it really means. And what it means to me.

So many desperate attempts to learn the guitar part have just left me hopeless. Someday, maybe... But for now I'll listen, cry, wonder, and dream about Autumn... It's too easy...

Gina Carano. Wow, my hero. Whenever I get tired in MMA training, I just think about her, and all of her amazingness. Keeps me going through it all... core, circuits, scrappy jiu jitsu sessions...

I may not be at Hillsong anymore, but I'm there in spirit. "WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER" I've seen that so many times so many different places... but we are, aren't we? I look at my students and wonder... Yes, I'm in this with them. I'm through this together, we're searching forever, so sing the lullabies of a distant day. It'll come. Somehow. Someway. The grief won't stay... Here we are. Are we lost are we found are we looking? I heart... do you heart?

Sensing. Great name for a great picture. Almost a picture of home to me. Janke may hate the wheat, but I'm feeling lost without it.

life in Saipan

I wish you were here Friend. Jogging in this place is an interesting thing... A Mobil station lies about a mile from my house. I like to jog there and back as the sun is close to setting. Fitness is a high priority here, and walkers and joggers line the path along the beach, leading to the Garapan streets and the Mobil station.

A man walking a dog - Not on a leash, that would be too much work for an islander. A Korean man with his 6 year old daughter, watching her run and laugh at the small waves. A gecko scampering up and down the coconut tree is probably looking for bugs... but, I prefer to think that he's intimidated by me. The frog on the path in front of me, however, is very afraid. But in stead of running away, he just pretends he's a rock and tries to scare me away... Then there's always the lady that you pass more times than you ever wanted to. Maybe she thinks I'm stalking her...

The sun is finally setting as I make my return journey home. I stop at the edge of my concrete trail and sit to watch the sun slowly disappear behind white clouds and an azul horizon. I sit transfixed by it all for too long. And then I realize that I still have a half mile to run before a shower, clean clothes, and food.

I eye my papaya tree carefully before passing it, checking for ripe papayas and making sure that no one has taken them. Turn down the drive, greeted by friendly dogs, and then under the mango tree to the house.

Now I'm home. And I'm missing you. Tofu, rice, nori, and an orange... and then nothing is left but to read my Bible, pray, and go to bed.

Life in Saipan. Missing my Friend. Loving my God. Life in Saipan...

from the mouths of children

During DEAR (Drop Everything And Read) time this morning, two of my Korean ESL students grabbed classroom Bibles, their Translators and sat on the floor to read the Bible together. During Kindergarten Freeplay time, Erika sang (at the top of her lungs) through every Jesus song she knew, whether she actually knew the real words or not...

And then in 3rd and 4th Bible class I was talking about seeing God's salvation today, in our world. I talked about how excited God was to just be with us. That He is ever waiting for us to just want to talk to Him... like a puppy after you've been gone at school. Alvin, a 3rd grader who usually gives me nothing but attitude, raised his hand. He asked me if he could have one of the wrist bands on my arm. I have two on my left arm. A blue one reading "I SUPPORT WWU SMS" and a red on that reads "CHOOSE GOD." I explained that they reminded me to pray for very important friends, and that they meant a lot to me. He pointed at them once again and asked if he could have one. I asked him which one he wanted. He said that he wanted the blue one. I looked at him in the eye, and said that I would only give him my wrist band on one condition. Every time he looked at it, he had to promise to talk to God. He had to remember the puppy, and talk to God - the God who was so excited to be with him, and loved him so much. He looked back at me, took a moment, and then said he would do that. I made him shake on it, and then handed over my blue band.

That makes my day worth it. That makes it all worth it.

then the voice of Kim Walker drifts into my head.... Your love makes it worth it ... Your love makes it worth it ...

It’s cold.

I shiver from the warmth.

Tingles and ripples make my skin quiver.

Frost coats what time hasn’t frozen,

And I struggle to stay awake.

Comfort flees.

Time waits.

I’m cold, and the sky is shining.

The sun glows down at me.

Laughing, shining eyes watch me.

Blood flows hot

and my veins are cold.

It’s cold.

And I’m shivering from the warmth.

Crayons and Chai

It's raining. Hard.

I'm sitting in my classroom, doing the things that teachers are supposed to do to look busy. Papers clutter my desk, and a Korean girl named Ahrin is studying 12 feet away from me. I'm Listening to Danielle Beaudry on iTunes and wishing that I didn't have to go anywhere right now... Or maybe I wish I could go everywhere... Either one won't be happening.

This is one of those days that requires an Organic Chai, a metal table in Rocket Market, and a good friend or a good book. Maybe both. I am offered neither and have to be content with a noisy air conditioner and a room that smells like crayons.

It could be worse.... I kind of like crayons

Riddles in the Dark

I’m sitting in my room. Lights off. The chatter of my room mates just barely penetrating my walls. It’s hot. I should turn on my air conditioner, but I don’t want to put forth the effort. And the endless droning leaves my ears ringing...

Today was one of those long days... the days you look back at and wonder how you could ever think the other days were tiring. Trip to PIC with the little kids, 5th & 6th Bible study, 3rd & 4th OpenLine, 1st & 2nd Science experiments, new principal meet-n-greet, trip to coffee with four high school girls, and a dinner with a conference executive. At the end of the day, everything piled up and smeared together, you just have to keep your mind on Friday, and how amazing that half day will feel when it comes.

And it’s about that point that my God smacks me upside the head. It’s about that point that God reminds me of how He designed me for more than looking for Fridays. Yes, thank God it’s Friday, but don’t forget that He needs you working for Him on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. The clock of God doesn’t have an alarm set for “when September ends.” The mind of God doesn’t shut down as soon as class is out at the end of the week. And the heart of God is never set on some distant holiday or coffee break. No. Not my God.

My God lives in the present. He lives inside of me. Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, He’s active - running harder than me to help these kids... Exhausted? No, I don’t think God gets exhausted. But I also know that He offers me endless strength when I sit in Him. “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” The question is are you focusing on God’s joy, or your inadequacy? Are you focusing on your tired limbs, your pounding head? Or are you seeking the next vision of God, because one more glimpse is one step closer. Closer to the source of peace and rest.

On the way back from the special dinner tonight, I started crying in the car. The lights were off and it was dark, so my room mates couldn’t see. But you still feel a shred of ridiculousness. They were talking about staying one more year; how they wouldn’t and couldn’t do it. They needed to be home. They are home-bodies, they need to be near the people they love... I sat there thinking... Why am I different? Why do I give off this vibe that the people close to me mean nothing? Do I really seem so calloused and nonchalant? Because I’m NOT. I’m not calloused, I’m not okay with missing people, I want to be near the people I love, I desire those relationships, and I ache for them ALL THE TIME. I’m not less of a human, I’m not incapable of feeling sad when I think of home. I love family. I love friends. I need my support network. I cry for the people I love and that I don’t see.

But I have my God. My God has plans. And those plans have taken me miles away from home... and He has promised me that I’ll stay that far away for a while yet. Next year looks big. Next year scares me. Next year is something I’m afraid to face right now. So thank God I don’t have to face it until NEXT YEAR. I’m not calloused, I’m not a roaming body. I’m just resolute in my desire to be where God wants me to be, when He wants me to be there. I have no idea where I’ll be in two years, and I have no plans. Because He’s got them. My planning is pointless, useless. God always changes it up anyway. He’s got me. I am His. So what else matters? Where else would I rather be? There is no one else for me... None but Jesus

Long days, screaming children, and distant futures.

Loving God. Holding a bigger hand. Seeking His future