Charity: Water

Friday, July 30, 2010

The Defeated Prostitute I Didn't Talk To

Across the street, two prostitutes were talking to eachother. To my left were three guys chilling on the curb, clearly drunk and still drinking. To my right was another prostitute. Looking back, I guess it was pretty dangerous for a gringo like myself to be all alone with my nice clothes and bookbag on this poorly lit street at 11:00 at night, waiting for the last bus because I didn't realize I had just mised it. I suppose I should have listened to my mama tica.

I was travelling back to San Jose after visiting my family from last year. My mama tica said I should take a taxi when I get off the 2nd bus in San Jose. The late buses are unpredictable. Also, it's really dangerous, especially in the part of downtown San Jose where my bus stop is. Yeah well, I didn't feel like paying the extra money for a taxi, so I walked the half a mile to the bus stop (like I said before, unaware that the last bus had already come). I can honestly say I've never seen so many prostitutes in my life--and the occassional transvestite. I've definitely never had that many prostitues yell at me, stroke my shoulders as they walked by, talk all sorts of vulgar to me, telling me what they could do for such and such a price. My mama tica flipped out when she found out that I had been in that part of town at night and had waited at the bus stop for 30 minutes alone before finally acquiescing to the taxi.

In retrospect, she was right and I should have been afraid. It was clearly dangerous, especially for a rich white boy. However, at the time, the whole scene depressed me too much for me to be afraid. I remember this one girl. She was on the street corner right near where I was waiting. With her heavy makeup and long hair, she was wearing black boots, a black thong, and a black bra--I'm not making this up. But unlike the other girls (and dudes...) I saw that night, she didn't say anything as I walked by; she didn't yell anything as I stood mere steps away from her; she didn't show off her body like the other girls, despite her lack of clothing. Rather, her shoulders bent in, as if she was trying to hide, and she never once looked up from her feet, so I never got to see her face. I'd give her maybe 15 years of age. I remember thinking how defeated she looked.

What would Jesus have done if he had been walking down those streets and seen those same prostitutes? I have no clue. All I know, is that I felt so hopeless. Who was doing something about this?! Where do we even begin to change all this?

Here in Costa Rica, there's a ministry called Renacer, and it's doing something about this. In a way, this ministry catches girls before they get to points like prostitution. Funcioning as a children's home, girls from ages 11-18 come and live here. Every girl is coming out of an addiction of some sort, so heavy therapy occurs. Many girls go through violent withdrawals, and most need therapy for some sort of crime commited against them in life--mostly sexual and physical abuse. Most of these girls haven't been in school in years. When they come to Renacer, they find a home, a family, and God.

Hugging one of the girls before I left, I couldn't help but notice the scars on top of scars of past ripped flesh on her forearms. I found out that Renacer found this girl in jail, at 15 years old, for having almost beaten someone to death. With an intense history of sexual abuse, this girl first came to Renacer after living on the streets and having heavy drug addictions. But the other day as I watched her sing in the choir for worship, I didn't see any of that. Yes, you can see layers of scars all over her arms, but you can't see the same defeat and brokenness she used to carry. Instead, you see a girl with such a big smile, you wonder how she can manage to sing. Instead, you see a girl that reads Bible verses to other illiterate girls during the bi-weekly chapel services. Instead, you see a girl full of joy, constantly serving; because someone has put her first in life, has believed in her, has loved her like she deserves to be loved. She's almost 18 now, and still has a few more years before she'll finish high school, but she'll finish, and then she'll go on to college. "Who knows, maybe I'll work with girls like me one day," she says.

And so I remind myself: one person at a time.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Silly boy, Jesus doesn't mean it...

Ah shit. I almost forgot. When Jesus says, "You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me," (Luke 18: 22), what he means is you must be willing to give up everything. He means that you must figuratively give up everything, meaning it's okay to have stuff, just make sure you tithe and go to church and God's first in your life. It's so easy. I can't believe I almost forgot.

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I've mentioned before that I go with Don Horacio occassionally and help out with the homeless ministry. Well, I went again, and it was powerful! I made such a lasting difference in this world for Jesus! I handed out cups of coffee and water and sandwiches! I sang my heart out and clapped so everyone could hear these worship songs to Jesus! I hugged those stinky alcoholics and drug addicts and told them that Jesus loves them! Oh, and guess what happened...a homeless man came up to me and asked me to pray for him! He told me that it was his first time ever coming to this park and seeing what we do here! He said it's the first time he's seen Christians do something like this! He asked if I would tell him why I'm here helping them when I could be in the states! He questioned who is this Jesus guy! He explained all about his addictions and his problems with his family and how he's been on the streets since he was a kid and how he has this woman that he's in love with but she's crazy and so addicted that she'll run off with anyone for just a quick fix and how gosh this sandwich is amazing and this coffee tastes so good! And he asked if I could pray for him and the woman he's in love with, that God will prove He can not just handle all this but make it better! And we hugged and prayed and hugged again, and it was awesome, because I'm being obedient to God and loving people!!!

A different man came up to me. I counted 3 toes through his shoes and 4 teeth behind his beard. Pleading with me through the damaged, glazed eyes of alcoholism, he asked me for my shoes. "I sleep on cardboard, mae. I only have this one pair of shoes, and you can see they don't serve shit. It's the rainy season, so they're constantly getting wet and giving me blisters. You come here because you're a Christian, right? See I knew God would send me a new pair of shoes."

Uhhhhhhhh....yeeeaaaaah....

Don Horacio, his wife, and a couple other missionaries were right there with me. They redirected the man back to the coffee line. I thought about it for a couple minutes, and decided. The way of Jesus isn't supposed to be easy. We're called to come and die, not live comfortably. Giving a pair of shoes is the least I can do. I slipped off the shoes and started walking barefoot over to the man. Immediately, 3 missionaries surrounded me, deterring me from my mission. "You can't give him those shoes. We understand you feel bad and want to help. You just don't understand. That man is clearly an alcoholic and a drug addict. He'd probably just keep his old shoes and sell your nice ones for a couple dollars so he could have some drug money. Trust us. We're out here all the time." So I slipped my $120 Nike shox back on my feet and walked away.

Because I almost forgot that when Jesus said, "If someone takes your tunic, give him your cloak as well" (Matthew 5: 40), what he really meant was, "...but check their motives first!" and when Jesus said, "Sell everything and give it to the poor," he meant just don't get attached to your possessions, but you can keep them. For a minute there, I forgot that Jesus says radical things and talks a big game, but he doesn't mean what he says in a literal sense. I almost forgot the most important thing about Jesus: that he's just like our generation.

Our generation. We go to school for 12 years, and then to college, and often to graduate school. We learn about Algebra, Geometry, Biology, Chemistry, Literature, Composition, History, Geography, Foreign Languages, Psychology, Philosophy. Our generation has more knowledge than any previous generation. We've become an age that values knowledge and reflection so much, that now all we do is talk, as if that's going to solve the world's problems. And so we talk. And reflect. And talk. And reflect... In the end, we do nothing, and nothing is changed. We've even reduced the great teachings to the same abstractions. But, every once in a while, someone of our generation will stand up and move. They'll act on the vision God's given them and try to do something. However,  it takes no time at all before a well-meaning parent or a friend or other Christians (especially other Christians), calm us down. Sober us. Deaden our passion. See, our generation is one of immediate enthusiasm, an enthusiasm that quickly dies, an enthusiasm that our thought and our logic and our reflection kills before it can grow into authentic passion.

And I yell out to God: "God, I'm done with this life! I want to be radical for you so badly! You're asking, 'Whom shall I send?' Send me! I'll go! We can change this world! I'll do anything to open the cracks in this world for Love to crash in!"
"Our own age is essentially one of understanding, and on the average, perhaps, more knowledgeable than any former generation, but it is without passion. Everyone knows a great deal, we all know which way we ought to go and all the different ways we can go, but nobody is willing to move." (Soren Kierkegaard, The Present Age)
And all too quickly, God answers me back: "You want to be radical? No, Keith. You don't mean that."

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Hope; [or] As I Can't Remember His Name, I Think of Him as Sohrab From the Kite Runner

The first thing I saw was the patchy, tin houses sloppily packed one on top of another. Scraps of cars and sheets of metal tacked together in fruitless hopes of deterring the downpour of this rainy season. One house has been sinking slowly down the bank into the thick, muddy river. And that got me down.

I saw hundreds and hundreds of children, and children holding more children. Way too many children to fit in these houses, and way too many children that call this place home. Many children weren't wearing shoes, many without shirts, and way too many children on the streets without parents. And that got me down.

I saw a church and a school, both looking more like a rundown shed you'd find in the woods in the US. The school's overcrowded, and there aren't enough supplies nor teachers, making the ratio on the day I helped out 1 pair of scissors and 1 teacher for 70+ kids. The church is sick. It's pastor allows no children to come in and no women to speak during services. They stand in the back and fan their men, reclining in fold-up chairs and listening to sexist, ageist, and nationalist sermons. There's not just poverty here, but corruption. And that got me down.

I saw the three missionaries, two ticos and one nica. I saw them hugging mothers, holding babies, laughing with fathers, playing with children, giving out sandwiches, leading Bible studies, fighting, fighting, fighting. Oh, but one had to sleep here last night because she didn't have money for the 75 cent bus ride home yesterday. With no money coming in or out, they're falling into the same lives of the people they're trying to help. But is there any other way? It's only their hope and their love that keeps them afloat and lets them smile as they don't tell me that their monthly income is $100. I almost spent that much on some shoes yesterday. And that got me down.

I saw a little boy. He walks past some other boys playing soccer, and he's too young. In this place are many children but little childhood. Someone should be holding his hand, but his arms are full with his two younger siblings. He wears the same outfit I've only always seen him wear. I saw him lead his siblings to the cement slab where, under the blazing sun, the children sit watching skits and hearing stories about a man who feeds and heals people; and while distractedly watching a bony dog violently lap up the sewage water running between the houses, I felt myself sinking so low, getting so down.

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In a world where change is an abstraction and not a reality, so much can tear us down, and if we're not careful, we'll find ourselves sliding and sinking and being sucked down the river's bank into that thick, muddy trap. We can not let that happen. That's not the way for change. Change can be concrete. The way for change begins with hope. The way for change begins with love. And most often, these things are found in the ordinary, with change sneaking in, slowly leaking in not in the extraordinary, but in the ordinary, not in the conspicuous, but in the common.

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I didn't see him turn around and notice me sitting there behind him. I didn't see him sit his siblings down against the fence beside us and scoot towards me. I wasn't seeing anything but that stupid dog over there, but I felt him. I felt him slide into my lap, I felt his breathing as he leaned against my chest, and I felt him change me as I looked down and really saw him. I felt that simple, toothless grin lift me up and pull me out. Sitting there together, I don't remember what Bible story was preached, or how long it lasted; I don't remember that boy's name, or what his siblings were doing in that moment. I remember the unspoken between us, uniting everything about us that was still human, and making me believe again.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

www.keithamen.blogspot.com

I don't know who reads this blog, so I figured I'd be safe and say it this way:

I'm changing the address to this site. It's too long and mouthy. I'm thinking something that bounces off my name, something simpler...

http://www.keithamen.blogspot.com/

Consider this change effective immediately! (in like 1 week. unless, of course, someone steals it in the next week, which would suuuuuck)

Friday, July 16, 2010

A Wasteful God

God, I am so pissed off at You right now!

I just got a facebook message from one of my Camp Joy kids. I've spent only 5 days a year with him for 4 summers, and it's been over a year since I've last seen him. Yet, out of the blue, he sends me this message saying how I'm like a brother to him. That he remembers when we prayed together, just us two. That when his guardians yell at him, he remembers all the love he felt at camp. That no one's ever led him to You God like I have.... What the hell is that, God!?!?!

He says those things about me? It's been over a year, and I was only with him for 5 days a year before that. Where are the parents he deserves? Where's the environment and the neighborhood he deserves? Where's the school and the opportunities he deserves? Where's the security and the family and the constant love he deserves? Where's your church, God? Answer me! I'm so angry at you God! You mean you've put no one else in his life to love him and lead him to You, except the crazy white college kids he sees 5 days a year, college kids he's too old to see at Camp now? I don't understand God, but I will love these kids until it kills me, even if their maker won't.

I don't trust you, God. I trust you with Keith. You've done nothing but lavish blessings on me--education, family, opportunities, love. What I don't trust you with are all these kids I see all around me. Kids labeled high risk because they aren't first in anyone's lives. Because You aren't loving them like you're loving me. I see you bring Heaven to me, beneath my feet, here in this world everyday; but I don't trust you to bring about Heaven here for all these kids. Heaven here. Heaven now. I don't trust that one day You'll make all this okay, but that won't stop me from giving and working and hurting and dying and trying until every youth I meet knows and feels they're loved, and then lives in that love so completely that their lives become dedicated to the same suicidal purpose of persisting in love.

I don't trust you. I'm having too hard a time seeing past what I see right now. I see too many without any love, without any homes, without any hope. Too many with only the negative as influences. Too many that know despair and abandon more than joy and affection. Too many surrounded by only hatred and selfishness. Too many orphaned. Too many never hearing the words,
"I love you. I believe in you."
No God. I don't trust you. Not with that. They're too valuable, too priceless for flippant and reckless trust.

I don't trust you, God.

But I want to.

I read in one of Your scriptures today, Luke 9, that popular Sunday School story about Jesus feeding the 5,000 with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. I don't believe you, I don't trust you for miracles like that anymore. But I want to. I want to believe in a God that preaches healing and hope to hurting people, and a God that when others say it's time to send the people home so they can eat, says, "No. We feed them," and a God that then takes a meager meal and turns it into a feast, physically feeding and showing people what Heaven here looks like. A God that is verb-loving the people here, now. I wan't to believe in that kind of God. And how wasteful you were! There were 12 basketfuls of food left over!

God. Take the 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish that I am, and feed 5,000. Prove to me that I'm not wrong in wanting to trust You. Prove to me that you're still a wasteful God. Be wasteful in your use of my life. Show me what Grace and Provision and Love in waste look like.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Tao Te Ching

"The Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the origin of heaven and earth
While naming is the origin of the myriad things.
Therefore, always desireless, you see the mystery
Ever desiring, you see the manifestations.
These two are the same--
When they appear they are named differently.
Their sameness is the mystery,
Mystery within mystery;
The door to all marvels." (Lao-tzu)

Saturday, July 10, 2010

The Life I Want

I found him.

His name: Don Horacio López.
Place of birth: Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Current Location: San José, Costa Rica.
Family: beautiful wife, 3 beautiful children.
Profession: Missionary, youth and homeless ministries.

This--listen well, God--this is the life I want.

Anoche. I go with Horacio and his daughter to Carpio, a lower socioeconomic community largely consisting of Nicaraguans. I walk into a blue warehouse-looking building and straight into the middle of band practice. They're all about 16-18 years old. Baterias, guitaras, teclado (unweighted keys and no pedal), micrófonos, and voces that make God cry. We play, we sing, we worship. Some call me Andrés, favoring my more culturally adaptable middle name to my straight gringo first name. Some don't play or sing, so for a while, I join a game of one-touch fútbol (two touches and everyone gets a free kick at your body. I know. So awesome). "Hey, debes venir en domingo a la iglesia y cantar con nosotros para el servicio." Por su puesto. No hesitations. A few other people walk in carrying three loaves of pan y 2 litres of fresco. We're sharing cups and passing around the table the sweet, fresh pan still warm from the local bakery. This communion we share while they tell me jokes and talk about the Copa Mundial.

Horacio starts talking, and immediately all eyes are on him. Respect and love are in those eyes. Horacio prays. He asks who's grown in God this past week. Jeffry, a leader in his group of friends, speaks up first. "He estado leyendo la Biblia todos los everyday. Esta mañana, leyó Mateo 13." I laugh at his use of espanglish and am moved by his spirit I sense inspiring his friends. Horacio reads the parable about the people at a wedding with their oil and their lamps, waiting for the groom to arrive. "Es un buen mensaje para nosotros jóvenes, porque no podemos esperar. Tenemos que acercarnos a Dios hoy, servir al Señor hoy, y ser preparados para su vuelta hoy," one says.

Esta mañana. I walk to Horacio's house and join him and his wife in their car, first helping them load coolers of water and café and huge containers of pan into the trunk. We drive straight into downtown San José, where a group of indigentes (homeless) are already waiting for us at el parque. The youth from the night before are waiting for us there too, ready to serve. Rudi plays his guitar and the boys sing worship songs. Indigentes are surrounding us. Some singing when they know the words, some dancing, everyone at least clapping. The youth and I hand out café and pan. Horacio leads a short devocional. Did I mention that Horacio's kids started this street ministry? O that these youth and homeless ministries aren't what he gets paid for? That he's a pastor, and that these ministries come straight from his own pocket, like a Christian zakat? Someone tells me how great Don Horacio is, how he's different. He understands us. He even sleeps out here on the streets with us sometimes. Another man interrupts, "Soy el portero, y usted va a jugar con mi equipo."

Left midfield. You know, I always prefer the right, but it pays off. Indigentes, jóvenes, y un gringo playing the greatest sport, the greatest equalizer: fútbol. First half, only one goal for nuestro equipo. We're losing. Half time, tres indigentes y Jeffry y yo share a cup of hot water. Second half, dominación. "Centro, Centro!" I yell. José with the perfect pass. Off the laces. Top left corner of the goal. Minutes later, a corner kick. Jeffry lauches it and I dive into the best header I've ever had. Bottom right corner. "Ay, gringo!" everyone yells. Thirty minutes later and Horacio, standing as el arbitro, blows the final whistle. We win.

I get back in the car. Our portero, wearing clothes that needed washing weeks ago, runs up. "You always have forever friend with me. Come back in the next week!" I learn what it feels like to hug Jesus, and he sings as he walks away. Driving back, I can't stop thinking about how bad I'm going to feel when Horacio drops me off and there are butt and back sweat stains on the seat. "¿Entonces, vas a venir conmigo mañana a la iglesia? Y en miércoles de nuevo a los indigentes si quieres venir." Wouldn't miss either for the world, Horacio.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

...When Guilt Leads to Good


I was talking to a friend/mentor the other day. She said that just like that "God-shaped hole" inside each of us, there's something within us that responds to redemption stories, "something about us that's drawn to stories of redemption. Part of God's wooing of us."

I just finished the book The Kite Runner and found it to be one of the most disturbing books I've ever read. Not disturbing in the perverse or graphic sense of the word, though it was graphic at parts, but disturbing in how deeply the story affected me. Few stories have ever moved me like this one, and few stories will I recommend as adamantly. In the words of this same friend, there is no equal in redemption stories.

"True redemption...when guilt leads to good." --Khaled Hosseini

Salat-l-Istikhara



"Oh Allah! I seek Your guidance by virtue of Your knowledge, and I seek ability by virtue of Your power, and I ask You of Your great bounty. You have power; I have none. And You know; I know not. You are the Knower of hidden things.

"Oh Allah! If in Your knowledge, this matter is good for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then ordain it for me, make it easy for me, and bless it for me. And if in Your knowledge, this matter is bad for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then turn it away from me, and turn me away from it. And ordain for me the good wherever it may be, and make me content with it."

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

where the heart will forever be...

Never thought I'd hurt this much being away from you. Guess I never realized that you have my heart. Now I can see it: you're my home, my sanctuary, my refuge. We fell in love so quickly, but we'll never fall out. You've held me through my lowest lows, danced with me in my highest highs. You've exposed all of life's wounds to me--in their misery, in their filth, in their shame. And when everything looks like it's drowning, you've thrown out just enough hope to keep me afloat, to keep me fighting. You've shown me the Kingdom, taught me what life was all about, walked me into my purpose. You've given me burdens, fulfillment, heartaches, joy. You've led me into relationships with the most beautiful souls that exist. Because of you, I'm better, stronger, more the man God created me to be. Because of you, I've never weeped harder, never laughed harder, never lived harder.


It hurts that, separated from you, all I can do is pray. But I trust that that's all that's needed from me right now, so I'll pray as hard as I know how. Camp Joy...my heart will always be with you...