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.

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.

The Great Iconoclast pt II

I wrote this in a journal yesterday. Today, I have decided to post it. Consider this the sequel to the post "The Great Iconoclast."

So this life's about card castles. Well, of course that's not what this life's about--are you kidding? Feeling, recognizing beauty and its perversion, creating and imagining, healing and hating, changing and inspiring change, accepting and rejecting, sacrificing and loving. No. We're capable of too much. This life is not about card castles. But that's what we make it about.

Like I've said before, I think I love card castles, because I just can't leave them alone. They are so much fun to build, but it sucks when they fall. and they always fall. They're just paper--of course they fall. Geeze, no matter how many times I watch my castles fall, I always turn back to rebuilding them. I don't know if there's another option. Gosh, it hurts so much when they fall. It's only by the grace of that same great Iconoclast that I don't die when my castles do, because I should die. For some reason, some greater purpose than just building castles (I hope), I am spared from death--but never from pain.

I love what C.S. Lewis says: "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains" (The Problem With Pain). That's good stuff. Listen: if anything, I can be a testimony to that. God is a God of the broken, of the hopeless, of the hurting. I've heard God's voice louder than I ever have in the midst of all this pain, in the midst of the wreakage of this castle I've built and watched fall. There is so much pain here, in these ruins.

That's not what hurts the most though--watching the castle fall, that is. What hurts the most is letting go of all the broken pieces. I've been holding on so tight, and those pieces that functioned so incredibly before as a part of my castle now cut deep into my clenched hands. The sharp, jagged edges draw blood real fast. Biting, stinging, intense pain. And yet it's so hard to let go of those stupid pieces. It's so scary to trust that it's okay, that it will all be okay. It's so hard to see that there's anything else to hold on to. And so I just keep clenching and squeezing and holding on to my broken pieces, and I just keep hurting...

But. No. More.

I'm dropping these pieces.

"They keep on replying, 'But I tell you the man broke a most solemn promise.' Exactly: that is precisely what you have to forgive. This doesn't mean that you must necessarily believe his next promise [praise God]. It does mean that you must make every effort to kill every taste of resentment in your own heart--every wish to humiliate or hurt him or to pay him out." --C.S. Lewis (The Weight of Glory)

The Heart of the Matter (<--click it!)

A Naked Bush

"Without training and pruning, fruit trees will not develop proper shape and form. Properly trained and pruned trees will yield high quality fruit much earlier in their lives and live significantly longer. A primary objective of training and pruning is to develop a strong tree framework that will support fruit production. Improperly trained fruit trees generally have very upright branch angles, which result in serious limb breakage under a heavy fruit load. This significantly reduces the productivity of the tree and may greatly reduce tree life. Another goal of annual training and pruning is to remove dead, diseased, or broken limbs. Proper tree training also opens up the tree canopy to maximize light penetration. For most deciduous tree fruit, flower buds for the current season's crop are formed the previous summer. Light penetration is essential for flower bud development and optimal fruit set, flavor, and quality. Although a mature tree may be growing in full sun, a very dense canopy may not allow enough light to reach 12 to 18 inches inside the canopy. Opening the tree canopy also permits adequate air movement through the tree, which promotes rapid drying to minimize disease infection and allows thorough pesticide penetration. Additionally, a well shaped fruit tree is aesthetically pleasing, whether in a landscaped yard, garden, or commercial orchard."

FOCUS--Fellowship of Christians United in Service--is a ministry GWU offers where teams of about 10 or so college students go out to different churches and lead weekend retreats for their youth groups. This past weekend, I went on a FOCUS trip to Wake Forest Baptist Church. Last year, I went on the same trip to the same church and loved it. It made such an impression on me that I made sure I went back again. This year, it was even better.

The focus of our weekend was John 15--the vine metaphor. Verse 5 is on the back of our t-shirts: "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." We talked a lot about God's command in this passage: remain in me. I think that's where we miss it as Christians; we focus on the fruit. God's command is not to bear fruit but to remain in Him. The fruit? a byproduct, a symptom of relationship, something God creates, not me. My friend in the grad school here at GWU told me that in Greek, the word for "remain" is meneo, which refers to a dwelling place, a home. Our command is to dwell in God, to abide in God, and trust that S/He'll take care of the rest.

Verse 2 talks about a gardener, the one who comes around and prunes the vine's branches so they can grow more fruit, better fruit. Imagine what this looks like. You know, you're driving down the road and see a gorgeous house with clean, freshly-mowed grass, maybe some red and yellow tulips, several young, lush trees... and then the bushes right there in front, the ones that have just been pruned. And they look bad. I mean absolutely terrible. They ruin the whole scene. Bereft of their green robes, they've been stripped of all their leaves, all their dignity. Naked and exposed, they kind of hunch and crouch, trying to disappear, like they're embarrassed. Their limbs amputated, they look like they're in pain, and all that remains is a bunch of harsh-looking nubs.

And that's how I've felt lately. An ugly, hurting, embarrassed, pruned bush.

The past few weeks have been hell. I can honestly say they've been some of the most difficult and painful times in my whole life. I've never struggled so much with feeling rejected and betrayed, with feeling unloved and unappreciated, with feeling abandoned and deserted. I've felt naked and alone, punished even. Hurt, embarrassed, ashamed, ugly; and mourning the loss of my once emerald leaves, my once lush branches. I've been hunching over, crouching down.

God destroyed that this past weekend, and S/He used a bunch of high schoolers to do it. Fyodor Dostoyevsky says: "The soul is healed by being with children." I have found that to be too true. I think my problem the last couple weeks has been an issue of focus: my plans, my expectations, my hurt. I talk a lot about what I want, wanting to pursue my PhD, wanting to go to these places, wanting to meet those people, wanting to do this, accomplish that, have this title, win that award...

"Bro--you wanna do all that stuff? Fine. We can go that direction and do all those things, and I'll use it if that's what you want. But this--this!--is what I made you for. This--pouring into youth, investing in what matters, loving what really matters--is the passion I gave you, the passion we share. All those gifts I've given you? all those lessons I've taught you? all those branches I've pruned? it's all been for this. This is your purpose, your fulfillment, your love. This is the greatness I created you for."

Well damn, God. I get it.

The Great Iconoclast

Only Hope

I just finished C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed, and it was a really moving and easy read. At one point, Lewis talks about all his efforts, everything he's ever felt or worked for, in the end amounting to a castle of cards, a castle the world--and even God sometimes--destroys over and over and over; but it never keeps him from building another card castle.

I guess we all are like Lewis: building castles with feeble cards, only to watch them crash to the ground, and then start building again. I must love building castles, because, frankly, I cannot stop. I think the last castle I built up must have taken me a long time. Lots of levels and decorations and stuff. I think I was really proud of it, too, and probably even felt safe inside. But like always, my card castles end up spending their time collapsing. Now, awake in the infinite cold, looking at the ruins of that castle, it's amazing that I thought it would ever stand up. All the pieces look so weak. They were new pieces, though! Pieces you could really get excited about! Crisp, clean, brand-spankin-new pieces! But paper.

"My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of His presence?" (Lewis)

Damn, I sure hope so.

The Secret Life of Keith

I wrote a poem a couple days ago. I love to write poetry, but I think I'm a prose person. Poetry really isn't where my talents are, so I won't post my poem on here. I will, however, at least prose about it (learned "prose" can be a verb. go figure.). I have this thing where I don't title my poetry. Maybe, if I give a poem a title, it boxes in the words and ideas, smothers them beneath some blanket, keeping them from breathing. I just don't like titling my poetry. (To be ironic, I now have to title this blog, I realize that.) The first line of my poem says, "this life's about hurt." For so many people, that's all we feel, that's all this life is: hurt. Living is overwhelmed by it--by pain, brokenness, grief, betrayal, lies, bitterness, guilt--hurt.

About two weeks ago, I started The Secret Life of Bees. (insert little superscript footnote "1" here)(insert little superscript footnote "2" here) Essentially, the book is about the life/development of a 14 year old girl, Lily. Gosh, the girl's been hurt so much and carries way too much for a child, for anyone, to bear alone. At times, Lily is heavy, at times withdrawn, at times bitter, at times angry, at times depressed, always broken, always hurting. The whole story is about diving into all of that hurt. Because that's what life is about: hurt.

It's crazy that I actually believe that sometimes. I've had some moments even just this break where I've been stuck in that. God always has a funny way of mending that mentality, though. I finished The Secret Life of Bees a week or two ago, and it spoke a lot to me then, and I mean a lot. Some of those moments of "life's about hurt" have hit me since finishing the book, though, but that book still has such a strong hold over me that it keeps changing me, refocusing me all over again. God has really used this book a lot to draw me out of those moments where I feel all depressed.

By the way, sometimes, I hate that I can't stay depressed. Sometimes, I just really want to be depressed and wallow in self-pity or self-loathing or self-whatever. Whenever I get depressed, though, and start thinking things like "life's about hurt" or whatever, I start to feel really melodramatic and pathetic. I mean really melodramatic and pathetic, so much so that I end up forcing myself to get over it and smile or dance or sing or eat or do something wonderful--something probably melodramatic and pathetic on the other end of the spectrum, but I like that place.

Like I said, God has really used The Secret Life of Bees to heal me over and over again the past week or two. The book really isn't about hurt. It's more about Lily discovering herself and her world and her hurt and dealing with all of those things. In the end, Lily finds love and belonging and peace and healing through mothers--all black mothers I should point out-- and through God--who in the book is also a black mother I should also point out. It's made me start seeing God in that light, too, as a mother (hopefully a black one, but I suppose I'll be okay either way). I just saw Avatar, and it did the same thing: make me think about God as a mother.(insert little superscript footnote "3" here)

But anyway, I've really needed the message God gave me through The Secret Life of Bees in this season of my life. Like I mentioned above, the book's not about hurt, but about healing. I think that's a message we all need to hear and be reminded of from time to time. Of course, I can only speak for myself, so that's all I'll do, but I hurt so much sometimes! Sometimes, the hurt is overwhelming, and for a time, it's all I see and feel. And like Lily, sometimes I feel alone, and I know I can't do this alone. No matter what I feel, though, I know I'm not alone; I have people in my life to help me, people that won't leave me even when I screw up big time, even when I bring hurt to those people. That's a gift from God, I realize that; and I realize that more than those people, I have a true Mother protecting me, forming me, loving me. I hurt this Mother so much, but the beautiful thing is that She isn't going anywhere. She'll always be there, always loving me, always healing me. Because life is about hurt, but it can be about healing, too.

I wasn't sure how I would end my poem when I started writing it. For a long time, I ranted and ranted about hurt and how cruel and painful life is, but, like always, I couldn't stay in that place. I began marinating thoughts of healing in my mind, because that's what was consuming my heart, and those thoughts flowed out into my poem. The last line is, "yeah--life may be about hurt, but living? living is about healing."

"Behold, I will bring it health and healing; I will heal them and reveal to them the abundance of peace and truth."
Jeremiah 33:6

*(insert little superscript footnote "1" here) --I decided that the best thing I read in 2009 was this book. In the words of one of my favorite people, "It is beautiful and soul touching." I strongly recommend it, and it has established itself in my all-time top 5 books list, a list that includes the 7th Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia and The Shack and Uncle Tom's Cabin, a list that's very competitive and has lots of books fighting bloodthirstily for a place.
*(insert little superscript footnote "2" here) --dear blogger, please add a superscript option. sincerely, Keith.
*(insert little superscript footnote "3" here) --I decided that the best thing I watched in 2009 was this movie. It was crazy awesome.

Broken Bird

Ok, I'm totally breaking my commitment not to blog during exam week. I really just want to post a poem written by one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. It has brought so much healing and encouragement to me, and I want to share that. Shout out to my girl, Nikki Raye Rice.

"Broken Bird"

I read a story once
where an angry man
crushed a bird in his hand.
And lately I've asked,
"Am I the bird, God?
And you, the wrathful palm?"
Because I'm feeling out of
flight, broken, and grounded.
I hated that part,
that a man so merciless
would crumple a creature
so meek in his fingers.

But, You are not just a man.

And like balm on a broken wing,
your mercy is spread thick over me.
I am not caught in your clutches
or crippled by my circumstances.
I am held.
And I know that there is no better
place to break
than in the hands of a healer.

The bleeding woman

see Mark 5: 21-34

This story of the bleeding woman touching Jesus' clothes and being healed has always stood out to me. It's like God has highlighted this passage with a spiritual marker; it always stands out so much. This past summer at Camp Joy, I was asked to be the speaker for teen week. Well, after praying and praying, I decided to talk about this story of the bleeding woman. My goal then was just to make the story come alive for those youth, to really show them the depth of suffering and hurt in this woman's life, and then how she received total healing from Jesus. I think I might have said something about that same healing being available to each of us if we just reach out and touch Jesus. But I don't think I believe that anymore...

This past weekend, I got to preach another message for FOCUS (a ministry GWU offers). With all the stress and chaos of finishing up a semester, honestly, I didn't make the time or have the energy to come up with some new sermon. I decided to just fall back on this same message of the bleeding woman I gave at camp. But, just in this past week, God showed up and started moving. This past week has been hell for me--physically draining, emotionally wrecking, mentally exhausting, and, in a way, spiritually overwhelming. God's revealed so much to me this past week. I've been convicted of so many things. I've felt loved in new ways--a love different, deeper, more real. I've received answers and fulfillments of prayers I've agonized over for years. God has really showed up this week. And when I resorted to a cop-out sermon that I thought I had pinned down, God changed everything.

I guess I had always looked at the story of the bleeding woman as a parable of coming into Christianity, or rather, as a parable of coming into relationship with Christ, with every aspect of the story serving as an easy and nicely packaged symbol for us Christians to fit into our lives. The bleeding woman symbolizes the sinner who has been wandering around, hurting, trying to do life his/her own way. Touching Jesus symbolizes becoming a Christian (whatever that means)--maybe a public profession of faith, or an open commitment to follow Christ. All it really takes in life is to have faith that Jesus will heal you and reach out to him. It will all be healed. All the sin, all the hurt, all the fears, all the suffering--it will all be healed.

Damn. Did I really buy into this? When I look back over this story through those lens, I have this staggering sense of loss, like I'm missing a bigger picture here, like I totally don't get it. I really wish it worked like that, though. That we all can find total healing, and peace, and love, and release in this world by simply turning to Jesus. I really do wish it worked like that. But it just doesn't. Coming into Christianity in this world, to be blunt, doesn't touch my damage inside. I touched Jesus years ago, and I still suffer and hurt; I still have those same insecurities, those same fears, those same doubts, those same sins; I still lose focus; I still break. I'm not completely healed when I touch Jesus. Life certainly would be easier if it all worked that way, but it just doesn't. For me, the story of the bleeding woman doesn't, can't mean that.


I think maybe the story of the bleeding woman is a parable for all of life.


This woman had some sort of disease in her life, where she endlessly bled and hurt. She travels from doctor to doctor, priest to priest, spending more and more money till she has nothing left; and she receives no answers. She can't stop the bleeding. And now, because of Jewish law (Lev. 15:25), she's been labeled "unclean." Now, because of her physical malady of bleeding, she has a spiritual malady. She can't come into God's temple. She's told she deserves this. It's a result of her sin. She must have done something wrong for God to have given this to her. She's excluded, an outcast from society. She's abandoned--by friends, by family, by the church. Everyone's given up on her. Doctors can't help her. The church can't help her. She's ridiculed, avoided, isolated, abandoned. By everyone! even her family! She grows sicker and sicker, weaker and weaker. Constant pain. She's poverty-stricken, destitute, heart-broken, depressed, alone, confused, sorrowful, tired, hopeless, withdrawn. She's homeless, a sojourner. She's probably given up herself. Geeze, this was the life that woman lived for 12 years! 12 years of never feeling love, never experiencing healing, never being touched by another human being. When I try to get into the head of this woman, this word keeps coming up for me: withdrawal. I think of someone that's been hurt so deeply so many times by so many people, that she's completely withdrawn into herself. I think of someone who's cried out to God: "What did I do to deserve this? What is wrong with me? What did I do wrong? God, where are you? Why don't you answer me? Why don't you heal me? Does God hate me?" This woman--who's been burned by her family, her friends, the church, God--has completely given up, completely surrendered to this depression. Completely withdrawn into herself.

But then she starts hearing about this man. There's this man who's been traveling the country, preaching about God and love, helping people, giving sight to blind men, healing people.

But there's no way he can help me. There's no way I'm trusting him. He can't heal me. It hurts too much to even hope for that again. And what's the point! I know he can't heal me. He can't. I know he can't.

But she kept hearing about this man. People said this man was God's son. He can heal her. I think about this woman--tired, unsure, terrified. But she decides to trust one more time. I think of her crying out to God: "God, if this is real... I want this so badly... I'll try one more time. But God, if this doesn't work, it will completely break me. It will destroy me. But I'll try one more time." And so this woman, terrified and doubtful yet tired of hurting, starts looking for this man. She gets to the outskirts of a crowd and hears that this man is in the middle. She starts sneaking in, blending in, disappearing into the crowd. She keeps pushing, and pushing, and pushing, looking for this man. She can't see where she's going. She can't see the man she's looking for. She doesn't even know if he really exists. But she just keeps pushing. Before long, she sees him. She's so scared to hope again, so afraid to trust again, but she desperately wants to be loved again; so she just reaches out and touches him.

sidenote: the commentaries I looked at said the woman had so much faith in Jesus that she knew she only had to touch his clothes to be healed. Bull shit. This woman was scared! She was terrified out of her mind! She wanted this healing so badly but was so afraid that she didn't even have the words to say it. She was so upset she didn't even have the power to talk. She had no strength left for words. So she just reached out.

My Bible says that immediately she felt in her body that she had been healed. Before she can even grasp that, the man stops. He asks, "Who touched me?" And of course the disciples are like, "Calm down, Jesus. You're in a crowd, bro. Everyone's touching you." But Jesus says, "No. Someone touched me." I think it's important here to notice that Jesus doesn't demand the woman to confess, but invites her to.

The woman's reaction? I imagine all her fears resurfacing. She couldn't touch him! He's a man of influence, and she's unclean. She could contaminate him. But something tells her she can trust him. This is the real act of faith, not reaching out and touching Jesus' clothes as the commentaries say. This is faith. She falls flat on her face, body trembling with fear and passion, eyes puffy and swollen, face wet with tears and dirt. She can't even look him in the face. She tells her story, and it's not an easy one to tell. Her story's embarrassing, difficult, painful. It's a story of brokenness of body and spirit. She tells this story in front of this man of influence, in front of a judgemental crowd, in front of people who are going to write her off and abandon her like everyone else in her life. He's going to judge her, too. He's going to condemn her. He's going to abandon her like everyone else.

But he doesn't. Jesus helps her up and says, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering" (v 34). See, the woman wanted a physical healing, and after the touch, she got it. The story could have ended there, but praise God it doesn't. Jesus cared about more than healing the woman physically. Jesus calls her "daughter." Daughter. It's a term that denotes relationship, belonging, and love. Jesus cares about what really matters, and he speaks to what's really damaged. This woman comes to him wanting to be healed physically, but Jesus wants to heal her spirit--her hurt, her brokenness, her feelings of mistrust and abandonment. He wants to love her. and he doesn't demand, but invites her into face-to-face relationship with him.


I think now I realize that each and every one of us is that bleeding woman.

We all hurt and suffer, and life is pushing through the crowd. All of life is wandering against this crowd because we've heard about someone who can heal us. We can't see him, and we don't know if he exists. We can let the crowd overtake us, or we can keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing. And just maybe, at the end of this life, this life of pushing through the crowd, we'll find the one who can heal us. Weeping and trembling, we fall at his feet; and on that judgment day, before God in that seat of judgement, we tell him everything--our sins, our heartaches, our brokenness. everything. But he doesn't judge us, and he doesn't condemn us. He calls us "son," "daughter." God helps us to our feet, to face-to-face relationship with him, and he makes us whole.



Nicole C. Mullen--One Touch