[Un]locked.

I think there is something sad about walking up to the door of a church in the middle of the day and expecting it to be locked. However, I was happily surprised to find that the old Gothic styled building I happened upon a spontaneous walk today, was indeed unlocked. It was also very silent and very empty.. so of course, I explored the entire thing. Sitting in those old pews while rereading Joshua 6 and 7 was a great time of meditation, reflection, questioning, and prayer. Before leaving the silent sanctuary however, I felt compelled to leave some traces of my presence, so I wrote a long note with all my questions regarding what I read and a prayer that I seem to pray consistently, on the inside of a tithe envelope, placed in a pew Bible.

I am so thankful that the sanctuary was open, and ideal for a time of prayer and meditation.

But now, I am very aware of how rare this was, and it has me thinking.........

 

When did cathedrals become Museums?

and Why do we lock our Church doors? Is it because of all the "stuff" we wasted money on? Are we afraid it will be stolen?

LET IT BE STOLEN.

What if, when Jesus told the rich young ruler to go and sell all his possessions and give the money to the poor and THEN come follow Him, He meant exactly that? What if we occasionally took Jesus literally?

Why do so many Christians assume that this passage is just a story to prove a point? Why does no one seem to think that this is what we are called to do? I mean... perhaps not everyone and certainly not always.... but definitely some people and surely more often than we think.

What if we give up on all the gimmicks and bribes to get people to church... and instead... we live lives of love that are so attractive in and of themselves that the gimmicks and bribes aren't even necessary?

 Now wouldn't that be something...

When we lock our precious valuables in the church, we are locking broken hearts out of redemption.

hungry.

I find myself very much alone.
I am surrounded by middle class, white americans.
and though all my life, I considered myself one of them,
i am realizing more and more, that I am not.
i am poor.
and i am hungry.
my life was not always this way.
with a father who sold 20 years of his soul to the U.S. Air Force,
we were guaranteed middle-class status because the government takes care of their own...
that is until my father decided to abandon his family
to leave my mother, sister, and me helpless
and hungry.
i don't remember much about that time. Though i was 13 and old enough to remember,
i can't

because my mind does this thing to protect itself.

it blocks out memories that hurt me.
and every so often

they come flooding back.

i remember how it felt to be hungry.
i remember how we fully relied on him.
and when he left, we had nothing.
no where to go.
no family to keep us safe.
no food to keep us strong.

he left us defenseless and weak.
and he didn't even look back

i remember cooking what little we had for my sister
two eggs was her meal.
i remember not eating because i wanted her to be strong.
she was so small.

i remember eating children's tylenol to hide the hunger
it at least gave the illusion that i was eating food


i've come a long way since those dark days.
i've been working since high school
i've been supporting myself as best i could, and my family if ever i have been able.
and being in such a nice place..
in such a nice little apartment..
with a nice little cell phone..
and a nice little job..
has all deluded me into thinking that i belong here
--that i am one of these middle class white americans

but now i see that i most certainly am not.
and perhaps i shouldn't be.
people think that i am.
i appear to be.
i wear nice clothes
most of which were all free... given to me by my middle class white american friends (whom i love dearly).
i have so many connections that have supported me and gotten me to where i am now and i am very grateful for them.
but that does not change the fact that i appear to be something i am not.
my family is poor.
we all work so hard.
but we are poor.
i work 25-30 hours a week on my school's campus--i am only allowed to work this many hours because my employer will not let me work more than this because if i do, then i will move up to full time status, and if that should happen, they will be forced to give me benefits, and they do not want to do that.
i don't have a car, so i don't have much choice. I'm grateful for a job so close to where i live. i am good at what i do, and i take pride in my work,even if it is just making sandwiches.
I make about $800 a month. Of this money, $260 goes towards my rent. $67 goes towards my phone. $75 goes towards my school bill. And the remaining amount is split up between food and miscellaneous expenses.. like plane tickets. like graduation announcements. like extra school fees. Like every other kind of fee one can encounter when trying to obtain government documents that got lost in the many times my family moved.

when it comes down to it, i end up spending $30 on groceries that will last me an entire month.
But this month was different.
This month there were many extra things.
And with my college graduation coming up, I had to purchase a plane ticket for my sister to make it home in time for her high school final exams. So this month, I have so very little food.
I do not waste.
I do not waste  a n y t h i n g .
something i learned growing up..
i became resourceful.
i learned how to make myself blend in with the people around me.
i study the pretty little trinkets and things i see my companions waste money on, and learn to make them myself with whatever i already have.
and i enjoy making things. being able to think and explore and create excites me and fulfills me.

but even still, it shows that i have learned to deceive people.
and i think... somehow... i have deceived myself.
but today, as i stare at the empty cupboards and the empty fridge,
i am confronted with truth.
i am poor.
still.
i am hungry.
i work hard. but its never enough.
the growl in my stomach floods my mind with repressed memories of another time i was hungry
and alone
and afraid.
and no one understands.
they are not poor.
they are middle class white americans
with cars that are paid for by parents
parents who deposit money in their bank accounts rather than asking for help to make rent this month.
they don't understand that i can't go out to eat whenever i feel like it, even for a meal that costs $5, because in terms of my $30 grocery budget, $5 is a hell of a lot.
they don't understand why i don't want to go shopping all the time
or why i can't see that new movie saturday night.
and i don't have the heart
or the strength of mind
to explain it to them.

when i have tried, i receive looks of confusion. blank stares of discomfort.
sometimes, i receive looks of pain as kind persons who were born into good fortune tries with all their heart to understand but in the end, finds that they cannot... these are the ones who seek quick-fixes.
who think that the answer lies in their bank accounts.
"let me get your dinner" or "this one is on me"

that's not what i want nor what i need to hear.
that doesn't change anything
if i've learned anything from my father,
its the importance of being self-sufficient.

but you see
here is a dilemma.
God is not a God seeking self-sufficient people.
God is a God seeking fully reliant people

and all i have ever known is independence.


God is truth.

and I am deception.

I've worked so hard my entire life to deceive.
I can't do it anymore.
I don't have the money that it takes to deceive...
 ...irony.

I am weak with the wars waged within me.
...alliteration..

sigh.
i am exhausted.
and hungry.
 and lying.

i'm lying to everyone
and i despise liars.

and i don't know how else to be.
because i am all alone in this.
even professors who proclaim radical living-- who promote bearing ones cross and selling possessions and giving to the poor...

even they can not understand.
because they don't know what it feels like to be hungry.
and even a book series can't help people understand what its like to be hungry.
and i am convinced that i can not help people understand what its like to be hungry.

the christians read their bibles.
and they see this Christ figure proclaiming
freedom for the oppressed
rest for the weary
love for the hated
forgiveness for the sinners
and food for the hungry
and these christians think,
what a great guy.
and they feel really good about being on the side of such a great guy.
and they go out to the nice restaurant for lunch. and complain about the bad service.
and the radical ones pray for their servers.
and the Christ figure weeps.
nothing has changed.
the oppressed are not free.
the weary are not rested.
the hated are not loved.
the sinners are not forgiven.
and the hungry do not have food.

i guess... we are all liars.

God, please come. the brokenness is killing us all.

trapped

from the crevices surrounding a door

seeps her heated lies

there is no escape from them

she taints the silence

with her noise

COMPETE

counter this attack

in rushed movements

drown them out

drown her out

sit in silence

breathing slowly

slower

still.

Church Search

Well, I decided that I need to be more proactive in finding a church back home since that's where I'm headed for summer.. but, I just don't know where to look! I've grown so deeply attached to my church here, how am I supposed to find another church home? I'm so critical about the churches I attend because I have a desperation to learn.. always.  I can't be in a place that will inhibit (did I spell that right?) growth or a church with bad theology! But learning in and of itself is not enough. The whole point of attending a church is to be a part of the body of believers. But you can't really google that... haha.. so, I'm trying to get a feel for the theologies of the churches around me. Putting this into practice is just as important, so I'm trying to figure out how these churches live out their faith through freakin websites. This is terrible! There must be an easier way to do this... All of my friends who attend churches back home go to like... mega churches where worship is only music and it is turned into a concert. Lets pump up the bass and make you think you're feeling the Holy Spirit.... ughhh no thanks. And I'm not a fan of pastors who preach and do not teach. I need a teacher. I need a teacher who teaches the Word of God and not a pastor who has some sort of righteous anger about something and finds some scripture to back up his/her argument and decides that these feelings were "Divine Revelations from God."

God... please help me. I know I shouldn't be so critical. I know that we are all so imperfect and these generalized pastors are probably being as faithful as they know to be. I know that they are probably doing amazing loving things in their churches and surrounding communities. But please.. .help me find a place where I will grow. Teach me Lord.. and humble me. Clearly, I need it.

<-- Split -->

 

Currently

This story is on my mind.

I can't shake it. 

It seems to be on everyone's mind. 

I'm on the second book, http://images.wikia.com/thehungergames/images/7/76/Catching_Fire.jpg and I'm absorbed. My mind reflects on this love triangle thing that Collins created. It's a very different sort of triangle from most stories I have read, in that, the reader experiences a sort of valid confusion along with the main character. I guess I can just go ahead and say names. Consider this my spoiler alert. 

That font was beginning to feel too big to me.

So Katniss, the protagonist, finds herself torn between two people. Peeta, the sweetheart who has loved her his whole life- whom she pretended to love in order to save herself and him in The Hunger Games, and then Gale, her very best friend who knows her down to the depths of her soul. On the one hand, Peeta is kind and so sweet to her. He would do anything for anyone, but particularly for Katniss, because he has always loved her. Katniss finds herself unable to decide how she feels because she's never had the chance to explore those feelings outside of manipulating The Hunger Games-and by connection, the very essence of The Capitol (the governing authority). And throughout the games, she bonded with Peeta in a unique way- in survival- they saw one another for who they truly were in these games. And during this time, she found herself being drawn to "the boy with the bread"... his gentle kindness never ceases to throw her off. But ultimately, her actions were influenced by survival of the games. 

And then... there's Gale. Strong,strapping, Gale... her most trusted friend. She had never thought about Gale romantically. He was her best friend, the hunting partner.. who didn't get to tell her how he felt until after the games were over.  Gale is in love with her too. So now I am in Katniss' head trying to figure this whole mess out.

Well, I can't help but reflect on my own experiences. It seems to me that though I want to root for the nice guy- the sweet one who is deserving of a mutual affection, you can't force yourself to feel a particular way about someone. Eventually, the lies you feed yourself will show themselves as untruths and you are left with nothing to hide behind. If love is not there, then it's just not there. Only friendship can result... which will lie in the hands of the person whose love you rejected. And if this person should find friendship too painful... then what a tragedy for everyone involved.

However, let's consider the Best Friend. For some, it is dangerous business to risk such a deep friendship by entering into a relationship- if things don't work out, there is a high probability that the friendship may never recover. For others, the most passionate Love is born of such a strong friendship, and therefore deserves an opportunity to be explored for something even deeper.

Well, in this case, I choose Gale. The best friend. I am an "all or nothing" girl. And I believe that a "forever love" is worth all the risk in the world. Love is always worth the risk, because that is all that matters. Really. All you need is love! The Beatles weren't lying, even if they were drugged up. If a best friendship has the potential of turning into something so beautiful, why not take your chances? A best friend doesn't lie to you or tell you what you want to hear. They know you for who you are in your happiest moods and in your worst. And they love you in spite of your flaws. They make you want to be better. They encourage you always. They are trustworthy, and true. And you can never get sick of a best friend. You can't help but always always always love them.

So, there you have it.

I just needed to process my thoughts about all of this.

the end. 

You can't be sad in a Burberry

        Today, something amazing happened.  For the first time in my entire existence, I not only entered a Burberry, but I tried on the signature works of art... All thanks to a lovely man named Bryan.  He insisted that I try them on.. and given, he may have just been doing his job and trying to make a sale, but I like to believe that he was being genuine and respectful and that he wanted to put a smile on my face. It was a marvelous experience! I know that I could never afford something so wonderful.  I know that I could never need something so grand. I know that its materialistic and selfish of me to think so highly of a beautiful trench coat... but.... when I'm in Burberry, I feel like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's:

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Paul Varjak: Sure.
Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!

I guess what I'm saying is... Burberry is my Tiffany's, and I feel happy there. I feel inspired there. Art on hangers, so stunning I want to cry! Sigh... What a happy day.

For Enoch's Sister.

Dear God

I don't know how to pray right now.
I don't know what to say to You.
Even on behalf of someone else.
There is a little girl in Ghana who is sick.
She is poor.
And no one and nothing is making her better.
But You're God.
So You could make her better.
So God, The God,
 I am asking You to please make her better.
Please do what no one else could. Do what no medicine can do. Do what no doctor can do. Do what no amount of money can do. Do what no preacher can do.

God, heal.

amen.