A God Not To Be Known, Perhaps, But Experienced

We all have anchors in life--external forces that keep us from drifting, that hold us fast, that give us support, security, and stability. Sometimes our anchors are massive, sometimes they're little things.

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Starting my freshman year of college, a couple times every semester I received a letter in my mailbox. These letters, hand-written by Paul Cook, a neighbor and mentor, were packed full of gold. Mostly, they were full of anecdotes and aphorisms--some ridiculous and hysterical, others profound and deeply moving. I always looked forward to reading these letters because they were so personal. It felt like Paul was literally standing right beside me as I read them. His words were always encouraging and affirming, and they always challenged me to push deeper in my thinking. These letters were an anchor in my life.

Last year, Paul Cook passed away. The letters continue to come though, now written by his wife Debby. Time and time again, she has proved to be another anchor in my life, and I can't praise God enough for the blessing she is to me. I received another of these letters from her yesterday. Just like with the letters from Paul, there were parts where I was comforted, parts where I was challenged to think deeper about God, and parts where I laughed out loud. In this letter, Debby included an excerpt from one of Paul's sermons on believing in God. It's got me thinking about God in a different way: maybe God is not one to be known, perhaps, but experienced.

"Consider an analogy of God that has proven helpful for me: Believing in God is like standing at the seashore and looking toward the horizon. The water between the horizon and us is so immense that it defies even our imaginations. And in addition to what we can see, there is an invisible world beneath the surface brimming with life and full of mysteries. Though we cannot comprehend it all, we can taste the sea and discover its saltiness. We can sense its power as the waves pound the beach. In spite of all that we cannot fathom about the ocean, we know we can trust its tides and waves; we can ride on its surface and enjoy it. Similarly, we will never fully comprehend God. We can stand at the edge of God and discover things about Him. It may be that what we can learn about God is comparable to a small cup of water drawn from an immense sea. Yet, we rejoice in our small revelations and discoveries of God, such as the knowledge that God is love. We can trust Him and enjoy Him, much as we enjoy the sea..." (Paul Cook)

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In one of his songs, rapper Lecrae says, "Don't Die. Multiply." Debby and her letters are evidence of Paul's multiplication. I want to live in a way that multiplies Paul, too.

I Want Your Help! :)

As a follow-up to my last post, I've talked around, and apparently there's a huge need at some local men's and women's shelters for good clothes. The majority of the clothes available at the shelter are old, out-of-style, and very worn. Our brothers and sisters need good clothes, name-brand clothes, clothes they will be proud of. Clothes the kids can wear to school and not look like they live in a shelter. Clothes the adults can wear to job interviews and end this cycle of homelessness.

I want your help. With every passing day and every new prayer, God changes my heart a little bit more, and it's a little bit easier to give away my things. I want to invite you to join me on this journey of fulfillment and love. Let's not be marked by materialism and greed with the logos and labels on our clothes. Let's give away that Polo and Calvin Klein, and let's live like Jesus.

I'm going this friday, and we can go anytime we want. Come with me to the shelter and let's give our clothes away. Let's meet the people that need them, and let's show them a love that weighs more than poverty.

Sacrifice

I'm reading through The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne. Highly recommend, by the way. He's part of a movement called New Monasticism. It's fairly new and known for its 12 marks:

1) Relocation to the abandoned places of Empire.

2) Sharing economic resources with fellow community members and the needy among us.

3) Hospitality to the stranger.

4) Lament for racial divisions within the church and our communities combined with the active pursuit of a just reconciliation.

5) Humble submission to Christ’s body, the church.

6) Intentional formation in the way of Christ and the rule of the community along the lines of the old novitiate.

7) Nurturing common life among members of intentional community.

8) Support for celibate singles alongside monogamous married couples and their children.

9) Geographical proximity to community members who share a common rule of life.

10) Care for the plot of God’s earth given to us along with support of our local economies.

11) Peacemaking in the midst of violence and conflict resolution within communities along the lines of Matthew 18.

12) Commitment to a disciplined contemplative life.

There's some good stuff in this movement. Its advocates are really doing what Jesus says--they're leaving their families, finding the hungry and the alone, and being Jesus. They're selling their possessions, giving to the poor, and living in community.

One of the quotes I read in the book is by Dorothy Day: "If you have two coats, one of them belongs to the poor."

God really convicted me when I read this. Putting down the book, I walked over to my closet and, including hoodies, counted ten coats. Ten! Recognizing my own entrapment in capitalism and this consumeristic society, realizing that I have way too much and that those who have nothing can have if people like me share, seeing that materialism has been a blind spot in my faith, I'm changing. I'm making an active and intentional choice to be different. And that means not only changing my lifestyle but also being proactive in doing something about the poverty and hunger that thrives in this world.

I took out all the clothes in my closet and my dresser (I have two different places to store all of my clothes!) and let my own guilt over my materialism slowly sift out half of my clothes. Half my t-shirts, shorts, pants, shoes, and coats, all are no longer mine. I resolved to take them to the local homeless shelter as soon as I had a free-day from classes.

My friend Shannon, who recommended The Irresistible Revolution to me, is now doing the same thing, choosing to share the abundance we've been given with the poor and the naked. You have to check out her thoughts on all this--so illuminating. She makes an excellent point about the purpose of sacrifice, how its value isn't inherent but rather can be a reflection of something greater happening internally.

I ran across this verse in my Bible this week: "You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise" (Psalms 51:16-17). Well crap. If sacrificing my clothes isn't going to please God, but rather the condition of my spirit, then I have a long way to go. Remember I said I had ten coats and decided to give away half? That still leaves me with five. Five! What do I need five different coats for?!

I've got to give away and do a lot more before I have a broken spirit.

Jesus and John

Jesus and John
by Lisa Gungor

Johnny was raised with a steeple over his head.
Lived in the suburbs and memorized scripture at night before bed.
He won a prize.
Preachers and teachers would tell him where all sinners go.
Prayed for revival but showed him a fancy lit carnival show.
Why is it a lie?
Why is it a lie?

John saw the lies.
And he saw the steeples.
And saw all the people get it wrong.

Went off to college and came home with knowledge to spare
Of crusades and slave-trades and all of the blood that was spared in God's name.
And all of the lies.
But John couldn't buy it, he just couldn't buy it again.
Church was too small, so he just threw it all up to chaos and chance.
And all of the lies.
All of the lies.

John saw the lies.
And he saw the steeples.
And saw all the people get it wrong.

Jesus sees John.
And Jesus sees steeples.
He sees all his people get it wrong.

Trust Jesus John.
Trust Jesus people.
For Jesus will come and save us all.

To Die Empty 2

Consider this blog post a follow-up to the previous post "To Die Empty."

Got this text tonight from Shannon Brooke:

"I've been thinking about dying empty today. Then I started to see it in a different light: living empty. The best way to die empty must be to also live that way" (Brooke, 2010).

To Die Empty

Aluminum foil our plates, fingers our utensils, and fire-roasted meat, potatoes, carrots and onions. Lawn chairs, tree stumps, and logs pulled close to the crackling warmth of a campfire. Shadows cast from the flames dancing against the thick woods coiling all around. Bright stars and moon sneaking through gaps in the autumn leaves. Homework left at school, cellphones without service, and the fast pace of civilized life put on hold. Seventeen grad and undergrad college students, men and nature coming together for fellowship.

Life goals, one by one, given words and thrown into the space between us brothers where flames lick and whip and point upwards:

"to graduate"
"to work with youth"
"to run a marathon"
"to be a good husband"
"to get into a good Grad school"
"to run a godly youth ministry"
"to complete a triathlon"
"to be a good father"
"to travel the world"
"to be a foster parent"
"to hike the Appalachian Trail"
"to provide for my family"
...
"to die empty"

All possessions, all ambitions, all emotions--everything poured out.

Everyone quiet, reflective, staring into a pit of now only ashes. And a silence occupying the space previously filled with words and words and so many words.

"to die empty"

The Cost of Discipleship

I heard a sermon by Dr. Williams, one of the religion professors here at Gardner-Webb. At the end of his sermon, he brought up The Great Commission where Jesus sends out his disciples. Dr. Williams said that if you look back at the original Greek manuscripts, there's only one imperative verb in all of that passage; it isn't "go," and it isn't "teach," and it isn't "baptize"--it's "make disciples."

Jesus traveled and preached to masses, he healed people and ministered to individuals, he gave people purpose and hope, but none of this was his primary ministry. Jesus' primary ministry was to his disciples. Everywhere he went, everything he did, his 12 disciples were always shadowing him, watching him, learning from him, being changed by him. Jesus ministered to thousands, but his primary investment was in 12 men. Through those 12 men, Jesus created a revolution; and now, above all else, his one imperative command to all of us is to make disciples.

A lot of people go their entire lives asking the question, "What is my purpose?" I think Jesus answers that right here. Make disciples. Of course, this will look differently for us all, but for me, it looks like high schoolers. I'm trying to completely surrender my life to this aim of making disciples, and I won't lie: I hate not being able so see results sometimes, and I hate feeling like I'm giving my everything and it's not making a difference. Make disciples. It's hard. It's painful. It's changing my life, and I'm realizing that it's when I'm trying to disciple others that I'm opening myself up to be truly discipled myself.

A couple days ago, I picked up one of the guys I'm trying to disciple, and we went to Yamatos to have dinner together, to talk one-on-one, for me to encourage him, for me to invest in him. We mostly laughed and joked about everything from school to sports to girls. We also talked about searching for God everyday and how to live for Christ. During our time together, I talked about what God's been teaching me and I discussed the verse I've been meditating on, which we actually memorized together right there in the restaurant (John 8: 31-32, "If you follow my teachings, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."). We talked about how obedience precedes knowledge and understanding, even freedom, and that ultimately it's our obedience, what we're actually doing, that counts for something (for a better look at this verse, check out Shannon's super insightful and enriching blog). He sits and listens while I rant. He talks and questions. He makes stupid jokes that bring us back to the mundane and the crass.

Before we met, I spent all day praying and being with God. Dare I say it, I even skipped a class because I felt God nudging me to, reminding me how little time I've spent with Him/Her, reminding me how much S/He's worth it. Reminding me how much the people I'm discipling are worth it. I'm not just investing in myself when I spend intentional, focused, one-on-one time with God; I'm investing in everyone I come in contact with. After we met, I spent the rest of my day alone, neglecting my homework and praying for him, asking God to draw him and transform him and renew him and use him.

The cost of discipling was $20 that night (homeboy ordered freaking steak and shrimp! haha). It cost me several good nights of sleep (since I had to spend the next few nights making up for that skipped class and a day's worth of academic unproductivity (this should be a real word)). It costs me a lot of aching (the more I pray for these guys, the more I have this soft and constant aching, almost a hurting). It costs me my precious free-time and college friend-time and so much. But heck, it's the only thing worth it. And it changes me. I find I'm more encouraged, and I feel more love, and I have more of a hunger and drive to search for God, and I'm a better person. I'm more complete. Somehow, discipling disciples me.

Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." Matthew 28: 16-20

Who Are We in This Complicated World

"Who Are We in This Complicated World

(from Mathnawi 1 , 1510 - 1513):


if we come to sleep
we are His drowsy ones.

and if we come to wake
we are in His hands.

if we come to weeping,
we are His cloud full of raindrops.

and if we come to laughing,
we are His lightning in that moment.

if we come to anger and battle,
it is the reflection of His wrath.

and if we come to peace and pardon,
it is the reflection of His love.

who are we in this complicated world?"

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Quoted from The Kite Runner (movie), which as a movie I only recommend if you will never touch the book. The book's simply untouchable. You've got to read it. It will change you.

Get Over Yourself! (thanks Stephanie Richey for this title)

There's too much I want to do. There's always homework--I'm in the middle of my thesis, and so there's always work I want (yes want) to be doing on that. There's always some friend doing something awesome that I want to be a part of. There's always something fun happening on campus, and I want to do it all.

But right now, I want to get over myself more. I want to say no to watching movies with friends and doing stupid stuff and having fun, and I want to start changing this world. I will not lie about this. It's hard because if I leave and go do that, then I'm missing out on all these fun things my friends are doing.

But it's time I get over myself. It's time I say no to more things, and it's time I start being intentional about serving in this community.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after the orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." (James 1:27)

Let's believe this and go.

All of our tracks and our ten percents and our sermons and our bible studies and our fellowships and our worship music just aren't going to feed people, and they're not going to change this world. Relationships will. Serving will.

It's time for our teachers and our nurses and our pastors and our hair dressers and our mechanics and our students and our everyone to step up and start looking for ways to serve. Start pursuing ways to build relationships with the hurting. Start being church, rolling up our sleeves, and getting dirty.

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I stole this from a Buddhist priest's blog (thestupidway.blogspot.com if you're interested). It's worth reposting (I know I just did that in my last blog post too, but I swear it's good stuff).

“Someone once had a dream in which she asked God to show her heaven and hell. God agreed and first of all brought the person to a dining room that had two tables, one on either side of the room. There were all sorts of delicious food stacked up on the two tables, and there were a lot of hungry people sitting next to the tables trying to eat the food. They could only eat the food by using chopsticks. But the problem was that the chopsticks were about two meters long. And because the chopsticks were so long it was impossible for anyone to pick up the food with the chopsticks and then put the food into his mouth. So everyone was very unhappy and frustrated and dissatisfied because they had all this great food in front of them, but was unable to eat it. God said, ‘This is hell.’ Next, God brought the person to another dining room that looked exactly like the first room. Just like in the first room, there were two tables on either side that were covered with all sorts of delicious food. People were sitting next to the tables, and had the same kind of long chopsticks as in the first room. But the people in this room were all happy and smiling and cheerful. When the person looked closely, she saw that the people in this room weren’t trying to use the chopsticks to pick up the food and put it into their own mouths. Instead, they were using the chopsticks to pick up the food and put the food into the mouth of someone else on the other side of the room. It was easy to use the long chopsticks for that, and everyone could eat plenty that way. God told the person, ‘This is heaven.’”

A Chapel For All People

This one's good enough to repost. Please read and enjoy! :)

A Chapel For All People

"The feeling remains that God is on the journey, too." --Teresa of Avila

Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he has spent his entire life merely picking up sea shells along the shore of the vast, unexplored ocean.

Addison Road has these great lyrics saying, "What do I know of You who spoke me into motion? Where have I even stood but the shore along your ocean?"

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The universe can't just be a home for us, because if it is, it's way over-sized, and as I walk alone and look up at the dark infinite above me, all I feel is how very small I am, how this is all so much bigger than me. 

Known as the 'Eye of God'

The Whirlpool Galaxy, also known as 'The Darling of Astronomy.'
By the way, see that bright mass on the right? We used to think this
was all one big galaxy, but now we know these are two separate galaxies.

My personal favorite, Pleiades

Our own not-so-humble abode, the Milky Way Galaxy. I won't pretend this is a
legitimate picture. We're kind of inside of this thing, so it's hard for us to get real
pictures.  What amazes me is how big it is. We put so much importance on our lives.
In reality, our solar system isn't even in the center of our own galaxy.

* Shout out to the only astronomist I know, Addie Jo.

You Sneaky, Manipulative God...

God is so sneaky sometimes. I'm reading Isaiah 6, which is one of those inspire-me kind of passages. God is so sneaky with Isaiah, like border-line manipulative. Listen: "Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?' And I said, 'Here am I. Send me!" Wait. Who is God asking? Isaiah is the only one in the room. God makes it seem all rhetorical and stuff, but it's not. This is a question only for Isaiah. God has a mission and purpose only for Isaiah, but he asks anyway and lets Isaiah really claim and own this.

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When I was in Costa Rica, I got to help out with a ministry in La Cuenca (which I'll describe through the words of another short-term missionary I met down there). "La Cuenca is dangerous, violent and so broken. For a while before I arrived, nobody was allowed in the area due to all the issues with drugs, gangs, and violence. The three missionaries I worked with in La Cuenca, Hugo, Magaly and Fernando, have been returning to this area for the past five years via a two hour bus ride and no salary. Even though the three are all part of growing families, they receive under $100 per month in support" (Caroline's blog).

One time while I was at La Cuenca, I went with Hugo to visit a family. I stepped into a house no bigger than a dumpster and no cleaner. All around me, a car door and scraps of metal and wood made for walls and ceiling, which blocked no rain during the rainy season. Making small canyons in the uneven dirt floor, toilet and bath water from homes higher up the hill ran between our feet as we talked. The five children had long dropped out of school, and the oldest daughter fumbled with a pot of rice cooking over a log fire just outside the door. Prostitution is stealing these girls and gangs have already taken the boys. When you're an uneducated and unemployed and unmarried mother of five children, what are your options?

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This is the world we live in. I hear God saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" and I know God's looking at me, because I'm the only one in the room. "Here am I, God! Send...oh, wait. We'll finish this conversation later. I'm about to be late to class."

Maybe I Should Hide My Qur'an...

I just finished another conversation trying to explain why in the world I would want to read the Qur'an. Someone even said, "Isn't that that terrorist book?" I realize that was surely, surely, a joke, that this is the Bible belt, that I can stand on half the street corners in these small southern towns and see anywhere up to 3 Christian churches at one time, but are we all really this tunnel-visioned? Yes, the Bible has loads of truth in it. As does the Qur'an, and the Tao Teh Ching, and The Bhagavad Gita. I would never call myself a Universalist by any means; I don't believe we're all on different paths up the same mountain to the same God sitting at the top. However, I do believe in some great Absolute (we can call it God). I also believe that truth is available to everyone, at all places, at all times, and that this Absolute will use anyone and anything to reach us, no matter how deficient. As one thinker put it, "all the world's thoughts, all the world's most beautiful languages and literatures, are but vehicles for that ineffable message which comes to the heart in rare moments of ecstasy... For me the embodiment of that voice has been in the noble words of the Arabic Qur'an" ('Abdullah Yusuf 'Ali).

For me the embodiment of that voice has been in the words of Jesus Christ; but when I look for it, I find truth everywhere. As it says in Jeremiah 29, "You will search for me and find me when you search for me with your whole heart. I will be found by you." When I read the Bible, I find stories of love and a God that sacrifices everything just to have us. When I read the Tao Teh Ching, I find order, balance, and something universal uniting us all. When I read Nietzsche, I see what sexist, racist, ageist, nationalist man turned bitter looks like (this is a joke...). The point is that every text I read gives me a slightly bigger picture of all this--of life and God. Why wouldn't I read the Qur'an?

I'm tired of saying we're Christians when we've never read a single Sutra or Surah or Veda, much less our own Bible, and the same goes for professed atheists. We say we're Christians or atheists or whatever, but we're really just ignorant. And as far as Agnostics go, you can't choose doubt as a philosophy of life any more than you can choose immobility as a form of transportation (Life of Pi). Agnosticism may be a stage in life (I'll attest), but it's no place to stay.

Whew. Glad I got that out of my system. Here's what God used to speak to me this morning:

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The Holy Qur'an  C.23 & 24


But he [Muhammad] grew steadfastly in virtue and purity;
Untaught by men, he learnt rom the, and learned
To teach them; even as a boy of nine,
When he went in a trade caravan with Abu Talib
To Syria, his tender soul marked inwardly
How Allah did speak in the wide expanse
Of deserts, in the stern grandeur of rocks,
In the refreshing flow of streams, in the smiling
Bloom of gardens, in the art and skill with which
Men and birds and all life sought for light
From the Life of Lives, even as every plant
Seeks through devious ways the light of the Sun.


Nor less was he grieved at Man's ingratitude
When he rebelled and held as naught the Signs
Of Allah, and turned His gifts to baser uses,
Driving rarer souls to hermit life,
Clouding the heavenly mirror of pure affections
With selfish passions, mad unseemly wrangles,
And hard unhallowed loathsome tortures of themselves.

God, forgive us for using our systems of religion to hide from you.

What would happen if a generation embraced something greater, giving all of themselves away?

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We're losing today's generation, not because we're making Christianity too hard, but because we're making it too easy. Now when Christianity started, it was a radical movement. A movement that changed the world of the early church. People can get behind something like that. We've got to stop selling easy faith--do this and you'll get this. It's never been about houses and cars and soccer practices, our biggest worries being what bill to pay off next. Here in America, we have this idea that we're supposed to be happy first, but no, Jesus doesn't send us that message. He never promises a life with less pain and less worry, a life with secure jobs and more money, a life with a gym membership and a dog.

We're creating something different, something not following Jesus. We say the first step is accepting Jesus into your life. Your life. That's a fine theology, but it's not based on Jesus (if that's who we're claiming to follow). Gandhi said once that he loved Jesus, he just wished Christians would take him more seriously, because everybody knows what Jesus was teaching except for Christians.

Jesus doesn't ask to be invited into our hearts, to enter into our lives. Jesus calls us to come and die. Our old selves? Dead. Our nice houses and new cars? Sold. We're to come and kill everything--our wants, our goals, our securities, our comforts, our possessions, everything. If we say we want to follow Jesus, then we're entering into lives of sacrifice and poverty and homelessness and suffering. If anything, a life that follows Jesus is one of more pain. However, if we say we want to follow Jesus, then we're also entering into lives of purpose and peace and love and freedom. And ultimately, if we say we want to follow Jesus, then we're entering into a new plane where change is finally possible.

Jesus lived an extreme and radical life, a life of sacrifice and poverty and homelessness and suffering. Does he call us all to be that radical? Yes he does, because radical people can change the world. But radical people are the only ones who can change the world.

A Favorite Hymn of Mine

1/10 to Jesus I surrender
1/10 to him I freely give
I will weekly love and praise him
In his presence Sunday live

I surrender 1/10
I surrender 1/10
1/10 to thee, my Precious Savior
I surrender 1/10

Come on God! Almost all of us are surrendering to you what you asked of us. When are you going to change this world?

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.

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."

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.

************************************

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

...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."

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...

Aslan is on the Move

I just started rereading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, except in spanish--so it's El Leon, la Bruja, y el Ropero--and I really do believe that it was due to God's Divine prompting, his gentle persuasion in my spirit, that I picked up the Chronicles and commenced reading. The Lord also led me to yahoo's movie website and guided my eyes and mouse until I reached this page:

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader


Don't tell me God isn't good. Don't tell me God isn't active in our lives.

Lord, thank you.
This is both an act of love and grace in this harsh, cold world.

Renewing the Mind

I realize I haven't blogged in a while, and there's not really anything I feel I need to say here on the blogosphere, so I figured I'd do a post of a different kind. One of my goals for the summer is to be more disciplined in memorizing scripture. These are the verses that have stood out enough to make the list so far, the verses I've let marinate in my life.

"Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and acceptable unto God--this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--His good, pleasing, and perfect will." __Romans 12: 1-2

"Stop doing what is wrong, learn to do right. Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow." __Isaiah 1: 16-17

"Similary, encourage the young men to be self-controlled. In everything, set them an example by doing what is good. In your teaching, show integrity, seriousness, and soundness of speech that cannot be condemned, so that those who oppose you may be ashamed because they have nothing bad to say about us." __Titus 2: 6-8

"You will have no inheritance in their land, nor will you have any share among them; I am your share and your inheritance." __Numbers 18: 20

"Rend your heart and not your garmets. Return to the Lord your God, for He is gracious, compassionate, slow to anger, abounding in Love." __Joel 2: 13

"Let Love and Faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then will you win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man." __Proverbs 3: 3-4

Another goal I have for the summer, a goal I've had for the past few years, is to read at least a novel a week throughout the summer vacation. Here's the list thus far:

X-Men: The Return by Chris Roberson (haha)

X-Men: Law of the Jungle by Dave Smeds (haha)

Life of Pi by Yann Martel (phenomenal! all-time top 5)

The Bluebird Carries the Sky on His Back by Henry David Thoreau (great)

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison (great)

A Mercy by Toni Morrison (decent)

I'll try to update the list every so often. Thank you and goodbye. It's world cup time here in the ol' Costa Rica!

Love is in the House

After three buses and one taxi, I arrive at my Costa Rican home from last summer. My mama tica calls everyone over, and before I know it, the house is packed--padres, hermanos, tios, abuelos, amigos. I think it genuinely takes me half an hour to circle the room, falling into hug after hug--strong embraces, embraces that last so long they should be awkward. We sit around talking, filling each other in on what's happened during the past year. Roy, mi papa tica, making gay jokes about me again and chanting every English profanity he knows; Andoni, mi hermano, punching me and calling me "feo;" Rosi, mi mama, telling me stories and jokes and laughing so hard she can't breathe; Dillon, mi hermano, performing magic tricks and explaining how he finally got that girl Helen that he had been chasing last summer; and Glori, mi hermana (see photo on right), whipping out those Uno cards and making me dance to Lady Gaga with her. The house is packed with joking and laughing. My tia Juanita says things only she thinks are funny, her husband mutters some form of Spanish I never quite understand, and mi abuelo Papón recounts the glorious history of Costa Rica and his family. Love is in the house, and the house is packed. I hate my watch for flashing 9:00 and yelling at me to leave, but I have two hours of buses to take. Everyone makes me promise to come back next week, that they'll throw a real party next time. I begin my 30 minute lap of hugs around the room again.

Papaya, Piel, and Penises

I've officially been back in Costa Rica for a week now, and I've rediscovered something beautiful. Laughter.

I'm convinced that the vice of modern man is busyness. Maybe I should specify the vice of the western man. Or even the Christian man. We're always rushing, always pressed for time, always in a hurry. I would venture to propose that it's the reason why western civilizations and Christianty began their relationship in the first place. Christianity is a religion of urgency--Save another soul before time runs out! It's occurred to me how we've translated our haste in the professional and academic and social worlds into the religious world. (And we'll save discussion of this dualily for another day.)

It seems to me that perhaps my favorite gift from God is laughter. It requires a living outside of the moment, a seeing of things not as they really are, but rather seeing a distortion. More often I think, it requires still a living outside of the moment but seeing things as they really are, seeing a reality from a different angle, maybe a more accurate angle--I don't know. Laughter. It dulls the sting of rejection, it's balm to broken expectations, it overshadows the grief of disappointment. Laughter's more infectious than the most potent virus yet as welcoming as a glass of cool water to a parched throat. When everything can be so damning, Laughter is breathing and it's hoping and it's pregnant with life.

I've never laughed so hard as I have in the past week. I think my boxers may even have urine stains. Okay, so I love laughing, and I feel like for a normal person, I laugh a lot. However, the past week has been inundated with that rib-crushing, gut-wrenching, eyes-burning kind of laughter. That laughter that lasts so long at such intensity that I'm crying for it to stop and praying it never does. I think laughter hurts so much because it's become something foreign to our bodies. But anyway, I attribute this rediscovering of a robust laughter to an abandonment of the busy. Don't get me wrong--Costa Ricans fight the busyness of life just as much as any American. It's just that the conditions of my stay here have afforded me with the opportunity to slow down, reflect more, enjoy everything. And laugh.

I read on Wikianswers (only the most distinguished of sources for me, please) that the average adult laughs about 5 times per day, while the average child laughs more than 25 times per day.

Life's slower for children, happier, filled with more hope, more fun, more adventure. As adults, I think laughter can get those things back for us. Therefore, allow me to share a few moments that have brought me and Rosalee (my gingo sister from the States here in CR) that kind of laughter that has turned our legs into jelly pulling us to mother earth, made our stomachs ache begging for respite, and caused us to look like maniacs. Though it probably won't be as funny this time around...these things never are.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I hate papaya. Hate. Hate. Hate. I know, I'm such an American with my dislike of tropical foods. I just find it nauseating, and whenever I eat it, I fight the urge to vomit. Well, our mama tica (tica=Costa Rican) served Rosa and I papaya. I left that untouched on my plate, hoping to send a not-so-subtle-but-more-subtle-than-words message to the provider of my food. Rosa had never had papaya, and disregarding my warnings, with eagerness, shoved that putrid excuse for a fruit into her mouth. Needless to say to almost any gringo who has ever had the misfortune of tasting papaya, Rosa ignored the remaining papaya on her plate. The next day, we were walking through downtown San Jose when we both smelled something horrible. I've tried to preserve the words that exploded from Rose's mouth verbatim. I said, "Ugh, that smells awful!" to which Rose responded, "Are you kidding me? I can't tell if that smells like poop or papaya." Ticos cut glances at us as if we were lepers, and several had to step over our fallen bodies as we clutched our convulsing bellies. My shoulder still smarts from slamming into that pole.

I saw Michael W. Smith in concert on Saturday right here in downtown San Jose. I know, who would of thunkt... Well, on the bus afterward, I was talking to a tico who had also been at the concert. He saw ol' Gringo me and rushed to sit beside me and practice his English. He actually studied English the past few years at the Universidad de Costa Rica. We started talking about the concert, and he said, "I was so excited! It gave me chicken skins!" Which in Spanish makes sense. Piel de Gallina (chicken skin): it's like the equivalent of our goose-bumps. However, in English, it makes Keith's face turn embarrassingly red as he tries to stifle uncontrollable laughter. The guy was so seeking afirmation of his English, and I wanted to give it to him, I really did. I attempted to save face for both him and me, so I started to say, "Yeah, it gave me chicken skins too," but I only got about halfway through before I lost it. I hated that his pride was the price of my laughter, but asi es la vida. I decided the most pressing course to take was to make sure none of my saliva slapped his face as I tried to stop laughing. Poor guy.

Rosalee and I were on the internet, yahoo to be specific, and the article on the front page read, "Master this Habit for a Better Relationship." I couldn't help myself. Before I even really thought about it, or about the fact that my only present company was that of a lady, I smiled: "He calls it his habit?" You have to admit, that was a good one.   =)

My mama tica here is hilarious. She has the heart of a child, because she's got to laugh at least 25 times a day. She's the kind of person that cracks herself up to the extent that her words begin merging and dissolving into meaningless blubbering because she's laughing so hard. Well, on one such occassion when she was fighting to communicate a story through the laughter (which makes Spanish so hard to understand, mind you), I split a rib I laughed so hard. Apparently, the last short-term missionary that lived with her was named Hannah. Well, Hannah was on the bus one day, talking to serveral tica women in Spanish. One of the older ladies said something depressing or something, and so Hannah, trying to convey her sympathy, said, "Que pena." Well, she meant to say "Que pena," which translates as "what a pity/what a shame/how sad." However, what she actually said was "Que pene." Which means penis. "What a penis." Apparently, one of the old ladies had to be rushed to the hospital because of a stroke. And buses are beasts to manuever in Latin American hospital traffic.

"What a penis."

Remembering the Semester, Anticipating the Summer

Haha, that last post looks so dramatic now. It was for real at the time, though. I now want to write about some of the ways God has answered that prayer...

This past semester, I've gotten involved in a youth group that I met on a Focus trip last semester (Zoar Baptist). At the beginning of the semester, I went and helped out with the occasional Bible study, mainly going when I could find the time and when I didn't have a lot of work. Towards the end of the semester, I was going every Sunday night and every Wednesday night. I also hung out with any of the youth that wanted to hang out with me, anything from disc golf to tennis to hide-and-seek tag in Walmart (is that bad?). It's amounted to me hanging out with high schoolers during like 80% of my free time.

And life's never been so good.

First of all, it's amazing how much a bunch of high school guys can teach you about God. I would hope that each of the youth would say something about me being a witness for Christ and a Godly influence in their lives. I would hope that each of the youth would say something about me showing them a bigger picture of God's Grace and Love relentlessly fighting for them. I would hope that each of the youth would say something about me leading them to a deeper relationship with God. But the truth of the matter? They do that for me. Screw accountability partners. You want to be held accountable in speech, action, lifestyle? Find some people younger than you, people you'd give your life for. I'd do anything to see those youth get closer to God. And to think that maybe, maybe, just one of those youth looks up to me? Well, that's enough to keep me accountable.

In so many ways, by getting to know both the youth and some of their families, I've found my own families away from home while at Gardner-Webb. That's really taught me about God's Love. For sure. I love it when a parent says or writes something. Those moments are worth a world of encouragement, and God has really used them to minister to me. But overall, the most encouraging and inspiring moments I've had have been the result of words from these guys, often in the form of a random text or facebook message. Here are a few:

~keith can i ask u a favor? i always forget to read my bible will u hold me accountible and remind me? and if i have questions can i call u and talk about them? i reall ywanna get in the habit of doin this like we talked about in church
~alright im not finished yet but i read the first chapter of james im goin to read some more tommorrow and im praying for you
~i love you bro!!! thank u for everything
~keith andres menhinick im gonna miss you so much over the summer but i hope you have fun in costa rica and spread the love of christ around there you have definetly opened my eyes and showed how much love can make a difference but i cant wait until next week i love you man!!

I do not deserve this.

God has completely and totally expanded my worldview by focusing it on these youth. I see a bigger picture of myself and of life and of relationship, but what I've awakened to most is a bigger picture of God's Love. I would literally die for any one of those kids right now. Just for one of them to have another chance or a better opportunity I'd give everything. I find that when I'm alone, all I want to do is pray for them. These youth motivate me to change, to live differently, to be someone worth following. Maybe it's needless to say, but I've become attached to these kids, and I love them like crazy. I will miss them all so much this summer.

This summer... another crazy way God has answered my prayer. This Monday morning, I'm flying to Costa Rica. Last summer, I spent about a month there with the school to study Spanish, and I fell in love with the country. Now, I have the opportunity to go back with one of my bestest friends ever, Rosalee Johnson!, and work with some missionaries down there, spreading the Love of Christ (see youth message above). I might even get to help with music worship while I'm there. Spanish, missions, music, Rosalee...really God?

I do not deserve this.

I guess the point of all this is to say that God answers prayers. I wanted God to really use me for something worthwhile in life, something that will last, and now I feel used and see evidence of God's working in my life. I wanted an opportunity to leave America, apply my Spanish, and immerse myself in missions, and now I'm packing my bags to go. We serve an Awesome God, one who hears and answers prayer. God had to take me through a lot and take a lot away from me to get me here, but the place where I am with God right now is immeasurably better than any place I ever imagined.

And I know that the best I can imagine for the future is way less than what God's wanting to do.

A Birthday Prayer

Ephesians 3:20-21

"Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all we can ask or think, according to the power that works in us, unto God be all glory in the church and in Christ Jesus unto all generations for ever and ever"

Every once in a while, I'll write something down on paper because I feel like it's too intense or too emotional or too personal for the blog. Today, I was reading back through some of those writings, and I found a prayer that I had written while in a lot of anguish. I know, "anguish" is quite a dramatic word, but that's the place where I was. Long story short, God's answering my prayer in BIG ways. It is kind of intense so I'll only post an excerpt and edit some of it, but I wanted to post what I had written because God has answered this prayer far beyond what I even imagined, and so I pray it be a testimony to where God takes us when we cry out to Him/Her.

Bleeding into our Art

"When a theologian comes to visit [sculptor Harriet March] at her studio and he has all sorts of polished and complicated ides about God and suffering and life, Harriet explains to him how she sees the world through her work.

'But no matter how much the mess and distortion make you want to despair, you can't abandon the work because you're chained to the bloody thing, it's absolutely woven into your soul and you know you can never rest until you've brought truth out of all the distortion and beauty out of all the mess- but it's agony, agony, agony- while simultaneously being the most wonderful and rewarding experience in the world - and that's the creative process which so few people understand.

'It involves an indestructible sort of fidelity, an insane sort of hope and indescribable sort of....well, it's love, isn't it?  There's no other word for it...And don't throw Mozart at me...I know he claimed his creative process was no more than a form of automatic writing, but the truth was he sweated and slaved and died young giving birth to all that music.  He poured himself out and suffered.  That's the way it is.  That's creation......You cannot create without waste and mess and sheer undiluted slog.  You can't create without pain. It's all part of the process.   It's in the nature of things.

'So in the end every major disaster, every tiny error, every wrong turning, every fragment of discarded clay, all the blood, sweet and tears- everything has meaning.  I give it meaning.  I reuse, reshape, recast all that goes wrong so that in the end nothing is wasted and nothing is without significance and nothing ceases to be precious to me.'


"Is she talking about sculpture or life?"
(Drops Like Rain by Rob Bell)

Traditional Theology: Moving on to the Next Kid on the Bench

A theology I heard a lot growing up in the church goes something like this:  If I choose not to obey God's prompting, I miss an opportunity, sin even. However, if God wants something done, it will happen. God isn't dependent on my obedience, and He'll find someone else to do it.

Disagree. It's a nice idea--that God doesn't need us and that ultimately God's will is accomplished, that if I don't do something for God it ultimately doesn't matter because God will find someone else to do it. It really is a nice, reassuring idea about the control and Sovereignty of God. I just don't think it's right.

I know everyone quotes Ephesians 2:10, but there may be a crucial truth here--"We are God's workmanship/masterpieces, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which he prepared in advance for us to do." Maybe we really were created for specific good works.

Maybe God created Keith to do certain things in this world, to reach certain people, to speak certain truths about the unique aspect of God that he sees best. And maybe God created you for something specific, for something no one else can do quite like you can. Maybe you can see and love a side of God that I can't, not in the same way. And maybe you can do things in this world that I can't do, and maybe you can reach people in this world that I can't reach. Maybe that's why God created individuals.

Maybe if I don't do the works God's created me to do, God won't give someone else my load and have them carry the slack. Maybe there really is something specific that God's created me to do, and if I don't do it, it won't get done.

Former President Dwight Eisenhower, commenting on his Presidency and life, attributes all of his success to  the message that his parents instilled in him: "The world could be fixed of its problems if every child understood the necessity of their existence."

Maybe there's a necessity for you. Maybe God made you just the way you are, placed you in certain situations for a reason. Maybe God does have a purpose for your life, a work created in advance for you to do, a work that won't get done if you don't do it. A work that can only be fulfilled by one person--you.

Retort to "Does God Have a Specific Plan For Your Life? Probably Not."

I don't know so much that I disagree with Donald Miller in his post. As far as my personal theology goes, I don't really know where I stand. What I don't like is the effect that I see his post having. If you want something really interesting to read, check out the comments people have left to his post. It's much more entertaining than the post itself. Depressing, though.

My summary of Don's post: God may or may not have a plan for your life; some of us are simply given a blank canvas and told to "Draw baby draw!" Okay. Theologically, I see this issue boiling down to a choice. Obviously, there's no right answer. What I mean is that I can look at life and scripture the way he did, or I can choose to look at life and scripture from another perspective. Each can yield a number of different theologies, each being just as easy to justify. I can argue and debate and defend in circles my whole life. I guess what I'm getting at is that eventually I choose either to accept this set of evidences or that set of evidences. So, maybe it may be more important to consider how a theology affects people. (This isn't one of those truth-is-relative-so-choose-what-makes-you-feel-best kind of messages, I promise)

Looking at the comments people left on Don's wall showed me a lot. Some people said, "Why is that such a HUGE relief to me?" I can see someone reading Don's post, someone that doesn't feel any strong pulls in this direction or that direction or any direction, and this theology bringing freedom, "relief" as that person said. For a lot of people, it probably takes the pressure off of life and decisions, gives people space to really live. Instead of thinking she has to wait around to hear God's divine voice saying "DO THIS," she can just live and trust that God'll be there. A theology like this can be very freeing.

Then there are comments like this one: "As a non-believer, I find the musings of believers regarding the true nature of god to be as relevant and substantial as the daily horoscope in your newspaper." This comment strikes me as very interesting. This self-classified "non-believer" clearly spent time reading Don's blogs and others' responses and then writing his own very eloquent rebuttal. His whole point was that the entire conversation regarding God's purpose for our lives was meaningless and a waste of everyone's time. And yet he's engaging in this very conversation, reading this blog. I don't know. Seems to me like he's searching for something...

And of course, the comment we've been anticipating, including reference to the world's most overly quoted scripture: "When I read Jeremiah 29:11-12 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'–I don’t read that as a benign generalization. I believe my God is an intensely personal God, a father who is very interested in my day to day existence." I completely understand what this person is saying. Taking scripture out of context aside, this person clearly finds hope in a theology that values her. Her understanding of God--a God that has a defined plan for her life--gives her purpose. It gives her a net beneath her tightrope decisions. I see her as someone that needs something to cling to, something to give her a reason for life, to give her hope. For her, to really buy into a theology like the one Don sells is detrimental because it takes away that safety net. It robs her of her source for purpose, for meaning, and for hope. A theology like Don's can end up yielding a response like this one, left by another person on the discussion board: "If there is no plan, then why bother."

So back to the question: Does God have a purpose for my life? or am I free to paint my own portrait of life? I find this whole discussion extremely fascinating. However, I can continue to theorize, rationalize, philosophize...to expound on my theories...to take scripture from here and from there...to analyze these and those testimonies...to read what the big people say, the people with more knowledge and expressive eloquence than me...to speculate, and postulate, and estimate, and predicate...

or

I can look deep inside of myself and realize that ultimately I'm searching for something. Whether we promote this theology, that belief, this conviction, that interpretation, we're all searching for something, something to give meaning to our existence.