Good intentions aren't equal to love. They're not equal to the action you say you're going to do. If, anything, it's a lack of love, a lack of committment, and in the end prove a person unreliable and untrustworthy.
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions." I couldn't agree with that old statement anymore. Maybe the intentions rest in, "Oh, I'll stop doing this to allow God to be in my life even more." and it never happens to "I'll do this with this person." and it never happens.
I, myself, am fed up with people's good intentions. Maybe because that's all I've really gotten since being home from Rockford. The friends I once knew seem to rest upon good intentions, but that's all. I feel disconnected, without a friend here, and sometimes with a friend elsewhere. See...it's ok to have good intentions and not follow through on them SOMETIMES- if you didn't let someone down, you'd not be human, and we know that's not possible. But for someone to constantly fail someone else, that's not friendship, that's a way of abuse in my mind. Just my thoughts.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
my random thoughts on technology.
This won't be super-cohesive, but I've been thinking a lot about this lately...about how technology driven our culture is. How my generation is becoming more and more socially retarded because we rely on technology to communicate. Yes, I'm using technology to communicate my thoughts on this, but it's nothing I've felt a conviction about. If I do feel a conviction about having a blog, I'm going to stop.
I've started to cut back on the amount of technology and entertainment I engage in.
I'm fasting Facebook. I feel like Facebook is somewhat of a communication fail. Yes, it's a great way to stay in contact, but still. It's so impersonal. It's sad to me that I have to read people's statuses to find out what they're doing, what's new in life. And, if I want to communicate with someone, it's splayed out for the whole world to see on their wall. Yes, I could just message something super-important to someone, but still. I'd prefer talking to someone face to face or calling them in order to tell them something important- at least I could see their facial expressions, body language, and/or hear their voice to hear their tone and not assume things and create a bigger mess. I'd rather have someone want to talk to me because they want to talk to me- not because they read something online or because they are vying for someone to post back on their wall.
I'm learning to cut back on watching TV and movies. I've come to see that movies aren't just entertainment, but they are something created to stir emotions in us. It hit me- why am I becoming invested in the life of a character that's not real, who I will never have interaction with, and depending on the movie- some are just flat out unrealistic. Movies can stir up things that shouldn't be there in me, like lust, envy, anger, and I even consider sympathy to be bad in this case. Why should I feel sympathy or empathy for, as I said before, someone that's not real and who I will never have interaction with...especially when there's people I've known for years and I still hold them at arm's length because maybe I'm afraid of them. Or have preconceived notions and judgments towards them. Or their personality annoys me. So I hold back that sympathy/empathy...why should I? I think showing sympathy/empathy towards someone respects them. It says, "Yes, you are human, and your feelings are valid. You should be grieving this loss (from a death to relationships, they're all losses) or you should be feeling that way because what happened wasn't right." It validates that those feelings are legit.
Then TV- everything on is cop shows and reality TV. Cop shows to me just stir up fear and Lord knows I don't need to have something that can do that to me. Then reality TV- oh, we sit and watch as families allow camera crews into their house...and watch as that family eventually falls apart because of the fame or the strain of having no time together as family...without cameras, without producers, but together. Then, we also watch people tear down each other and just laugh at it or make no mind whatsoever about them. Just because they're on TV and getting paid, doesn't mean they don't have emotions as well. Most are oversexualized as well. Also, there's some things on TV we just laugh and laugh about, whether it be inappropriate or at the expense of others- and I question if we'd laugh at any of these situations in real life.
I've been putting the Blackberry away more and more and being intentional. I've been not sitting in front of my computer hours on end anymore. I only listen to music if I'm in the car or before I go to bed, instead of letting it be my life.
I just started the FB fast on Sunday. I've been slowly cutting back on entertainment the past few weeks. And it's so freeing. I've been able to spend more time educating myself, gaining knowledge, going out and doing things, communicating with people more efficiently, get focused on life and my goals and reach for them. And, I've becoming more and more less connected with temporary things. I can't take it with me, so why be so attached?
I've started to cut back on the amount of technology and entertainment I engage in.
I'm fasting Facebook. I feel like Facebook is somewhat of a communication fail. Yes, it's a great way to stay in contact, but still. It's so impersonal. It's sad to me that I have to read people's statuses to find out what they're doing, what's new in life. And, if I want to communicate with someone, it's splayed out for the whole world to see on their wall. Yes, I could just message something super-important to someone, but still. I'd prefer talking to someone face to face or calling them in order to tell them something important- at least I could see their facial expressions, body language, and/or hear their voice to hear their tone and not assume things and create a bigger mess. I'd rather have someone want to talk to me because they want to talk to me- not because they read something online or because they are vying for someone to post back on their wall.
I'm learning to cut back on watching TV and movies. I've come to see that movies aren't just entertainment, but they are something created to stir emotions in us. It hit me- why am I becoming invested in the life of a character that's not real, who I will never have interaction with, and depending on the movie- some are just flat out unrealistic. Movies can stir up things that shouldn't be there in me, like lust, envy, anger, and I even consider sympathy to be bad in this case. Why should I feel sympathy or empathy for, as I said before, someone that's not real and who I will never have interaction with...especially when there's people I've known for years and I still hold them at arm's length because maybe I'm afraid of them. Or have preconceived notions and judgments towards them. Or their personality annoys me. So I hold back that sympathy/empathy...why should I? I think showing sympathy/empathy towards someone respects them. It says, "Yes, you are human, and your feelings are valid. You should be grieving this loss (from a death to relationships, they're all losses) or you should be feeling that way because what happened wasn't right." It validates that those feelings are legit.
Then TV- everything on is cop shows and reality TV. Cop shows to me just stir up fear and Lord knows I don't need to have something that can do that to me. Then reality TV- oh, we sit and watch as families allow camera crews into their house...and watch as that family eventually falls apart because of the fame or the strain of having no time together as family...without cameras, without producers, but together. Then, we also watch people tear down each other and just laugh at it or make no mind whatsoever about them. Just because they're on TV and getting paid, doesn't mean they don't have emotions as well. Most are oversexualized as well. Also, there's some things on TV we just laugh and laugh about, whether it be inappropriate or at the expense of others- and I question if we'd laugh at any of these situations in real life.
I've been putting the Blackberry away more and more and being intentional. I've been not sitting in front of my computer hours on end anymore. I only listen to music if I'm in the car or before I go to bed, instead of letting it be my life.
I just started the FB fast on Sunday. I've been slowly cutting back on entertainment the past few weeks. And it's so freeing. I've been able to spend more time educating myself, gaining knowledge, going out and doing things, communicating with people more efficiently, get focused on life and my goals and reach for them. And, I've becoming more and more less connected with temporary things. I can't take it with me, so why be so attached?
Saturday, September 11, 2010
the easy button.
Christianity wasn't meant to be easy. Real Christianity isn't supposed to be, anyways. It's harder than living the easy, normal, directionless life. I know this.
The Bible tells us time & time again about trials and pains that will come our way and how we must persevere. I think we grasp that things are going to be hard, but only in certain areas- like the really really hard things. If that makes any sense.
But.
Do you want easy friends? The ones that you've had that let you get away with anything? The ones that don't challenge you to pursue a deeper relationship with God? The ones that sit back and indulge in sin with you?
Carrots don't sharpen iron.
Hebrews 3:13- But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness.
As far as relationships go on a more intimate level, do you want easy romance? One where there are no clear boundaries? Ones that tear you down? Ones that leave you co-dependent?
Be picky- don't settle. The only thing harder than being lonely is being in a crappy relationship.
Do you want to be an easy leader? One free of responsibilities? One that isn't fully invested in those who you've been called to lead? One that doesn't fully commit?
being easy on people doesn't make it better. they need to be trained, not coddled.
Do you want to take it easy on yourself? To not push yourself? To give up easily? To not pursue all that you have been called to do? To lay back and not do a thing?
characters are usually built into details. once you let details slip, you're on a slippery slope.
Do you want an easy God?
Think about it. Some of these, yeah, they sound enticing. But in the long run, easy is nothing. Easy isnt't worth it. Nothing, not one thing, that has been easy is worth it. Nothing that's worth it has come through anything but hardships and perseverence. Think about it and move your finger away from the easy button.
The Bible tells us time & time again about trials and pains that will come our way and how we must persevere. I think we grasp that things are going to be hard, but only in certain areas- like the really really hard things. If that makes any sense.
But.
Do you want easy friends? The ones that you've had that let you get away with anything? The ones that don't challenge you to pursue a deeper relationship with God? The ones that sit back and indulge in sin with you?
Carrots don't sharpen iron.
Hebrews 3:13- But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness.
As far as relationships go on a more intimate level, do you want easy romance? One where there are no clear boundaries? Ones that tear you down? Ones that leave you co-dependent?
Be picky- don't settle. The only thing harder than being lonely is being in a crappy relationship.
Do you want to be an easy leader? One free of responsibilities? One that isn't fully invested in those who you've been called to lead? One that doesn't fully commit?
being easy on people doesn't make it better. they need to be trained, not coddled.
Do you want to take it easy on yourself? To not push yourself? To give up easily? To not pursue all that you have been called to do? To lay back and not do a thing?
characters are usually built into details. once you let details slip, you're on a slippery slope.
Do you want an easy God?
Think about it. Some of these, yeah, they sound enticing. But in the long run, easy is nothing. Easy isnt't worth it. Nothing, not one thing, that has been easy is worth it. Nothing that's worth it has come through anything but hardships and perseverence. Think about it and move your finger away from the easy button.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Wooden Heart
Shoot, I'm going to share this with you as an act of love. This weekend I went to Lifelight in Worthing, South Dakota. Great festival. In 3 days I saw shows by Abandon, Group 1 Crew, Remedy Drive, Showbread, David Crowder Band, Kari Jobe, Listener, F.O.G. Crew, Reilly, MercyMe, Leeland, children 18:3, Everyday Sunday, Family Force 5, BarlowGirl, State of Isaac, Brooke Barrettsmith (which was my personal favorite), and Francesca Battistelli. Anyways, I saw Listener for the first time after hearing all this hype about him after he played a show at Stuart's Coffeshop at Rockford First Assembly. He was so weird, but so awesome. His songs are really spoken word poems. When I heard this one, I won't lie, I teared up quite a bit. So, I pass along the lyrics to you. If only they could convey the amount of emotion and heart poured into them during the live performance....
WOODEN HEART (sea of mist called skaidan)
We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living
and since that first breath... We’ll need grace that we’ve never given
I've been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts
and it's not only when these eyes are closed
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach,
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north,
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will...
so I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship,
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts.
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new start
we all have the same holes in our hearts...
everything falls apart at the exact same time
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step
but my fear is this prison... that I keep locked below the main deck
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden
and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward...always running out of fight
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep
all these machines will rust I promise, but we'll still be electric
shocking each other back to life
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected
our bones grown together inside
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided
our spines grown stronger in time
because are church is made out of shipwrecks
from every hull these rocks have claimed
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
WOODEN HEART (sea of mist called skaidan)
We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living
and since that first breath... We’ll need grace that we’ve never given
I've been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts
and it's not only when these eyes are closed
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach,
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north,
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will...
so I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship,
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts.
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new start
we all have the same holes in our hearts...
everything falls apart at the exact same time
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step
but my fear is this prison... that I keep locked below the main deck
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden
and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward...always running out of fight
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep
all these machines will rust I promise, but we'll still be electric
shocking each other back to life
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected
our bones grown together inside
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided
our spines grown stronger in time
because are church is made out of shipwrecks
from every hull these rocks have claimed
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
embrace it.
A thing I've learned lately is how to truly love myself. Even with all my flaws, failures, and mess ups.
I sweat like a man. I'm overweight. I'm a girl who is more like a guy. I mumble. I say super nerdy things. I fall short of the commands of my Father time and time again. But guess what? Despite that, I still love myself. I can embrace these flaws. I can embrace who I am and who I'm becoming. I can even embrace who I was, because Christ has redeemed that and is using that. It's not cockiness, but confidence in knowing who Christ has created me to be. Why not marvel at yourself for a second...done? OK. Don't let your mind look at the flaws- if you go there, take pleasure in knowing our Lord sees you as perfect. You're beautiful, for the Lord created you, and He has set Himself inside of you. He looks at you with love deep in His heart, a love burning at the sight of His creation and how it beautifully reflects Him. Embrace it. Embrace the fact that your flaws, failures, and insecurities can be nothing but beautiful to the Lord. You are His child, and He marvels and delights in you.
short, but sweet. Psalm 139 put a lot of this in perspective for me...why? Because He made me. And God doesn't make junk. Word up, homes.
I sweat like a man. I'm overweight. I'm a girl who is more like a guy. I mumble. I say super nerdy things. I fall short of the commands of my Father time and time again. But guess what? Despite that, I still love myself. I can embrace these flaws. I can embrace who I am and who I'm becoming. I can even embrace who I was, because Christ has redeemed that and is using that. It's not cockiness, but confidence in knowing who Christ has created me to be. Why not marvel at yourself for a second...done? OK. Don't let your mind look at the flaws- if you go there, take pleasure in knowing our Lord sees you as perfect. You're beautiful, for the Lord created you, and He has set Himself inside of you. He looks at you with love deep in His heart, a love burning at the sight of His creation and how it beautifully reflects Him. Embrace it. Embrace the fact that your flaws, failures, and insecurities can be nothing but beautiful to the Lord. You are His child, and He marvels and delights in you.
short, but sweet. Psalm 139 put a lot of this in perspective for me...why? Because He made me. And God doesn't make junk. Word up, homes.
Monday, September 6, 2010
(untitled)
It's been a while, but sometimes life gets busy or throws you curveballs and other things occupy your mind. This has been my past few weeks; many great times, many down times, and through it all, God is faithful. The Lord has been speaking a lot to my heart lately, so much that it's hard to wrap my mind around it.
One of the biggest things He's been telling me is to not squander the gifts and lessons He's given to me; to not hold back from other's what they need to hear because of fear I may offend; to be straightforward; to be His hands and feet in action- to put action behind these words I often speak or write. To basically give myself away completely. This has shaken me up, challenged me, frustrated me, and excited me. If God has trusted me with these things and I don't give them away then... what's the use of my heart pumping blood through my veins? Why should my chest rise and fall 30-60 times a minute?
So, here's the deal- whatever I write, I write for you, not for me, not to build up a soapbox, not to boost an ego, not to build up some kind of facade- for you. I write because I feel an aching in my bones to release the truths I've learned. I feel a burden on my chest to let out everything inside of me, to let it all be laid bare in order for others to profit, and that I may learn from those around me. This is all coming from a place of brokenness...a place where we are all equal, all weighed down with our imperfections in front of a perfect God. I'm at the point where I would rip the heart out of my chest and freely give a piece of it away to everyone I come in contact with- not to achieve some sort of recognition or sainthood, but to fulfill the calling my Father has placed upon me. (and really, what He asks all of us to do).
It's just...weird. I have never felt so much aching love for the people around me than I have this past week. I never thought I was capable of loving God or myself, let alone other human beings- especially strangers. But man...my heart just feels so full with the love that seeks to escape from within, and it also aches with the pain I feel for others.
From now on, I do this for you. You and God. Even if I don't know you, it's for you. My life isn't mine, it never has been- and I'm really starting to get that. So take any piece of me you want. If there's anything you can gain, pick it up and carry it with you. And all the glory...all the glory is due to our Heavenly Father, who apart from Him, none of this matters or has value.
One of the biggest things He's been telling me is to not squander the gifts and lessons He's given to me; to not hold back from other's what they need to hear because of fear I may offend; to be straightforward; to be His hands and feet in action- to put action behind these words I often speak or write. To basically give myself away completely. This has shaken me up, challenged me, frustrated me, and excited me. If God has trusted me with these things and I don't give them away then... what's the use of my heart pumping blood through my veins? Why should my chest rise and fall 30-60 times a minute?
So, here's the deal- whatever I write, I write for you, not for me, not to build up a soapbox, not to boost an ego, not to build up some kind of facade- for you. I write because I feel an aching in my bones to release the truths I've learned. I feel a burden on my chest to let out everything inside of me, to let it all be laid bare in order for others to profit, and that I may learn from those around me. This is all coming from a place of brokenness...a place where we are all equal, all weighed down with our imperfections in front of a perfect God. I'm at the point where I would rip the heart out of my chest and freely give a piece of it away to everyone I come in contact with- not to achieve some sort of recognition or sainthood, but to fulfill the calling my Father has placed upon me. (and really, what He asks all of us to do).
It's just...weird. I have never felt so much aching love for the people around me than I have this past week. I never thought I was capable of loving God or myself, let alone other human beings- especially strangers. But man...my heart just feels so full with the love that seeks to escape from within, and it also aches with the pain I feel for others.
From now on, I do this for you. You and God. Even if I don't know you, it's for you. My life isn't mine, it never has been- and I'm really starting to get that. So take any piece of me you want. If there's anything you can gain, pick it up and carry it with you. And all the glory...all the glory is due to our Heavenly Father, who apart from Him, none of this matters or has value.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
"The Bible made me realize we're a bunch of sluts and serial killers."
The title is, sketchy, I guess. I had to title this blog post as that, however. It's a quote of mine that my friend Andree immortalized. She and I, along with Candice, were cleaning the purple auditorium (a part of the church where the young adults service is, and that is used largely by the Christian schools attached to the church). Andree and Candice vacuumed while I laid down on a pew and started singing Tegan & Sara songs for them. At one point I grabbed a Bible that was underneath the pew I was laying on. The passage I read was Matthew 5. After reading it, and thinking about how often these thoughts and feelings arise, I came to the conclusion that is summed up in this title.
Matthew 5:21-30: "You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, 'Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.' But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, 'Raca,' is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell.
"Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.
"Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still with him on the way, or he may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison. I tell you the truth, you will not get out until you have paid the last penny. "You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery.' But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.
Reading this made me re-evaluate things. How often do I get mad when someone cuts me off in traffic and I go into a small fit of road rage? How often do I raise my voice at people out of anger? And how many times do I truly ask God and these people for forgiveness?
Same with lust- I had to ask myself how many times I would let my thoughts wander further than "He's hot." Even in conversations, how many times had the person I had been conversing with, and even I, said lustful things about others? I had to re-evaluate when the line had been crossed from making these people humans into objects. Or punching bags.
This is a very simple blog, but that's the current thing on my mind.
These are the places where we need to take every thought captive and replace it with truth or other thoughts. These are the little foxes we must kill before they grow bigger. Anger can turn into hatred and murder. Lust can turn into adultery and fornication. Lust and anger seem harmless at times, but they snowball. Believe me; they do.
Kill those lil' foxes before they turn into ugly motha foxes!
Elementary truths, my dear reader.
Peace.
Matthew 5:21-30: "You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, 'Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.' But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, 'Raca,' is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell.
"Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.
"Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still with him on the way, or he may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison. I tell you the truth, you will not get out until you have paid the last penny. "You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery.' But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.
Reading this made me re-evaluate things. How often do I get mad when someone cuts me off in traffic and I go into a small fit of road rage? How often do I raise my voice at people out of anger? And how many times do I truly ask God and these people for forgiveness?
Same with lust- I had to ask myself how many times I would let my thoughts wander further than "He's hot." Even in conversations, how many times had the person I had been conversing with, and even I, said lustful things about others? I had to re-evaluate when the line had been crossed from making these people humans into objects. Or punching bags.
This is a very simple blog, but that's the current thing on my mind.
These are the places where we need to take every thought captive and replace it with truth or other thoughts. These are the little foxes we must kill before they grow bigger. Anger can turn into hatred and murder. Lust can turn into adultery and fornication. Lust and anger seem harmless at times, but they snowball. Believe me; they do.
Kill those lil' foxes before they turn into ugly motha foxes!
Elementary truths, my dear reader.
Peace.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Where is the love?
I was on YouTube yesterday while I was "napping" and under the "videos recommended for you" section of the homepage, was this video about Westboro Baptist Church. It was recommended to me because I had watched the music video of a band I like, who just happen to be lesbians. My initial reaction was "Well, that's not right." I clicked on it, thinking maybe it was some bash on the church or something; it kind of was, but wasn't. The WBC was protesting outside of a college. The students of the college came out and asked the WBC members questions. I was sickened by what I heard come out of those peoples mouths. One women thinks gay people should be executed. Another talked about how God hates all of these different ethnic groups. The college students then came out in full force, with their own signs they created saying things ranging from "God loves Slayer" to "I love puppies" and "God hates hate."
I've heard of the WBC before, seen their demonstrations not just on the internet or TV, but in person. They were boycotting the funerals of 2 college students that had died in a fire. They were celebrating the fact that these 2 "fags" had died and gone to "their eternal destination of Hell".
On the sidebar of "other videos like this" was one entitled "Real Christians acting like true Christians", or something to that effect. The title was disappointing to read. I clicked on it to see if it was the WBC's agenda or something like that, but I was semi-surprised to read else-wise. Reading the comments, especially the uploader's comments, I discovered this was a video uploaded by a British person. One person asked them, "Is this what you English think of Christians?" and the person simply answered yes.
I understood why they thought this. I could gather why.
The UK (and the rest of Europe, for that matter) are becoming more and more detached from God. Many don't know who He truly is. They have very very few churches, and many of them are small. I remember a missionary coming to speak at RMC and telling us that the biggest church in the UK was 300 people? Maybe I'm wrong on that . But when I first learned of this, I was like "Well, England is like the US- how can they not know?" Then realizing the words I had thought, it made sense. Hah.
They really are growing up, not knowing who God truly is.
My dear friend/"little sister", Chelsea, went to Scotland this year for her missions trip that Rockford Master's Commission requires for you to graduate. Anyways, they did one giant service for kids in elementary school up through high school, after being around these kids for a week. At the end of the service, towards the alter call, they played a video for the kids. This video has scenes from The Passion of the Christ set to the song "To Make You Feel My Love" (Adele's version of that song). I've seen this video before and it's a gut-wrencher. Chelsea said she was sitting there crying, because, well, that's what she does every time she sees this video. She looked around and every kid in her field of vision was also crying. She knew these kids didn't love God, so she was wondering why they were crying. When she asked a girl sitting next to her, it became clear to why so many tears were being shed- the girl told her that she didn't know that Jesus did that for them. That makes so much sense. It made me automatically think of Acts 8, where Philip encounters the Ethiopian Eunuch. The eunuch was reading a passage in Isaiah- when Philip asked the man if he understood what he was reading, the man replied with, "How can I, unless someone instructs me?"
What the rest of the world sees regarding Christianity, unless they've had a personal encounter with a Christian who's really living it out, isn't what Christianity really is. At least not what it should be.
First off, let's get this out there- for the Westboro Baptist Church to call themselves Christians is just atrocious. 1 John 4:7-8 (ESV) says, "Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever has love is born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. John 13:34-35 (ESV)- "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." They're hate mongers, who, I somewhat have pity on. Seeing what they believe, they must not believe that God has grace for those who turn to Him, and love for everyone. They are following all of these rules, and forgetting the grace and love of God, not just in other's lives, but I believe in their own lives.
My old best friend was born & raised in Toronto. Her grandfather was a part of the Canadian parliament, and he implemented a big push for Catholicism in schools and budgeting for that. Needless to say, she grew up Catholic. She grew up learning a lot of rules, but not about God's grace. She grew up learning about Jesus dying, but not about His resurrection. She came to the States when she was 12 or 13, to attend high school. The school she went to? Catholic. Again, what she learned about the Lord was rules, was forgiveness could be earned through doing ritualistic prayers that don't truly mean anything. She would label herself "Catholic" but not even be participating in that. We would talk about God, a lot actually. Her constant question to me would be what the difference between Catholicism and Christianity was. I tried explaining it, my dad tried explaining it, but she still wasn't comprehending it. I remember once telling her I was praying for her. She was like "What? You can pray for others?" I was floored that she didn't know this. At one point, even though we were living lives that weren't pleasing to the Lord, even though we were fueling each other's sinfulness, I thought she might be getting this God thing. She started praying. She would ask more questions, and I'd answer them and she understood them. After some rocky stuff happened in our friendship, we would go in and out of being friends, usually fighting the entire time. When I finally told her I couldn't be her friend or talk to her anymore, she went off. When I got home from RMC, she went off on me once again. She told me I had hurt and abandoned her, then told me how I was following a book made up to glorify a dead man. How I was stuck in these rules. She compared me to the people who were telling she and her girlfriend that they don't count as people. She compared me to people in the WBC. To me, that was a low blow. I defended myself as best as I could, before I realized it wasn't worth talking about.
I guess me using that example is to show how many people don't know what Christians really are supposed to look like because of what they see in the media. Even if they can grow up learning about God and getting somewhat of a glimpse of who He is (but not the full picture), it's what they see most Christians doing that grabs them.
People see Christians as the Westboro Baptist Church. Or Jerry Fallwell, who says that 9/11 happened as a punishment from God because of homosexuality. Or they see Christians as some politician who uses their faith to push forward their agenda.
I don't know many non-believers who see Christians as loving. They see them as cliques who don't let any outsiders in. They see them as hateful people.
I think we as Christians, are too comfortable loving those in the faith. We DO need to do that, yes. We are to spur one each other on, to help others new in the faith and even the person who's been there the longest. But I see Christians not reaching out as much to non-believers, or at least not reaching out to them beyond the one time we try, the one time we bring them to youth group, etc.
Where are you, as far as loving others go? Are you too afraid of rejection to reach the lost? Are you too prejudice to love those deep in their sin? Or are you willing to love, to be the hands and feet and go in, unafraid? I guess, I'm challenging any of you who may read this, as well as myself, to just show someone love who it may be hard or uncomfortable for you to love.
We are to tell others of God, but I don't think we can do that without love. We can't shoot someone down and tell them they're outright wrong, right out of the gate. I've never seen someone come out of homosexuality or addiction or another religion because someone told them that they were wrong. They were loved; people spent time with them, lowered their power, and just loved them. Then, after some time, God softened these peoples hearts. See, we can't change a person's heart, but God can. God can and will use us to speak things into other's lives. But ultimately, it's all God doing it. Don't go in on your own power, with your own agenda, thinking you can change someone.
This all seems less jumbled in my head. The things I'm thinking about this subject just aren't translating as well as I want them to. But hopefully, you grasp what I'm saying.
(This blog was fueled by the album This Is Our God by Hillsong United; and yes, I enjoy telling you what music fuels my blogs.)
Friday, August 13, 2010
My story
I would title this "my testimony", but I've heard that testimonies need to be to the point- merely touching on the bad, focusing mainly on the good. Then I've heard that it can be equal amounts of both bad and good. All I know, is that the bad led to good, and therefore the bad needs to be talked about in order for the good to have that much more impact.
Anywho...
This will be my story. We all have them, and there's something beautiful that happens when we tear down the walls we built up, are vulnerable, and lay bare the life we've lived.
Like everyone else's story, my beginning is the same: I was born. I was born into a seemingly normal family- 2 older sisters, an older brother. My dad's a pastor, my mom helped lead worship.
I was born in Indiana. We moved when I was 3, because my dad felt that God was calling him to do ministry in Minnesota. I hated the fact that we were moving. I can remember events in my life as early as when I was 3- I cried for the big blue house in Indiana for forever. Wimp.
For 2 years, when I was 3 and 4 years old, a family friend molested and raped me repeatedly and on a consistent basis. Someone once asked me "What? A 3 year old can be raped? How?" Just trust me, it's more than possible. He was 17, and his mom would babysit my brother and I. My parents felt something was wrong, so they stopped taking us to that person to be babysat and our family drifted apart from theirs. It was later discovered that this man had also molested my brother. I acted out my abuse on other kids; I didn't know it wasn't right nor not normal. It was what I knew to be normal.
Life went on as normal. My family didn't know and I didn't remember, until I was 10. When I was 10, on my abuser's wedding day, I remembered everything he did. Entire scenes from the abuse would play in my mind over and over again, like it was on an endless loop. I told my mom that day. She didn't say much, other than she was going to tell my dad after church the next day. I pleaded with her to not tell my dad because I knew he'd call the cops. I felt like I would get in trouble, that I was to blame, so having the police involved was something out of the question in my mind. My dad did call the cops. A few days later, a female detective came over and asked me a bunch of questions about what transpired. More cops came to collect evidence that had been left behind. Within the next week, my dad called the man and the police recorded it. My dad got the guy to confess to 2 incidences. Evidence spoke other than that. Soon, I'd have to tape a testimony that would be played in court. My abuser was sentenced to a year in jail. He got more time in jail for violating parole by robbing a gas station, than he did for implementing an anguish on me that would last for a long time.
After the abuse had been unveiled, my mom started acting really differently.
Now, as a side note, I hate implementing family members, for I always fear my friends or those who know them will look at them differently and act differently towards them. Then I remember- these things are important for me to get out and talk about. There's, sadly, nothing extraordinary about my family situations than what you see in society today. And my family members each have their own battles I know they face. All I can do is pray that one day, got will pierce their hearts like he did mine.
Now back to it.
I remember one night my mom was just catatonic. She sat there and stared off, not saying a word, not answering any questions I had on why she wasn't talking. I remember freaking out, thinking something was medically wrong. When in all actuality, I think something in my mom had snapped. She would eventually say she was going to run away; this happened quite often. She would say that, then go away for hours, none of us sure where she went. My mom would tell me that my abuse was my fault. She would call me worthless, fat, ugly, etc. This escalated when she started using her hands to "teach me a lesson". When my brother was 15 he was diagnosed with a bunch of different mental disorders/disabilities. He would soon become physically, verbally and sexually abusive towards me. Growing up, all I knew was abuse. I also knew poverty quite well. My dad (who is an amazing father, might I add. He didn't know a lot of these things were going on, and when he did he would do everything in his power to stop it) Anyways, my dad was forced to resign by the church he pastored at here in Rochester. He had started a Saturday night service, and during that service many people with addictions, adulterers, and homosexuals would come. The elders said my dad was being too much like Jesus by allowing these people to come in; they only wanted straight-laced people who "had it together." After the forced resignation, my family was left with no money. An unpaid pastor (my dad now runs a ministry for addicts) and a chiropractic assistant's salaries don't make up much money. My family's had to declare bankruptcy twice, have a ton of mortgages, almost have had our house foreclosed on us (and we've been demo-ing stuff in case it gets foreclosed on), and we've had to swallow our pride and go to local food banks. We still have to do that. We're not poor by any means, compared to the rest of the world. It still takes its toll.
I would run away multiple times, sleep in parks, or live with other families in town for small periods of time until they couldn't take me anymore. I was a vagabond for a year, living in Wisconsin, Chicago, Canada, and other cities in Minnesota.
I was 11 when I first thought about suicide. The toll that the revelation of abuse had played on my family, mixed with the feelings and thoughts that it was all my fault, led to me thinking life would be better for everyone if I was just gone. I started by holding knives to my chest, just thinking, "what if?" This soon turned into actual attempts; between the ages of 11 and 17, I would try to take my life 8 separate times, each obviously unsuccessful. When the last attempt failed, I figured I was supposed to be alive for a reason, so I started to try different things to numb the pain, rather than to obliterate it all together. I started cutting; it turned into a vicious addiction that when I wanted to stop, I couldn't. I stopped one night after I had gotten home from a party. I was so upset with myself for my behaviour that night, so I cut. I cut so deep that I was bleeding a lot. After some time, I just wouldn't stop bleeding. It may sound melodramatic, but I really thought that I was going to die. I lay there, on the bathroom floor, and cried out to God, telling Him that if He let me live, I'd live for Him. I passed out from the loss of blood and woke up a while later, covered in my own blood. I didn't live for God after that; not for quite some time, at least. Eleven was also the age that I doubted God's existence. I grew up hearing about how much God loves us, God does this and that and this and...just things I didn't see nor feel. I thought, "If God loved me, he wouldn't have allowed this to happen to me, right?" By the time I was 12, I stopped believing all together. I would still go to church and maintain this outward appearance of belief, but in my heart God was just something created in peoples minds to help them feel better.
I had gone to multiple therapists, counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists. I was diagnosed with depression, social anxiety disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, post traumatic stress disorder and OCD. I was put on a bunch of different depression meds and anxiety meds. My anxiety got to the point where I couldn't be left alone for over 5 minutes or I'd have a panic attack. Thanks to the Lord, I'm no longer diagnosed with any of these mental illnesses.
Besides cutting, I had a few other addictions. It started with prescription pills, then weed, then coke and x. I would also drink pretty heavily. The drugs weren't a big of a problem for me as the drinking. I would have my times where I would clean up my act, like missions trips with my youth group.
But if my act wasn't be 'cleaned up', I would be drinking pretty much every day. I would go out to party at 7, get home at 8 the next morning, sleep until 4pm, then repeat the whole cycle. I didn't limit my drinking at parties, either. I'd go to bars that notorious for not checking IDs, or sneak in the exits or whatever way I could. I've been caught and had to run from undercover cops. That was a trip haha. Being under the influence, I didn't care about anything. I would hook up with people, irregardless of gender. When I say "hook up" (since I know people have different definitions of it), I mean make out, but a little more intense. Kind of half-way between 2nd and 3rd, if you're a base person. (I felt extremely gross typing that haha). Also to be noted- I've never had a thing for girls; it would just come out while under the influence. Even though I've never had consensual sex, the scars from hooking up with a person are still there and can hurt. The worst was when I went to visit my best friend at the time, who had moved back to Canada. I went to visit her for a while. The second night I was there, we got pretty sloppy drunk and hooked up. When realizing everything that happened the next day, she kicked me out. I was on the streets of Ottawa, a huge city, by myself. I just chilled wherever and lived until I was able to come back home. When I was under the influence, I would beat people to bloody pulps. If anyone said anything about me, my friends or my family, I would take them down. Even sober, I'd do that- I learned that I had extreme amounts of anger, and I learned that quickly.
When I finally stopped the drugs is when some messed up stuff with my friends happened at a party. I drank all the way up until I went to Rockford Master's Commission- even then, I got in trouble for drinking with a few other first years and by the grace of God didn't get kicked out but got a second chance.
When I was 16, I went to my first youth group ever. I only went because my brother had gone and saw my best friend from middle school there. She told my brother I should come. So I did- just to see her. Something inside of me stirred that night, and I told her everything about my life that I had kept secret. She got the youth pastor's girlfriend (now his wife) to come over and pray for me. I was like- uh, ok. But when this woman prayed, she knew everything that I had been through, without me ever saying anything. I was intrigued. I came back the next week and asked her to do it again. A bunch of stuff had happened and I wanted to see if she knew what it was once again. And she did. I kept going back and each time, God would chip away at my heart. Eventually it was time for their winter retreat. I didn't want to go, but went anyways. During the last night's altar call, I went forward and accept Jesus as my Saviour. As you can tell from what I've written before, I didn't live it out. I struggled with my addictions and didn't even try and hide them. I believed in Jesus, but I kept carrying around the baggage that He wanted to carry. I didn't drop any of it until I went to Rockford Master's Commission.
Last year, when living in Chicago, my friend, Erin, with whom I was staying, decided to have a chat with me about life. We talked for a while and she told me her story, and one of the things she kept talking about was Rockford Master's Commission. It really intrigued me, but I shrugged it off. When I went back home for a short period of time, I couldn't shake the thought of RMC. It kept coming up. I called Erin and told her that, and two weeks later I was back in Chicago, staying with her and checking out RMC for myself. I knew I was supposed to be there. I was looking for change; I was sick of living the way I was.
Last September, I started RMC. I hated it there at first. I was so resistant to change and didn't want to let go of the baggage I was lugging around with me. I had rededicated my life the first night at Memorial Hall (it's this sweet war memorial/museum; we had a service where we wrote letters to God about what we wanted to get out of our 9 months in the program, and then people got saved). But I wanted to leave many a time. I had my bags packed and was ready to book it at one point. I basically wasted my first 3 1/2 months at RMC fighting the change that I knew was inevitable. Then I gave in and let God do His thing. Yes, I had to play a part in it as well, but He really took over me.
I finally accepted God's love and grace for me, and in that I've been able to show others love. God removed a great deal of my insecurity, broke down my walls and let me trust others and Himself, healed me from all the hurts of my past and put back the broken pieces, taught me how to be disciplined, showed me how valuable I am and...the list goes on. For me to sum up what I learned there, what I got to experience, seems somewhat impossible. The best part is knowing that it wasn't the program that changed me, it wasn't me that changed me, nor was it the people around me- all of these things played their parts in my change, but overall, God did it all.
(And if you're wondering what Rockford Master's Commission is, I still don't know how to explain it beyond a 9 month long, hardcore discipleship program).
So, that's pretty much my story. It's not the most cohesive thing ever written, but this is how was easiest for me to express it.
You have a story- go out and share it. It may be something someone needs to hear. To hear that they're not alone in this. To hear that there's hope. Don't be ashamed; we've all lived life, and I think one of the greatest gifts we can give to each other and the world, is indeed, our story.
Anywho...
This will be my story. We all have them, and there's something beautiful that happens when we tear down the walls we built up, are vulnerable, and lay bare the life we've lived.
Like everyone else's story, my beginning is the same: I was born. I was born into a seemingly normal family- 2 older sisters, an older brother. My dad's a pastor, my mom helped lead worship.
I was born in Indiana. We moved when I was 3, because my dad felt that God was calling him to do ministry in Minnesota. I hated the fact that we were moving. I can remember events in my life as early as when I was 3- I cried for the big blue house in Indiana for forever. Wimp.
For 2 years, when I was 3 and 4 years old, a family friend molested and raped me repeatedly and on a consistent basis. Someone once asked me "What? A 3 year old can be raped? How?" Just trust me, it's more than possible. He was 17, and his mom would babysit my brother and I. My parents felt something was wrong, so they stopped taking us to that person to be babysat and our family drifted apart from theirs. It was later discovered that this man had also molested my brother. I acted out my abuse on other kids; I didn't know it wasn't right nor not normal. It was what I knew to be normal.
Life went on as normal. My family didn't know and I didn't remember, until I was 10. When I was 10, on my abuser's wedding day, I remembered everything he did. Entire scenes from the abuse would play in my mind over and over again, like it was on an endless loop. I told my mom that day. She didn't say much, other than she was going to tell my dad after church the next day. I pleaded with her to not tell my dad because I knew he'd call the cops. I felt like I would get in trouble, that I was to blame, so having the police involved was something out of the question in my mind. My dad did call the cops. A few days later, a female detective came over and asked me a bunch of questions about what transpired. More cops came to collect evidence that had been left behind. Within the next week, my dad called the man and the police recorded it. My dad got the guy to confess to 2 incidences. Evidence spoke other than that. Soon, I'd have to tape a testimony that would be played in court. My abuser was sentenced to a year in jail. He got more time in jail for violating parole by robbing a gas station, than he did for implementing an anguish on me that would last for a long time.
After the abuse had been unveiled, my mom started acting really differently.
Now, as a side note, I hate implementing family members, for I always fear my friends or those who know them will look at them differently and act differently towards them. Then I remember- these things are important for me to get out and talk about. There's, sadly, nothing extraordinary about my family situations than what you see in society today. And my family members each have their own battles I know they face. All I can do is pray that one day, got will pierce their hearts like he did mine.
Now back to it.
I remember one night my mom was just catatonic. She sat there and stared off, not saying a word, not answering any questions I had on why she wasn't talking. I remember freaking out, thinking something was medically wrong. When in all actuality, I think something in my mom had snapped. She would eventually say she was going to run away; this happened quite often. She would say that, then go away for hours, none of us sure where she went. My mom would tell me that my abuse was my fault. She would call me worthless, fat, ugly, etc. This escalated when she started using her hands to "teach me a lesson". When my brother was 15 he was diagnosed with a bunch of different mental disorders/disabilities. He would soon become physically, verbally and sexually abusive towards me. Growing up, all I knew was abuse. I also knew poverty quite well. My dad (who is an amazing father, might I add. He didn't know a lot of these things were going on, and when he did he would do everything in his power to stop it) Anyways, my dad was forced to resign by the church he pastored at here in Rochester. He had started a Saturday night service, and during that service many people with addictions, adulterers, and homosexuals would come. The elders said my dad was being too much like Jesus by allowing these people to come in; they only wanted straight-laced people who "had it together." After the forced resignation, my family was left with no money. An unpaid pastor (my dad now runs a ministry for addicts) and a chiropractic assistant's salaries don't make up much money. My family's had to declare bankruptcy twice, have a ton of mortgages, almost have had our house foreclosed on us (and we've been demo-ing stuff in case it gets foreclosed on), and we've had to swallow our pride and go to local food banks. We still have to do that. We're not poor by any means, compared to the rest of the world. It still takes its toll.
I would run away multiple times, sleep in parks, or live with other families in town for small periods of time until they couldn't take me anymore. I was a vagabond for a year, living in Wisconsin, Chicago, Canada, and other cities in Minnesota.
I was 11 when I first thought about suicide. The toll that the revelation of abuse had played on my family, mixed with the feelings and thoughts that it was all my fault, led to me thinking life would be better for everyone if I was just gone. I started by holding knives to my chest, just thinking, "what if?" This soon turned into actual attempts; between the ages of 11 and 17, I would try to take my life 8 separate times, each obviously unsuccessful. When the last attempt failed, I figured I was supposed to be alive for a reason, so I started to try different things to numb the pain, rather than to obliterate it all together. I started cutting; it turned into a vicious addiction that when I wanted to stop, I couldn't. I stopped one night after I had gotten home from a party. I was so upset with myself for my behaviour that night, so I cut. I cut so deep that I was bleeding a lot. After some time, I just wouldn't stop bleeding. It may sound melodramatic, but I really thought that I was going to die. I lay there, on the bathroom floor, and cried out to God, telling Him that if He let me live, I'd live for Him. I passed out from the loss of blood and woke up a while later, covered in my own blood. I didn't live for God after that; not for quite some time, at least. Eleven was also the age that I doubted God's existence. I grew up hearing about how much God loves us, God does this and that and this and...just things I didn't see nor feel. I thought, "If God loved me, he wouldn't have allowed this to happen to me, right?" By the time I was 12, I stopped believing all together. I would still go to church and maintain this outward appearance of belief, but in my heart God was just something created in peoples minds to help them feel better.
I had gone to multiple therapists, counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists. I was diagnosed with depression, social anxiety disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, post traumatic stress disorder and OCD. I was put on a bunch of different depression meds and anxiety meds. My anxiety got to the point where I couldn't be left alone for over 5 minutes or I'd have a panic attack. Thanks to the Lord, I'm no longer diagnosed with any of these mental illnesses.
Besides cutting, I had a few other addictions. It started with prescription pills, then weed, then coke and x. I would also drink pretty heavily. The drugs weren't a big of a problem for me as the drinking. I would have my times where I would clean up my act, like missions trips with my youth group.
But if my act wasn't be 'cleaned up', I would be drinking pretty much every day. I would go out to party at 7, get home at 8 the next morning, sleep until 4pm, then repeat the whole cycle. I didn't limit my drinking at parties, either. I'd go to bars that notorious for not checking IDs, or sneak in the exits or whatever way I could. I've been caught and had to run from undercover cops. That was a trip haha. Being under the influence, I didn't care about anything. I would hook up with people, irregardless of gender. When I say "hook up" (since I know people have different definitions of it), I mean make out, but a little more intense. Kind of half-way between 2nd and 3rd, if you're a base person. (I felt extremely gross typing that haha). Also to be noted- I've never had a thing for girls; it would just come out while under the influence. Even though I've never had consensual sex, the scars from hooking up with a person are still there and can hurt. The worst was when I went to visit my best friend at the time, who had moved back to Canada. I went to visit her for a while. The second night I was there, we got pretty sloppy drunk and hooked up. When realizing everything that happened the next day, she kicked me out. I was on the streets of Ottawa, a huge city, by myself. I just chilled wherever and lived until I was able to come back home. When I was under the influence, I would beat people to bloody pulps. If anyone said anything about me, my friends or my family, I would take them down. Even sober, I'd do that- I learned that I had extreme amounts of anger, and I learned that quickly.
When I finally stopped the drugs is when some messed up stuff with my friends happened at a party. I drank all the way up until I went to Rockford Master's Commission- even then, I got in trouble for drinking with a few other first years and by the grace of God didn't get kicked out but got a second chance.
When I was 16, I went to my first youth group ever. I only went because my brother had gone and saw my best friend from middle school there. She told my brother I should come. So I did- just to see her. Something inside of me stirred that night, and I told her everything about my life that I had kept secret. She got the youth pastor's girlfriend (now his wife) to come over and pray for me. I was like- uh, ok. But when this woman prayed, she knew everything that I had been through, without me ever saying anything. I was intrigued. I came back the next week and asked her to do it again. A bunch of stuff had happened and I wanted to see if she knew what it was once again. And she did. I kept going back and each time, God would chip away at my heart. Eventually it was time for their winter retreat. I didn't want to go, but went anyways. During the last night's altar call, I went forward and accept Jesus as my Saviour. As you can tell from what I've written before, I didn't live it out. I struggled with my addictions and didn't even try and hide them. I believed in Jesus, but I kept carrying around the baggage that He wanted to carry. I didn't drop any of it until I went to Rockford Master's Commission.
Last year, when living in Chicago, my friend, Erin, with whom I was staying, decided to have a chat with me about life. We talked for a while and she told me her story, and one of the things she kept talking about was Rockford Master's Commission. It really intrigued me, but I shrugged it off. When I went back home for a short period of time, I couldn't shake the thought of RMC. It kept coming up. I called Erin and told her that, and two weeks later I was back in Chicago, staying with her and checking out RMC for myself. I knew I was supposed to be there. I was looking for change; I was sick of living the way I was.
Last September, I started RMC. I hated it there at first. I was so resistant to change and didn't want to let go of the baggage I was lugging around with me. I had rededicated my life the first night at Memorial Hall (it's this sweet war memorial/museum; we had a service where we wrote letters to God about what we wanted to get out of our 9 months in the program, and then people got saved). But I wanted to leave many a time. I had my bags packed and was ready to book it at one point. I basically wasted my first 3 1/2 months at RMC fighting the change that I knew was inevitable. Then I gave in and let God do His thing. Yes, I had to play a part in it as well, but He really took over me.
I finally accepted God's love and grace for me, and in that I've been able to show others love. God removed a great deal of my insecurity, broke down my walls and let me trust others and Himself, healed me from all the hurts of my past and put back the broken pieces, taught me how to be disciplined, showed me how valuable I am and...the list goes on. For me to sum up what I learned there, what I got to experience, seems somewhat impossible. The best part is knowing that it wasn't the program that changed me, it wasn't me that changed me, nor was it the people around me- all of these things played their parts in my change, but overall, God did it all.
(And if you're wondering what Rockford Master's Commission is, I still don't know how to explain it beyond a 9 month long, hardcore discipleship program).
So, that's pretty much my story. It's not the most cohesive thing ever written, but this is how was easiest for me to express it.
You have a story- go out and share it. It may be something someone needs to hear. To hear that they're not alone in this. To hear that there's hope. Don't be ashamed; we've all lived life, and I think one of the greatest gifts we can give to each other and the world, is indeed, our story.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The Father's Love
I've been semi-reading books I was assigned to read for class at Rockford Master's Commission, but never really read. Oops!
One of these books is The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel. The whole premise of the book is Lee Strobel, a former atheist, investigates Jesus' life, death and resurrection and asks professionals in different fields (doctors, science, Hebrew scholars, etc.) to give evidence that proves everything we've read about Christ is true and really happened.
I skimmed through much of the book, then I hit this part in the 11th chapter of the book. It's under the heading of "The Torture Before the Cross".
Strobel at this point is interviewing Alexander Metherell, M.D., PH.D. Metherell has the medical and scientific credentials to tell how the crucifixion really went down.
At this point in the interview, Strobel asks Metherell to paint a picture of what happened to Jesus before the crucifixion.
Here are some experts that just blow my mind:
I raised my hand to stop him. "Whoa- here's where the skeptics have a field day," I told him. "The gospels tell us he began to sweat blood at this point. Now, c'mon, isn't that just a product of some overactive imaginations? Doesn't that call into question the accuracy of the gospel writers?"
Unfazed, Metherell shook his head. "Not at all," he replied. "This is a known medical condition called hematidrosis. It's not very common, but it is assocciated with a high degree of psychological stress.
What happens is that sever anxiety cause the release of chemicals that break down the capillaries in the sweat glands. As a result, there's a small amount of bleeding into these glands, and the sweat comes out tinged with blood. We're not talking about a lot of blood; its just a very, very small amount."
Though a bit chastened, I pressed on. "Did this have any other effect on the body?"
"What this did was set up the skin to be extremely fragile so that when Jesus was flogged by the Roman soldier the next day, his sin would be very, very sensitive."
.....
"Tell me," I said. "what was the flogging like?"
Metherell's eyes never left me. "Roman floggings were known to be terrible brutal. They usually consisted of thirty-nine lashes but frequently were a lot more than that, depending on the mood of the soldier applying the blows.
The soldier would use a whip of braided leather thongs with metal balls woven into them. When the whip would strike the flesh, these balls would cause deep bruises or contusions, which would break open with further blows. And the whip had pieces of sharp bone as well, which would cut the flesh severely.
The back would be so shredded that part of the spine was sometimes exposed by the deep, deep cuts. The whipping would have gone all the way from the shoulders down to the back, the buttocks, and the back of the legs. It was just terrible.
One physician who has studied Roman beatings said, 'As the flogging continued, the lacerations would tear into the underlying skeletal muscles and produce quivering ribbons of bleeding flesh.' A third-century historian by the name of Eusebius described a flogging by saying, 'The sufferer's veins were laid bare, and the very muscles, sinews, and bowels of the victimwere open to exposure.'
We know that many people would die from this kind of beating even before they could be crucified. At the least, the victim would experience tremendous pain and go into hypovolemic shock."
(Strobel then asks Metherell to explain hypovolemic shock)
"Hypo means 'low,' vol refers to volume, and emic means 'blood,' so hypovolemic shock means the person is suffering the effects of losing a large amount of blood, " the doctor explained. "This does four things. First, the heart races to try to pump blood that isn't there; second, the blood pressure drops, causing fainting or collapse third, the kidneys stop producing urine to maintain what volume is left; and fourth, the person becomes very thirsty as the body craves fluids to replace the lost blood volume."
......
"Because of the terrible effects of this beating, there's no question that Jesus was already in serious to critical conditions even before the nails were driven through is hands and feet."
This left me shaken. My Saviour had endured far more pain than what I thought. Far more pain than what our mind thinks of when reading the Gospel accounts of Jesus's crucifixion; more than what we see in movies depicting the life of Jesus (The Passion included). And for what? Me? You? Sinners. Take a moment now. Think about who would endure such suffering for you. Who would TRULY endure such suffering. If this isn't enough to see the amount of love Jesus has for us, how passionate our God is for us, I really don't know what will display that.
There of course, is the crucifixion left. The next section explains that.
I began to unpack these issues. "What happened when he arrived at the site of the Crucifixion? I asked.
"He would have been laid down, and his hands would have been nailed in the outstretched position to the horizontal beam. This crossbar was called the patibulum, and at this stage it was separate from the vertical beam, which was permanently set in the ground."
I was having difficulty visualizing this; I needed more details. "Nailed with what?" I asked. "Nailed where?"
"The Romans used spikes that were five to seven inches long and tapered to a sharp point. They were driven through the wrists," Metherell said, pointing about an inch or so below his left palm.
"Hold it," I interrupted. "I thought the nails pierced his palms. That's what all the paintings show. In fact, it's become a standard symbol representing the Crucifixion."
"Through the wrists," Metherell repeated. "This was a solid position that would lock the hand; if the nails had been driven through the palms, his weight would have caused the skin to tear and he would have fallen off the cross. So the nails went through the wrists, although this was considered part of the hand in the language of the day.
And it's important to understand that the nail would go through the place where the median nerve runs. This is the largest nerve going out to the hand, and it would be crushed by the nail that was being pounded in."
Since I have only a rudimentary knowledge of the human anatomy, I wasn't sure what this meant. "What sort of pain would that have produced?" I asked.
"Let me put it this way," he replied. "Do you know the kind of pain you feel when you bang your elbow and hit your funny bone? That's actually another nerve, called the ulna nerve. It's extremely painful when you accidentally hit it.
Well, picture taking a pair of pliers and squeezing and crushing that nerve," he said, emphasizing the word squeezing as he twisted an imaginary pair of pliers. "That effect would be similar to what Jesus experienced.
.....
"The pain was absolutely unbearable," he continued. "In fact, it was literally beyond words to describe; they had to invent a new word: excruciating. Literally, excruciating means 'out of the cross.' Think of that: they needed to create a new word, because there was nothing in the language that could describe the intense anguish caused during the crucifixion.
At this point Jesus was hoisted as the crossbar was attached to the vertical stake, and then nails were driven through Jesus' feet. Again, the nerves in his feet would have been crushed, and there would have been a similar type of pain."
"What stresses would this have put on his body?"
Metherell answered, "First of all, his arms would have immediately been stretched, probably about six inches in length, and both shoulders would have become dislocated--you can determine this with simple mathematical equations."
OK. The next part goes on to describe what Jesus would have died of- cardiac arrest.
This paints a picture in my mind of the Lord in flesh's heart being broken for His people before He died.
I'm sorry that I posted a lot out of a book, but this just shows a great deal of who our Father is. How much love there is for us that He would let his Son go through such excruciating pain for us to be redeemed.
Realistically, Jesus could have not been so beaten, shed some blood, and we'd be fine. He wouldn't have even had to die. But as an act to show how much love He has for us, God sacrificed His own Son.
You can't tell me that this doesn't blow your mind.
I'll post a regular blog with strictly my thoughts later.
Until then.
Your Father loves you. The proof of that cannot ever be disproved.
(This blog was fueled by obviously the book The Case For Christ by Lee Strobel and the album Silence by Blindside)
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
My favourite speaker...
...didn't even directly speak to some people at all.
I'm referring to Moses.
We all pretty much know his story.
Born a Hebrew, thrust into Egyptian royalty. With God's help he freed the Hebrew slaves from the clutches of the pharaoh. Moses delivered the Ten Commandments.
Moses had some sort of speech impediment. It's not very clear what it was; many believe it was a stutter.
He had no confidence in his ability to speak.
Exodus 6:12- But Moses said to the LORD, "If the Israelites will not listen to me, why would Pharaoh listen to me, since I speak with faltering lips?"
Exodus 4:10- Moses said to the LORD, "O LORD, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you spoke to your servant. I am slow of speech in tongue."
in verse 13 he pleaded, "O LORD, please send someone else to do it."
Exodus 4:14- Then the LORD's anger burned against Moses and He said, "What about your brother, Aaron the Levite? I know he can speak well... You shall speak to him and put the words in his mouth; I will help both of you speak and will teach you what to do. He will speak to the people for you, and it will be as if he were your mouth and you were God to him."
These verses are referencing the point when God had told Moses, via the burning bush, to tell Pharaoh to free the Hebrews he had enslaved. I love the part that says, about Aaron, "He will speak to the people for you, and it will be as if he were your mouth and you were God to him." Even though Moses wasn't the most eloquent of speakers, God still used him. He used Moses to deliver some very important words to his brother, Aaron, who then delivered them to Pharaoh.
But Moses spoke beyond that. He was the one who delivered the Ten Commandments. He came down Mt. Sinai and told this mass of Hebrews what the Lord had spoken to him.
Moses would actually become quite a bold speaker.
At one point, God commanded Moses to speak to a rock so that it would bring forth water. Moses instead struck it twice after having said to the Israelites, "Listen now, you rebels; shall we bring forth water for you out of this rock?"
He spoke with bitterness.
The Lord then said that because they had not believed Him and treat Him as holy, Moses would not lead the Israelites into the promised land. Ouch.
Moses let his words prevent him from fulfilling what God had asked him to do.
Despite Moses's bitter speech, God still had used him in big ways. He was a man who got to interface with a Pharaoh AND God. God entrusted him with so much. He was a prophet. He was believed to write the Pentateuch- Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy.
Moses, buddy, I feel ya.
In elementary school I had to go to speech therapy every Wednesday. I think all of my siblings had speech therapy... we all spoke way too fast, mumbled and slurred our words. Not much has really changed haha.
I still mumble from time to time. If I get really excited I speak fast. If I'm overly tired, my words become slurred.
But I know despite the mess that my words are at times, God can still use that.
He wants to use that. God's not a liar, so He wouldn't tell me something untrue.
Uh, so yeah- Moses.
This post wasn't that well thought out haha.
I'm referring to Moses.
We all pretty much know his story.
Born a Hebrew, thrust into Egyptian royalty. With God's help he freed the Hebrew slaves from the clutches of the pharaoh. Moses delivered the Ten Commandments.
Moses had some sort of speech impediment. It's not very clear what it was; many believe it was a stutter.
He had no confidence in his ability to speak.
Exodus 6:12- But Moses said to the LORD, "If the Israelites will not listen to me, why would Pharaoh listen to me, since I speak with faltering lips?"
Exodus 4:10- Moses said to the LORD, "O LORD, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you spoke to your servant. I am slow of speech in tongue."
in verse 13 he pleaded, "O LORD, please send someone else to do it."
Exodus 4:14- Then the LORD's anger burned against Moses and He said, "What about your brother, Aaron the Levite? I know he can speak well... You shall speak to him and put the words in his mouth; I will help both of you speak and will teach you what to do. He will speak to the people for you, and it will be as if he were your mouth and you were God to him."
These verses are referencing the point when God had told Moses, via the burning bush, to tell Pharaoh to free the Hebrews he had enslaved. I love the part that says, about Aaron, "He will speak to the people for you, and it will be as if he were your mouth and you were God to him." Even though Moses wasn't the most eloquent of speakers, God still used him. He used Moses to deliver some very important words to his brother, Aaron, who then delivered them to Pharaoh.
But Moses spoke beyond that. He was the one who delivered the Ten Commandments. He came down Mt. Sinai and told this mass of Hebrews what the Lord had spoken to him.
Moses would actually become quite a bold speaker.
At one point, God commanded Moses to speak to a rock so that it would bring forth water. Moses instead struck it twice after having said to the Israelites, "Listen now, you rebels; shall we bring forth water for you out of this rock?"
He spoke with bitterness.
The Lord then said that because they had not believed Him and treat Him as holy, Moses would not lead the Israelites into the promised land. Ouch.
Moses let his words prevent him from fulfilling what God had asked him to do.
Despite Moses's bitter speech, God still had used him in big ways. He was a man who got to interface with a Pharaoh AND God. God entrusted him with so much. He was a prophet. He was believed to write the Pentateuch- Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy.
Moses, buddy, I feel ya.
In elementary school I had to go to speech therapy every Wednesday. I think all of my siblings had speech therapy... we all spoke way too fast, mumbled and slurred our words. Not much has really changed haha.
I still mumble from time to time. If I get really excited I speak fast. If I'm overly tired, my words become slurred.
But I know despite the mess that my words are at times, God can still use that.
He wants to use that. God's not a liar, so He wouldn't tell me something untrue.
Uh, so yeah- Moses.
This post wasn't that well thought out haha.
(this was fueled by the albums Perceptions by VersaEmerge and Live at Stubb's by Matisyahu)
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Anis Mojgani
I used to want to be a slam poet. I would write poems upon poems upon poems. I actually performed them from time to time at Studio Academy, the high school I went to. It's an alternative school for the performing and visual arts. Then, during one class, the teacher recorded me and gave me a copy. After hearing myself, I decided slam poetry wasn't for me.
Friday night, I went with a few friends, my brother, oldest sister and mom, to a special event that happened in Rochester, Minnesota of all places. The guys from the MTV reality show "The Buried Life" came to fulfill the wish of a girl named Lexie, who struggled with depression and self injury. Ironically, Lexie used to be a friend of mine during high school (well, the year and a half that I spent in a conventional high school). I stabbed her in the back in an effort to fit in. After that Friday night, all had been forgiven, since we're both not who we once were. Anyways....
Before Mat Kearney performed. Before Jamie Tworkowski from To Write Love On Her Arms spoke. Before Ben Nemtin from The Buried Life or Lexie spoke, there was Anis Mojgani.
Never before had I heard of this man. He stepped out, no one knowing who he was and with people not expecting much. He walked off the stage to rousing applause and cheers, as I know he touched every heart in that place.
So, I had to share this with you, because I love you. Even if I don't know you, I freaking love you. Just accept it. ;-)
I'm going to post a link to a video of Anis's poem, "Come Closer". Listening to him say each word, I had goosebumps all over my body, chills running up and down my spine, and tears in my eyes. Signs of a great slam poet. Anis truly inspired me to speak once again.
Click here and you won't regret it.
Friday night, I went with a few friends, my brother, oldest sister and mom, to a special event that happened in Rochester, Minnesota of all places. The guys from the MTV reality show "The Buried Life" came to fulfill the wish of a girl named Lexie, who struggled with depression and self injury. Ironically, Lexie used to be a friend of mine during high school (well, the year and a half that I spent in a conventional high school). I stabbed her in the back in an effort to fit in. After that Friday night, all had been forgiven, since we're both not who we once were. Anyways....
Before Mat Kearney performed. Before Jamie Tworkowski from To Write Love On Her Arms spoke. Before Ben Nemtin from The Buried Life or Lexie spoke, there was Anis Mojgani.
Never before had I heard of this man. He stepped out, no one knowing who he was and with people not expecting much. He walked off the stage to rousing applause and cheers, as I know he touched every heart in that place.
So, I had to share this with you, because I love you. Even if I don't know you, I freaking love you. Just accept it. ;-)
I'm going to post a link to a video of Anis's poem, "Come Closer". Listening to him say each word, I had goosebumps all over my body, chills running up and down my spine, and tears in my eyes. Signs of a great slam poet. Anis truly inspired me to speak once again.
Click here and you won't regret it.
A stop along the journey.
I asked my dearest friend Erika what I should write about next. She said I should write about the journey I've had the past year of my life. After telling her that would be the longest blog entry ever and semi-impossible, she reasoned that I should write about a specific part of the journey. Which lines up with something that was on my mind, anyways.
In May, I had the privilege of going to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, with a team of 11 other people from Rockford Master's Commission and Rockford First Assembly. We went to the DTES- downtown Eastside, of Vancouver. This area is the meeting point of some major areas in the city- Gastown, Chinatown, the gay community, and well, I honestly forget the other part. In this area of the city, drugs are legal. Crack and heroin are the most commonly used drugs. There's also a high percentage of homelessness, alcoholism, mental illness, HIV/AIDs and Hepatitis C. All day and night, sirens would blare through the neighborhood we were in. Walking the streets, I saw countless people shooting up, smoking pot, smoking crack, reeking of alcohol. I saw many men hitting the women they were with. People shuffling along, talking to themselves. Drug deals. Women selling themselves.
I felt that was nothing compared to when I walked the intersection of Main St. and Hastings. My heart broke as I walked past countless people selling anything they could, then turning around and buying a hit with whatever money they had just acquired. The sidewalk was lined with people panhandling. There were countless people standing in line with shopping carts filled with bottles and cans. They were waiting outside of the can/bottle exchange, turning in whatever they found on the streets and in the dumpsters, in for mere change.
But the one thing I couldn't help but notice was their sense of community. I felt welcomed into their community at the point when a man noticed my green crazy straw sippy cup I carried everywhere with me when I was void of a proper water bottle. He asked if I used to it make martinis haha. Anyways, that lead to a great conversation. Very interesting, but I loved every minute of it, and I felt like less of an American outsider.
I guess I'm writing all of this to set up the scene. There's no way I could condense all that I got to be involved with, all that I saw and heard, all that I learned while in that area, into one little blog post.
I'm going to focus in on one person. A Vietnamese man named Tony.
I remember meeting Tony on the second day we were in Vancouver. I loved doing tedious things, so I volunteered to help out Jacob's Well, the organization whe help with, and assemble their newsletter. This entailed handstamping the JW logo, putting on a stamp, sorting them into piles noting which envelops were being sent to Canada, US, and then international, and putting on the address labels. While I was doing this, Tony came and offered me some tea. Me, being the tea snob I am, happily accepted his offer. He kept coming back and doing this, at least 7 times refilling my cup of tea. Then Tony sat down and helped me with the newsletter. That day we just made small talk, mostly about hockey. I mean, the Chicago Blackhawks had just beat the Vancouver Canucks in the Stanley Cup playoffs, so we were basically dead men walking when we hit town.
Tony came by everyday we were in Vancouver to hang out, eat, make us tea, and help out.
Tony is probably in his 40s. A few days after getting to know some of us and spending time with us, he opened up about his life. He came over from Vietnam with one of his friends, via a boat. They landed in Ontario, the furthest east province of Canada. He said he came for a better life. He told us some stories about Vietnam and the horrors he saw there and endured.
When he was in Ontario, he met his wife, Emily.
They soon moved to British Columbia, where they lived the "dream" and had 3 beautiful children, ages 10, 8 and 7.
Emily started going out and partying with a friend of hers. She would drink. Then in came the drugs.
Eventually she cheated on Tony. Then she left him. She's now a dancer.
Tony said that his wife doing this made him go "crazy". I still to this day, don't exactly know what he means by this.
But what I do know is that he ended up in a mental institution. He was there for 8 months to begin with. Then the institution decided to keep him for another 6 months to test drugs on him.
By the time he got out, he was on 32 different medications. Tony says he now takes only 5 of these medicines. The rest he puts into a giant jar and throws away. He says he's able to be down to 5 meds because, in his words, "I believe Jesus is healing me."
Dang.
When he was away in the institution, his children were taken away since his wife couldn't take care of them, either.
They're now in foster care. He gets to see them 2 times a week. I was able to see them, and they are 3 of the most beautiful half Vietnamese, half Canadian children I've ever seen. OK- 3 of the most beautiful bi-racial children I've ever seen.
Tony says his oldest daughter tells him about what is done to them in foster care. They're abused. The foster care system just keeps them where they are. Tony could get them back, but he needs a steady job and sustainable housing, first. (during this time, Tony was telling 3 of us females about his kids, and was crying so...we all started crying. Waterworks all around). Anyways...
Tony lives in an SRO, directly above the Jacob's Well storefront. An SRO is short for "single room occupancy". It's basically a 10'x10' room that you squeeze all you can into. The rent for an SRO is basically the amount of a single welfare check.
Tony is out every single day, searching for a job. He wants his kids back, desperately. He says that he knows in the Lord's timing, he will get his kids back. He's trusting in the Lord to provide him a job, money, and therefore the ability to regain custody of his children.
Not only this, but everytime there was an opportunity for someone to lead us out in prayer, he went for it. His prayers were simple, but powerful. He always asked God to help us be reminded that all we need is Him, and He will provide the rest.
During worship, he was the only one unashamed to sing at the top of his lungs, not worrying if he was off-key or sounded great. The rest of us sat back, slumped into our chairs, whispering the words.
Tony has been saved for a year and a half. One of his friends, who we eventually had the priviledge of meeting, took Tony to a Salvation Army church service. Tony said he liked it because they gave out free food, so he started going back. Then, then the messages of Jesus hit his heart and he accepted Christ. He says the one thing he wants most in life is tell others about Jesus and for them to experience the freedom he's had since he invited the Lord to come into his life.
Dang!
These things put so much into check for us.
Here's a man, in a seemingly hopeless situation, but he in himself was not without hope.
He trusted the Lord with such big things; we were freaking out because we weren't 100% sure where the next payment for tuition was coming from, not sure what to do next in life or worrying about whether a certain relative could come see us graduate or not.
Here we were, complaining about having to sleep on the carpeted floor of a storefront. We'd soon go back to America to our comfortable lives. He was living in absolute poverty.
Sometimes, I still can't seem to find the words of what this man that society would undenaibly look down upon, taught me in such a simple way, by being simply who he was made to be.
A few months ago, Tony finally got a job like he had been trusting the Lord for.
Trusting God pays off. Even if it's not in our timing.
This makes me think of another wonderful person that a few of us got to meet in Vancouver. One day, Alberto, an awesome guy who works with JW, took me, my friends Krystal, Kevin Klump, and a community member named Harold, to visit a woman named Jenet at her apartment.
Jenet has had pneumonia for 3 years straight. She probably would be better, but she always ends up checking herself out of the hospital. The night before we came to visit, she had been in the hospital, but checked herself out. Since her home nurse didn't know she had checked herself out, Jenet had no way of having food made for her. Jenet is basically bed-ridden due to her illness and lack of mobility.
Jenet's simple request was for us to make her toast. So we did so and made very minimal small talk.
She had checked herself out of the hospital because they had put her in a room at the ICU with a man. To Jenet, that man's presence was more of a threat to her than his illness- which in reality was more harmful to her than his presence. Crazy how those things and life experiences hold people back from receiving help.
Anyways, after some time, we had to get going, so we just gathered together, held hands and Alberto led us in a prayer for Jenet. Jenet then decided she wanted to close out the prayer- instead of praying for herself, she prayed for us, not bringing herself up really any time. She thanked the Lord for bringing her these "4 angels". She thanked him for the freaking potato chips she had before we got there. She thanked God for the toast, which was the best she'd ever had. She prayed for our families. She prayed tremendous amounts of blessing into our lives.
After leaving, Krystal, Kevin and I all decided we needed to have a quiet time, because this woman left us speechless.
She was thankful for such small things we overlook everyday. She was thankful for our presence for 30 minutes of her day.
Anyways...Vancouver was filled with lessons! :)
In May, I had the privilege of going to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, with a team of 11 other people from Rockford Master's Commission and Rockford First Assembly. We went to the DTES- downtown Eastside, of Vancouver. This area is the meeting point of some major areas in the city- Gastown, Chinatown, the gay community, and well, I honestly forget the other part. In this area of the city, drugs are legal. Crack and heroin are the most commonly used drugs. There's also a high percentage of homelessness, alcoholism, mental illness, HIV/AIDs and Hepatitis C. All day and night, sirens would blare through the neighborhood we were in. Walking the streets, I saw countless people shooting up, smoking pot, smoking crack, reeking of alcohol. I saw many men hitting the women they were with. People shuffling along, talking to themselves. Drug deals. Women selling themselves.
I felt that was nothing compared to when I walked the intersection of Main St. and Hastings. My heart broke as I walked past countless people selling anything they could, then turning around and buying a hit with whatever money they had just acquired. The sidewalk was lined with people panhandling. There were countless people standing in line with shopping carts filled with bottles and cans. They were waiting outside of the can/bottle exchange, turning in whatever they found on the streets and in the dumpsters, in for mere change.
But the one thing I couldn't help but notice was their sense of community. I felt welcomed into their community at the point when a man noticed my green crazy straw sippy cup I carried everywhere with me when I was void of a proper water bottle. He asked if I used to it make martinis haha. Anyways, that lead to a great conversation. Very interesting, but I loved every minute of it, and I felt like less of an American outsider.
I guess I'm writing all of this to set up the scene. There's no way I could condense all that I got to be involved with, all that I saw and heard, all that I learned while in that area, into one little blog post.
I'm going to focus in on one person. A Vietnamese man named Tony.
I remember meeting Tony on the second day we were in Vancouver. I loved doing tedious things, so I volunteered to help out Jacob's Well, the organization whe help with, and assemble their newsletter. This entailed handstamping the JW logo, putting on a stamp, sorting them into piles noting which envelops were being sent to Canada, US, and then international, and putting on the address labels. While I was doing this, Tony came and offered me some tea. Me, being the tea snob I am, happily accepted his offer. He kept coming back and doing this, at least 7 times refilling my cup of tea. Then Tony sat down and helped me with the newsletter. That day we just made small talk, mostly about hockey. I mean, the Chicago Blackhawks had just beat the Vancouver Canucks in the Stanley Cup playoffs, so we were basically dead men walking when we hit town.
Tony came by everyday we were in Vancouver to hang out, eat, make us tea, and help out.
Tony is probably in his 40s. A few days after getting to know some of us and spending time with us, he opened up about his life. He came over from Vietnam with one of his friends, via a boat. They landed in Ontario, the furthest east province of Canada. He said he came for a better life. He told us some stories about Vietnam and the horrors he saw there and endured.
When he was in Ontario, he met his wife, Emily.
They soon moved to British Columbia, where they lived the "dream" and had 3 beautiful children, ages 10, 8 and 7.
Emily started going out and partying with a friend of hers. She would drink. Then in came the drugs.
Eventually she cheated on Tony. Then she left him. She's now a dancer.
Tony said that his wife doing this made him go "crazy". I still to this day, don't exactly know what he means by this.
But what I do know is that he ended up in a mental institution. He was there for 8 months to begin with. Then the institution decided to keep him for another 6 months to test drugs on him.
By the time he got out, he was on 32 different medications. Tony says he now takes only 5 of these medicines. The rest he puts into a giant jar and throws away. He says he's able to be down to 5 meds because, in his words, "I believe Jesus is healing me."
Dang.
When he was away in the institution, his children were taken away since his wife couldn't take care of them, either.
They're now in foster care. He gets to see them 2 times a week. I was able to see them, and they are 3 of the most beautiful half Vietnamese, half Canadian children I've ever seen. OK- 3 of the most beautiful bi-racial children I've ever seen.
Tony says his oldest daughter tells him about what is done to them in foster care. They're abused. The foster care system just keeps them where they are. Tony could get them back, but he needs a steady job and sustainable housing, first. (during this time, Tony was telling 3 of us females about his kids, and was crying so...we all started crying. Waterworks all around). Anyways...
Tony lives in an SRO, directly above the Jacob's Well storefront. An SRO is short for "single room occupancy". It's basically a 10'x10' room that you squeeze all you can into. The rent for an SRO is basically the amount of a single welfare check.
Tony is out every single day, searching for a job. He wants his kids back, desperately. He says that he knows in the Lord's timing, he will get his kids back. He's trusting in the Lord to provide him a job, money, and therefore the ability to regain custody of his children.
Not only this, but everytime there was an opportunity for someone to lead us out in prayer, he went for it. His prayers were simple, but powerful. He always asked God to help us be reminded that all we need is Him, and He will provide the rest.
During worship, he was the only one unashamed to sing at the top of his lungs, not worrying if he was off-key or sounded great. The rest of us sat back, slumped into our chairs, whispering the words.
Tony has been saved for a year and a half. One of his friends, who we eventually had the priviledge of meeting, took Tony to a Salvation Army church service. Tony said he liked it because they gave out free food, so he started going back. Then, then the messages of Jesus hit his heart and he accepted Christ. He says the one thing he wants most in life is tell others about Jesus and for them to experience the freedom he's had since he invited the Lord to come into his life.
Dang!
These things put so much into check for us.
Here's a man, in a seemingly hopeless situation, but he in himself was not without hope.
He trusted the Lord with such big things; we were freaking out because we weren't 100% sure where the next payment for tuition was coming from, not sure what to do next in life or worrying about whether a certain relative could come see us graduate or not.
Here we were, complaining about having to sleep on the carpeted floor of a storefront. We'd soon go back to America to our comfortable lives. He was living in absolute poverty.
Sometimes, I still can't seem to find the words of what this man that society would undenaibly look down upon, taught me in such a simple way, by being simply who he was made to be.
A few months ago, Tony finally got a job like he had been trusting the Lord for.
Trusting God pays off. Even if it's not in our timing.
This makes me think of another wonderful person that a few of us got to meet in Vancouver. One day, Alberto, an awesome guy who works with JW, took me, my friends Krystal, Kevin Klump, and a community member named Harold, to visit a woman named Jenet at her apartment.
Jenet has had pneumonia for 3 years straight. She probably would be better, but she always ends up checking herself out of the hospital. The night before we came to visit, she had been in the hospital, but checked herself out. Since her home nurse didn't know she had checked herself out, Jenet had no way of having food made for her. Jenet is basically bed-ridden due to her illness and lack of mobility.
Jenet's simple request was for us to make her toast. So we did so and made very minimal small talk.
She had checked herself out of the hospital because they had put her in a room at the ICU with a man. To Jenet, that man's presence was more of a threat to her than his illness- which in reality was more harmful to her than his presence. Crazy how those things and life experiences hold people back from receiving help.
Anyways, after some time, we had to get going, so we just gathered together, held hands and Alberto led us in a prayer for Jenet. Jenet then decided she wanted to close out the prayer- instead of praying for herself, she prayed for us, not bringing herself up really any time. She thanked the Lord for bringing her these "4 angels". She thanked him for the freaking potato chips she had before we got there. She thanked God for the toast, which was the best she'd ever had. She prayed for our families. She prayed tremendous amounts of blessing into our lives.
After leaving, Krystal, Kevin and I all decided we needed to have a quiet time, because this woman left us speechless.
She was thankful for such small things we overlook everyday. She was thankful for our presence for 30 minutes of her day.
Anyways...Vancouver was filled with lessons! :)
 |
| Tony & I. (after I gave him my favourite hat in the world that I kind of miss haha) |
(this blog post was fueled by journal entries, a giant glass of iced tea and the albums Heart Attack Time Machine by Waterdeep and Old Crows/Young Cardinals by alexisonfire.)
Monday, August 9, 2010
And so it begins.
Shalom. After some initial thought, followed by encouragement by the lovely Brooke Adams, here I am. Writing a blog at 1am.
So, this being the first blog post I'm making, my initial thoughts were, "I should introduce myself incase some stranger comes along and wonders, 'what is this kid all about?'" Or even to reveal myself to those near and dear to me.
Then I started thinking about how we tell each other about who we are.
It's about what we own.
-I have a guitar.
-I don't have a car, but I do have a bike.
-I have 2 dogs. One I love with everything, the other not so much.
It's about our appearance.
-I'm 5'10".
-I've always been told that I look like my mom.
-I'm French Canadian, have green eyes, and brown hair.
It's about our past experiences.
-When I was in pre-school I got 11 stitches in my head right before the Christmas pageant. I was hardcore and went after they were done with me in the ER.
-I was abused as a child.
It's about how we entered into this world:
-I was born August 28, 1988, 2 weeks earlier than my mother's due date.
-I came out pooping and was almost born in the elevator.
-I was born in Indiana, near Lake Michigan.
I could go on: it's about family, our friends, our hobbies, what shows we watch, what we listen to, what we eat, what we hate, what we believe, etc. These things matter, yes. But we allow them to take on a whole new form and they go from beyond describing us; they label us. They can easily be waivered, manipulated, changed, or discarded due to unexpected events or what people we're around (and what we really want them to believe or know about us).
It's who we are, right?
We're humans. We all live. We all experience hardships.
We're broken.
We're hurting.
Overlooked.
Discarded.
In hiding.
We're humans. We all live. We all experience joys.
We're hopeful.
We're determined.
Happy.
Content.
But these things, they still don't identify who I am. Truly, deep in your core, they don't describe you. Not who you fully are. Not who you were meant to be. These things are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
So, turning to the only source I know to be true, the Word of the living God, I sought out truth. Who am I? Who are we?
(If I've lost you due to throwing out Scripture, I'm sorry. Not for the fact that you don't like what I've had to say; I'm sorry that you probably don't think you are these things. If you ever come to a spot where you see these as truths and believe it all, your life will be nothing less than changed.)
I feel cliche at this moment. So many things that I'm about to list off are known. But that's it- they're just KNOWN and not much beyond it. They're not fully embraced, lived out, believed, accepted... And even when we get to those spots of accepting it and living it out, it's often made a temporary thing. Like- "I messed up in this area, so God can't call me His child." I'm guilty of having this mentality, and it's a great trap to get us distracted. But that's a whole other subject.
Anyways...who I am. (and who you are, as well)
God's best friend forever:
John 15:15- I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.
(In verse 16 Jesus continues to say that we did not choose him, but rather HE chose US to be his disciples. So, chalk another one up. Chosen.)
Chosen before birth to be set apart. God's kiddos. Redeemed. Forgiven.
Ephesians 1:3-8- Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ in accordance with his pleasure and will--to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding.
Made new.
2 Corinthians 5:17- Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!
More than a conqueror.
Romans 8:37- No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
Called to declare the praises of the King. Called out of the darkness.
1 Peter 2:9- But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.
These things...just the beginning. I could go on and on.
Fearfully & wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:14)
God's treasured possession. (Deuteronomy 7:6)
A child of light. (1 Thessalonians 5:5)
Freed from sin's power. (Romans 6:7)
And so much freaking more beyond that my mind can't take it and I'd be sitting here for hours.
So, there- who I am. And hopefully, hopefully you got a glimpse of who you were meant to be, or a nice refresher. I know for me, it was a refresher, a good reminder.
Next time someone asks you to tell them about yourself...remember.
So, this being the first blog post I'm making, my initial thoughts were, "I should introduce myself incase some stranger comes along and wonders, 'what is this kid all about?'" Or even to reveal myself to those near and dear to me.
Then I started thinking about how we tell each other about who we are.
It's about what we own.
-I have a guitar.
-I don't have a car, but I do have a bike.
-I have 2 dogs. One I love with everything, the other not so much.
It's about our appearance.
-I'm 5'10".
-I've always been told that I look like my mom.
-I'm French Canadian, have green eyes, and brown hair.
It's about our past experiences.
-When I was in pre-school I got 11 stitches in my head right before the Christmas pageant. I was hardcore and went after they were done with me in the ER.
-I was abused as a child.
It's about how we entered into this world:
-I was born August 28, 1988, 2 weeks earlier than my mother's due date.
-I came out pooping and was almost born in the elevator.
-I was born in Indiana, near Lake Michigan.
I could go on: it's about family, our friends, our hobbies, what shows we watch, what we listen to, what we eat, what we hate, what we believe, etc. These things matter, yes. But we allow them to take on a whole new form and they go from beyond describing us; they label us. They can easily be waivered, manipulated, changed, or discarded due to unexpected events or what people we're around (and what we really want them to believe or know about us).
It's who we are, right?
We're humans. We all live. We all experience hardships.
We're broken.
We're hurting.
Overlooked.
Discarded.
In hiding.
We're humans. We all live. We all experience joys.
We're hopeful.
We're determined.
Happy.
Content.
But these things, they still don't identify who I am. Truly, deep in your core, they don't describe you. Not who you fully are. Not who you were meant to be. These things are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
So, turning to the only source I know to be true, the Word of the living God, I sought out truth. Who am I? Who are we?
(If I've lost you due to throwing out Scripture, I'm sorry. Not for the fact that you don't like what I've had to say; I'm sorry that you probably don't think you are these things. If you ever come to a spot where you see these as truths and believe it all, your life will be nothing less than changed.)
I feel cliche at this moment. So many things that I'm about to list off are known. But that's it- they're just KNOWN and not much beyond it. They're not fully embraced, lived out, believed, accepted... And even when we get to those spots of accepting it and living it out, it's often made a temporary thing. Like- "I messed up in this area, so God can't call me His child." I'm guilty of having this mentality, and it's a great trap to get us distracted. But that's a whole other subject.
Anyways...who I am. (and who you are, as well)
God's best friend forever:
John 15:15- I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.
(In verse 16 Jesus continues to say that we did not choose him, but rather HE chose US to be his disciples. So, chalk another one up. Chosen.)
Chosen before birth to be set apart. God's kiddos. Redeemed. Forgiven.
Ephesians 1:3-8- Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ in accordance with his pleasure and will--to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding.
Made new.
2 Corinthians 5:17- Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!
More than a conqueror.
Romans 8:37- No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
Called to declare the praises of the King. Called out of the darkness.
1 Peter 2:9- But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.
These things...just the beginning. I could go on and on.
Fearfully & wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:14)
God's treasured possession. (Deuteronomy 7:6)
A child of light. (1 Thessalonians 5:5)
Freed from sin's power. (Romans 6:7)
And so much freaking more beyond that my mind can't take it and I'd be sitting here for hours.
So, there- who I am. And hopefully, hopefully you got a glimpse of who you were meant to be, or a nice refresher. I know for me, it was a refresher, a good reminder.
Next time someone asks you to tell them about yourself...remember.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)